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thegoblinboy · 1 year

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The Myserious Art of Coping - part 2

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4

Ao3

Wattpad

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02. 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

"σσн, єα¢н мσяηιηg ι gєт υρ ι ∂ιє α ℓιттℓє, ¢αη вαяєℓу ѕтαη∂ ση му ƒєєт (тαкє α ℓσσк αт уσυяѕєℓƒ) тαкє α ℓσσк ιη тнє мιяяσя αη∂ ¢яу (αη∂ ¢яу) ℓσя∂, ωнαт уσυ'яє ∂σιηg тσ мє? (уєαн, уєαн) ι нανє ѕρєηт αℓℓ му уєαяѕ ιη вєℓιєνιηg уσυ вυт ι נυѕт ¢αη'т gєт ησ яєℓιєƒ, ℓσя∂ ѕσмєвσ∂у (ѕσмєвσ∂у), σσн, ѕσмєвσ∂у (ѕσмєвσ∂у) ¢αη αηувσ∂у ƒιη∂ мє ѕσмєвσ∂у тσ ℓσνє?"

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-important notes about this chapter

• Cruising was a movie that came out in 1980 starring Al Pacino. His character, Steve Burns is a detective that has to catch a serial killer who is killing homosexuals. In the process, he has to go undercover in gay S&M bars to find the culprit while the police department's homophobia gets in the way. In the process, he discovers that he identifies with the culture a lot more than he expected and becomes distant with his girlfriend.

• Parting Glances is another LGBTQ movie that came out in '86. It's about a successful gay man who has to choose between two lovers. One is currently his boyfriend and the other who is suffering from HIV.

• In this chapter I heavily implied an Autistic Eddie. Everything I wrote is about some of my experiences even though I'm not diagnosed. I also did some research and read some comments to help me along the way.

• As someone who has Anxiety Tics, I also implied that with Eddie so keep in mind that the clicking he does with his tongue at random isn't a random thing I brought into it. It's something that I personally believe his character has

The black curtains that were put up to shield the sun from the boys' room weren't putting much effort into doing their job this morning. The sun had started to rise thirty minutes prior and was now higher up in the sky above the tree lines and at the perfect angle to shine in Eddie's small room. The beams were starting to take more room on the pillow next to Eddie as each minute passed, taking as much space as it could before falling on the back of his head. The dreaming boy was very unaware of the imposter in his room, he enjoyed his room being very dark and shaded so that when it was a really hot day his room would be the coolest one in the house.

Mumbling in his sleep Eddie moves his right hand to scratch his scalp before letting it fall back on the side of the bed. Nothing coming out of his mouth was coherent, just random words that didn't mean anything. His other arm that wasn't falling off the side of the bed was currently underneath him in a very awkward position. If he had been awake it would have been a very uncomfortable position for him. Normally he sleeps on his stomach and sprawled out like a starfish most nights. But with his reoccurring nightmares, he moves a lot more in his sleep.

Everything was silent and for once very peaceful in his room. Normally it was chaos as he ran around his room looking for something he lost or loud music blaring as he bobbed his head to the rhythm throwing his limbs around awkwardly. Though the peace doesn't last much longer as his voice gets a little louder and his free arm flies up in the air landing on the sunny pillow. In the process of him moving from his side to laying on his back, his breathing started to pick up. His body jerked as if he was trying to get away from something. He moves his head to the left a little and now the bright glare coming from his window is flashing into his eyes.

Making a ton of noises as his cramped arm moves to cover his eyes he begins to whine as he slowly starts to wake up. The feeling of his blanket wrapped around him making him feel like he was being suffocated. This was what was starting to set him off into a sensory overload. The feeling of the item scratching against his skin, the birds chirping outside and the sun blinding him the second he tries to open his eyes were all overwhelming him. The combination was pissing him off a little as he begins to grind his teeth out of irritation. After a second of laying there he quickly kicks the blanket off of him and he's moving with sunken eyes to try and cover his window again. Fighting with the curtains before making a relieved noise when the sun wasn't bothering him anymore.

Stretching a bit hearing the loud pops of his back he begins to wince as he tries to shake his limbs back awake, making even more noises of complaint over his dead arm. Making a mental note to try and not to sleep on it like he had again. Which would be very difficult as he could only fall asleep on his stomach with one of his records playing in the background. Running a hand through his hair he winces at the knots and makes a face at how greasy it feels. Sure it could easily be played off as a part of his aesthetic but he felt too disgusting to be able to go through with that.

As he calms his senses down, he looks over at his clock to see that it was only eight am. Raising his eyebrows, he was very much surprised. Normally he would sleep until three in the afternoon. With no longer going to school he found that it was easier to just forget how time and days worked. Stretching his body a little more it also clicks in his head that he feels somewhat motivated today. Maybe even leave the house as he was becoming bored with staying cooped up in the place.

Standing up his socks meet the carpet and he rubs his stomach underneath his shirt feeling the sweat stains and smelling them. Gagging a little at how disgusting he felt he worked his way to the bathroom where he strips as fast as he can. Looking in the small mirror he tilts his head as he moves his eyes up and down his body just taking himself in. He felt like one of those cocky douche-bags when he did this. The only reason he did most days was to ground himself. Knowing that he was real and not a part of some messed-up dream.

His hands move to his chest first where he traces over the tattoo of the head on the left side. Smiling proudly as it was one of his favorite drawings he's ever done. He continues to move his hands down feeling his rib cage reminding himself that he was very real. He was indeed flesh and bones. His hands move over the tendered wounds that he thought he was going to hate but ended up loving. Though they were still sore so he wasn't surprised at how he winced and grunted a little in pain. His hands move down to his stomach. Something he enjoyed a lot about himself. That and his thighs, using both body parts as a drum set whenever he was listening to music. His rough fingers then move to his v line as he traces that for a second as he begins to breathe in and out for a few moments grounding himself the best he can. He also did this to help calm himself from his senses.

He could feel his hair falling lightly on his back the grease was bugging him but he ignores it just for now as he moves his fingers back up to his neck. Not opening his eyes as he takes his necklace off and carefully sets it down on the counter. Opening his eyes he now moves to his face where he stares into his red-rimmed eyes. They were watery and glossy an obvious sign that he just woke up. Licking his lips a little he moves away from the mirror and moves into the shower. Turning it on and adjusting it so the temp was where he wanted it. Often he would get in the shower and fall into the comfortable warmth for it to only then go really cold and send him into another sensory overload. He didn't want that this morning.

When he's finally standing under the water he feels so much better. His hair sticks to his forehead and back and he hums to himself as he starts to sing without much thought. The acoustics were amazing in here so why wouldn't he take advantage of that. The tune was playing in the back of his head and the song was already stuck in his head. He most likely would be singing it for days after this.

"Come mothers and fathers Throughout the land, And don't criticize what you can't understand, your sons and your daughters are beyond your command, your old road is rapidly agin', Please get out of the new one if you can't lend your hand, For the times they are a-changin'." his voice rasps out a little as his hands scratch his scalp cleaning himself the rest of the way before stepping out of the shower still humming the tune. Moving and grabbing his toothbrush and started to brush his teeth. Though he's quick to start gagging not enjoying the flavor but he powers through it as his mouth was currently overwhelming him. Wiping his mouth he huffs as he takes a towel wrapping it around his waist before he moves out of the bathroom heading to his bedroom. Though before he can make it he hears a knock on his door.

Groaning and making even more noise he moves to the door nearly naked. Only holding his towel up with one hand as he opens the door not caring. Unsure who the hell was at his door right now. Slightly paranoid that it was some asshole who wanted to kick his ass.

Though when his eyes finally adjust to the sun he sees that it's only Jonathan and Argyle. Both of them looking way to sober. "Like dude, if we don't buy some weed from you right now I'm going to like. Lose my marbles." Argyle says talking with his head and Jonathan turns to look at him with a what the hell look. It seemed like the two of them didn't want to come off desperate but they were.

"Yeah, yeah. You caught me with my pants down I'm afraid. The only stuff I have at the moment is my own personal stash." he hums before he pauses wagging his finger a grin forming on his lips. "Actually boys, I can do you better," he says excitedly and Argyle looks confused and Jonathan's already starting to talk.

"I'm sorry we don't do anything harder than weed man," Jonathan speaks as he pokes his head inside the trailer a bit as he watches Eddie moving to his room. Surprisingly feeling more energetic than he had been lately.

"That's not what I meant," Eddie says as he quickly changes into clothes not bothering with his boxers. "I meant something else." He returns out in less than a minute holding his bag of weed. Argyle's eyes light up as he moves into the trailer without much thought. Eddie didn't mind as he moves his hand up stopping the other from just grabbing it.

"There's just a few things. I'll give this to you for free if you can drive up to my supplier and get some more weed off from him for me." Eddie says already doing what he normally did when he was in business. Argyles looks at Jonathan before shrugging.

"Okay man I can do that," he speaks slowly trying to grab it again but Eddies making soft tsking noises as he looks over at Byers with a serious look on his face.

"There is one more thing." He hums as he ignores how bad the carpet felt against his feet. Normally he would be throwing a fit over it but he didn't want to embarrass himself right now and not be taken seriously. "Byers you still taking photos of innocent girls without clothes on? Oh and almost forgot the last detail, without their permission. I'm sorry man but I'll happily sell to Argyle but you..." he shakes his head scrunching his nose up. "I don't like peeping toms."

Argyle is turning and looking at Jonathan with a look on his face that Eddie can't describe. Jonathan's face is going a little pale and even more pink as he stutters a little. All three of them go silent before Argyle shakes his head at Jonathan even more. "Not cool man. That's hella weird." He says as Eddie moves to cross his arms a little bit. The tension in the room was starting to build up as Eddie taps his fingers against his chin.

"Though if you prove that you aren't a creep anymore I'll consider selling to you. I mean you've gone through a life-changing experience so for all I know you've learned there's so much more to live for besides staring up skirts." Eddie says casually as that's Jonathan's last straw as he pushes himself out of the trailer. Moving to the van with a red face. Eddie was sure he had most likely made the other cry but truth be told he didn't care. He didn't have many rules when he sold but when it came to creeps he made sure not to sell to them.

••••

A couple of hours pass before he decides that playing the guitar was fucking boring after going for a few hours straight. His hands hurt and there were already some blisters forming on his fingertips. The plan isn't thought out all that much as he slides his shoes on and gets himself situated. Locking the door behind him and carrying the key on his necklace he works his way down the road to his van. The vehicle had taken a lot of damage and thankfully he was able to replace the windows and tires after Jason and his stupid groupies decided to destroy them in the name of Justice. Who knew Hawkins had their own personal Batman.

Eddie cringes stopping his negative thoughts when he remembers that Jason had fallen victim to Vecna himself. It explained why he had gone completely off his rocker so easily when Chrissy died. Though he snaps himself out of his thoughts as he moves to hop up on the driver's side before he's hearing his name being called from across the dirt road. "Eddie! Wait up!" He turns his head out the door squinting his eyes from the sun as he sees Max running towards him holding her skateboard. He freaks out a little as he hops out of the van quickly meeting her part way thinking something was wrong.

"What's wrong?" He asks sounding spooked. Looking around to make sure there wasn't anyone watching them or worst something chasing Max. His panicked expression seems to register to Max a few seconds too late as she tries to catch her breath.

"Oh nothing, I was just hoping you could give me a ride into town?" She asks looking up at him with an 'oopsie' smile. Eddies relaxing though his heart and body weren't. He felt the anxiety floating through his veins causing him to twitch and shake a little. Breathing in deeply he shakes his head holding his chest a little before he's moving back to his van and getting in the driver's side.

"So... is that a yes?" Max asks as she bites her lip hoping she didn't have to skateboard all the way into town. Eddie sighs dramatically as if it's the worst thing he could be doing with his free time.

"I suppose, where are you going anyway?" He asks. Not looking at her as he moves his body over to unlock the passenger side. Pulling the lock up and opening the slightly broken door for her. Watching to make sure that she got up there without getting hurt. The number of times he's hurt himself trying to get in the van was crazy. But she moves herself like she's done this countless times, maybe she has he doesn't know and now there she sits in the passenger seat like it's a throne. Moving to her right grabbing the door handle and closing the door behind her. The boy can't help but feel a little impressed that she got the door to close completely on the first try.

"Skate park." She answers as her hand moves to the radio already. Eddie doesn't mind though as he leans to his left grabbing his door and closes it. But like always it clicks back open and he groans as he opens it trying to shut it a few times before it finally closes all the way. He glances over seeing Max already going through all of his tapes. Her eyes skimmed between each one. The kid also looked very tired but he didn't want to bother her too much about it.

Turning his key in the ignition the van stalls for a second before it finally starts and they are both finally on their journey to the skate park. He buckles himself in almost forgetting and makes a comment to Max about it. Who groans in complaint. "Hey shithead, this van is pretty beat up. If a tire or something pops off and I accidentally swerved into a tree I don't want another murder case on my hands because you flew through the window and snapped your neck. I don't think I'll be so lucky this time around." He chuckles. Max looks at him like he is crazy and gives him a bit of a dirty look as she clicks on her seat belt.

Out of spite he presses the brake fast jerking her forward as she yelps dropping a few of his tapes. Grinning he glances over at her. "See. Told you." He says amused. The younger girl is already moving and hitting him in the arm as he takes a turn, taking a shortcut to the skate park.

"God I hate you." She huffs dramatically as he starts to laugh like a crazed man on the driver's side. Though she finally chooses a tape and pops it in, the familiar guitars start to play and Eddie glances over with a huger grin when he realizes that she not only chose Metallica but she knew the songs. Bopping her head for the next five minutes before the next track comes on and Eddie's tensing up a bit when he recognizes Master of Puppets. Each cord that played reminded him of his own concert down in the upside down.

"What's wrong?" Max asks catching on to the sudden mood shift. It was hard not to, Eddie was always goofy so when he went silent with no noise. Not even his fingers tapping the wheel, not humming a little, or even clicking his tongue something was definitely up. She didn't think it was the music but she wasn't sure what it was that made the other go strangely silent.

"Oh, it's nothing... it's just." Eddie pauses as he runs a hand through his hair as his hands begins to shake again making an involuntary clicking noise as his anxiety rose. "When me and Dustin were in the upside down together this was the song that I played to distract the bats from everyone. And- it's so stupid but it's making my scars sting just from the memory." He lets out an uncomfortable laugh as Max moves forward and presses skip on the song. Listening to it fast forward.

"It's okay Eddie. I cant listen to Kate Bush without going back to that horrible world either. That and I can't listen to Kill 'em all without crying still. That was Billy's favorite song before he died." Max explains as the next song starts to play lowly in the background. Now this was what Eddie needed. Breathing and calming down realizing the other wasn't going to give him the whole, "you're save and nothing is going to happen ever again so you don't have anything to worry about" speech. He looks over to see that she was having just a difficult time talking about her emotions like he was.

"Were you close with Billy?" He asks with a raised eyebrow noticing how the other seemed tense under the silence. He wasn't good with social cues but the other looked like she wanted to get something off her chest. Still paying attention to the road he also glances over at the other to make sure he read this correctly. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. You just seem like you need to get something off your chest, and like I'm horrible at reading people so I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable it wasn't my intention." He rambles out nervously tapping the wheel again as his leg starts to bounce.

Max looks over at him before snorting a little, "You are the strangest Metalhead I've ever met. And I've met a shit ton when I lived in California." She says amused. Eddie rolls his eyes amused not taking it to heart because it was true. He knew he wasn't the stereotypical have no feelings all I care about is Ozzy's vibes like typical metal heads did. He opens his mouth to retort back at her but Max is speaking again.

"But yeah? And no?" She answers. "Back in California, we were sort of close. Though he was still very reserved off on a lot of things and I'm not sure what was his Dad forcing him to be nice to me or what was actually him. Then he started high school and he changed completely. He started to see a lot more girls, started to work out more, and started to get in more fights. Then one day Neal walked in on him with a guy and totally freaked. Packed our shit up and we moved here back to Neal's hometown within a week." Max talks as she freezes as she looks at Eddie a little panicked.

"I shouldn't have said anything about the whole sleeping with a guy thing. That wasn't for me to talk about and oh god you could out Billy for all I know." She rambles out. It was now her turn to panic like the other had before. Eddie was actually in shock that the Billy Hargrove slept with guys too. Apart of him was in shock and the other side was disappointed because he totally could have had a chance to sleep with the other. Though realistically the other would've punched him in the face but he could dream, right?

"Yeah... not really your place to tell someone about. Though secrets safe with me. God knows you've seen a few guys come into my trailer from time to time." He says nonchalantly. Max's eyes grow wide for a second before she decides to not make a big deal out of it. Eddie was grateful, but he knew that him saying something, even though he wasn't sure where she stood, would ease her nerves about outing Billy. The second that came out she was a target for bullying.

"Well anyway, we moved here and he was okay for a bit. Sleeping with a bunch of girls, working out, and joining the basketball team but then something changed. He saw Steve at some stupid party and he started to go a little weird again. Then after the fight with Steve in the trailer, he went even weirder. He slept around with girls a lot more, worked out more, worked on his car more, went to more parties and I'm pretty sure he had a date with Nancy Wheelers Mom." Max rambles out her nose scrunching up a bit as Eddie's eyebrows skyrocket up his forehead. Though he tries not to come off as judgmental.

"He hurt Steve really bad and a lot of other people. And like, I'm not even sure what was actually him or what was the image he created for himself for his dad. Like he was friends with a lot of people in California but the second he saw me become friends with Lucas he started to act racist you know? I don't know if he was actually or if he was acting like that to get me to stop hanging out with Lucas so Neal didn't find out. Neal would've freaked and beaten the shit out of Billy if he had." Max rambles out as she rubs her arms a little self-conscious as Eddie parks in a spot near the skatepark. Seeing kids going down ramps and doing kickflips.

"And part of me wished he would die you know? He was the hugest dick ever and I never thought he actually would. We weren't close or anything but we both had to deal with Neal and that sort of made us teammates? Like I remember one time he accidentally broke a dish trying to grab something off the top shelf and Neal freaked. And I quickly swept it up and said I accidentally did it. At that time Neal wouldn't touch me because of my Mom. Then the next week I accidentally burnt dinner and Neal started to freak out on me and Billy was there and took the blame for me. It sort of made me think we were siblings on a certain level you know?" Max rambles out as Eddie nods his head just listening.

The van goes silent and the kid looks as if she just got rid of the worse weight she's ever held in her life. Eddie smiles softly as he moves to pat her shoulder. "It's not your fault you know. Or Billy's. It's Neal's. You and Billy just had different coping methods you know? But that also doesn't excuse the racism or dickhead remarks he made. He made his choice and now he has to go along with the consequences." Eddie speaks softly and Max turns to look at him. She smiles a little as she looked a lot calmer.

"Thank you, Eddie. For the ride and well the talk. Steve tries but his anger for Billy normally takes over." She admits as Eddie shrugs as he takes one of the toothpicks from his cup holder and puts it in his mouth chewing on it a little.

"It's no problem. Have fun, if you need a ride back I'm going to most likely be grocery shopping and going to family video to harass Harrington and Buckley." He says amused. The girl nods her head and smiles as she hops out of the van waving at him before running to the skate park. Pausing as she turns seeing he was still watching her and she laughs a little flipping him off, getting the same hand gesture in return.

••••

The open sign was in the window as Eddie walks into the small store. He felt stares at him the second he arrived in town but he attempts to at least ignore them. Walking into the movie rental place he looks around and his eyes brows scrunch up in confusion when he sees that no one was there. Looking around for a few more seconds before shrugging and going to look at each VHS that was available. Running a hand through his hair as he finds a movie that catches his attention. Picking the tape up with Al Pacino he decides that 'Cruising' it is. He just hopes he doesn't get judged for putting it on the counter to rent. Though before he moves to the counter he catches Tim Curry's face and groans as he decides he mind as well. Go big or go home as he holds not only 'Cruising' but 'The Rocky Horror Show' in his hand moving to the front counter setting them down.

Seeing the bell he decides to continuously press it, his other hand moving to hold up his head as he waits very impatiently. He hears loud complaints from the back room and he grins when he recognizes the voices. "Hold your horses!" Steve's yelling as he walks out of the back room with a little bit of jelly on the side of his mouth. Robin is right behind him as Eddie shakes his head still not stopping. Personally wanting to annoy the two but also the dinging noise was giving him some enjoyment.

The two finally look at him as they move into their small little cut-offed area. Steve looks surprised the other was there but was holding a smile anyway. Robin was equally shocked but it quickly disappears when she moves taking the bell from the boy, who makes a noise of complaint immediately. "You're like a five-year-old - oh my god." Robin starts to tease him before the movies that were in front of her catch her attention. Eddie's going pale as he quickly snatched them and decides he changed his mind. He's just going to put them on the shelf with a pink face. Do the walk of shame.

Steve is oblivious as he looks confused not aware of the two movies. Though he catches the title and asks, "wait aren't those the two movies we almost had to take off the shelves because of what's her name?" He asks confused as he looks at Robin who's glaring at him to shut up but nodding her head. He catches the hint quickly zipping his lips still very unaware about what was going on and why Eddie was getting shy and flustered all of a sudden. He didn't even know what the movies were about.

Robins moving around the counter as she moves to grab another movie as she holds up the cover for 'Parting Glances.' moving in front of Eddie forcing him to stop in his tracks. "This is personally another movie I liked." She hums as she sets it on the tapes the boy was holding. Winking as she moves around the counter again as she moves to the computer already pulling up Eddie's account. "Ok hand them over." She hums as the boy does reluctantly. Steve looks at them before either of the two can stop him.

"Oh! Isn't this the movie you forced me to watch Robin?" He asks still not caught up with the situation that was happening in front of him. Robin makes a show of slapping her forehead.

"Yeah, you dingus. Now, will you go wipe the jelly off your face before I smack it off?" She says in a playful tone and the boy groans after looking at his reflection moving to the back room. Eddie's honestly going to have a heart attack. He moves a hand over his chest just to make sure if it did beat out of his chest he would catch it. Then the realization starts to hit him as he moves closer to the girl with a confused expression.

"Steve Harrington actually watched a gay movie and liked it?" He asks confused and very surprised. Every time he thought he knew something about the other, something would happen and everything would flip upside down and he's lost again.

Robin looks at him with a little bit of amusement. "Yeah, he did. Though we both prefer fast times or any David Bowie movie." She hums as Eddie catches onto her hints. He nods his head as he doesn't say anything else both of them letting the conversation die. What else were they both supposed to do? Though before he's able to say anything else he hears a loud crash from outside. Jumping a little he turns his head to see a group of people surrounding his van. Taking baseball bats to it and someone's even taking spray paint, writing something not nice onto it. His eyes go wide when he realizes that if they see him he was most likely free game.

He's not the only one to realize this, Robin does to. The other watches all of this too for a few seconds longer before she's quickly tugging the other to the back room. He's stumbling as he takes the movies in his hands after she forced them there. Poor Steve is sitting at the small table in the corner finishing his sandwich and looking very startled about Eddie being back there. Just looking at the Metalhead he could see he was close to some form of a panic attack.

"Steve you need to get Eddie out of here while I call the police. The whole town is destroying his van as we speak and I don't know how many of them have seen him come in here." She rambles out. Steve goes a little pale before he's dropping his sandwich and quickly moving to the back door. Eddie's like a rag doll moving from Robins's hand to Steve's who's now dragging him in the back parking lot shoving him in the back of his car. All of this is starting to become a blur for him as he just does whatever is asked of him.

"Make sure not to poke your head up above the window." He says quickly as Eddie nods his head and curls up into a ball in the backseat breathing heavily trying to calm himself down. He was very overwhelmed and close to a breakdown. Steve's in the driver's seat and they are moving away from the store and away from the public. He's swallowing down fear as he lets Steve take him somewhere safe. He's having horrible flashbacks to when he was on the run and he's not enjoying them one bit. Though he's so completely unaware of his surroundings and lost in his head he doesn't even realize that Steve's now in the back with him forcing his yellow sweater over his head to cover his clothing.

Hopefully, no one would think it was him. It wasn't much of disguise, but hopefully it would work in their favor. Everyone wouldn't be expecting Eddie Munson to be wearing a bright yellow sweater. He then moves to grab one of his old baseball caps and forces it onto the others head. After taking the other in one more time he pulls the other out of his car and into his house. Everything was happening so fast that Eddie wasn't really able to process everything that was happening. All he knew was that he was being shoved down onto a couch with a equally freaked out Steve who's moving back to his door to lock it.

2 notes · View notes

jqyszn · 10 months

Text

Like what you see?💤

paring: dom!bestfriend!sunghoon x sub!fem!reader

genre: smut, friends to lovers (mdni !!)

summary: in which you come home to find your best friend getting off, weird but it's natural right? not until you heard him calling out for you.

warnings: smut ofc, masturbating, unprotected sex (don’t be a prick, wrap your dick!!) , panty stealing… riding, body worship, fingering, biting, degradation, spitting, marking, squirting, profanity, dirty talk, pet names (slut, cum dump, princess), breeding kink, sunghoon is a perv,, this is honestly just pure filth too😭 (Imk if i missed anything!!)

wc: 1.5k (1,597)

a/n: this is my first fic (😭) i apologize in advance for the cringe wattpad like writing,, also english isn’t my first language so please ignore any grammar mistakes <3 i hope u guys enjoy and im so sorry for the wait like i don’t know why it took me like three weeks to make a 1.5k fic😭😭😭 i promise for my other works they will be more hastily written🩷🩷

taglist: @lelelelelelenim @iamkali @jjonghoonist @ramenoil @deobitifull @velathaheigeros @enhaz1 @thinaswreck @heeseungsslutt @cherriruto @yohanabanana @hvnyujiq @fightqueen @parkhonnie (some of the tags aren’t working so i’m so deeply sorry for everyone who asked and isn’t here </3)

“can i come over?” you read the writing on your phone as you best friend sunghoon messaged you. “yea, sure :) i’m still at work though but you have the extra key anyway.” you replied to him putting down your phone and typing away at your computer. your phone buzzes once again but desperate to rest, you ignore it and continue working.

on the other hand, sunghoon is at your door in a heartbeat. he unlocks the door with ease, walking in, the smell of you instantly hitting him. he inhaled your lingering scent as he closes his eyes imagining him nuzzling into your neck, pounding into you, taking in the smell of your natural perfume. “fuck.” sunghoon groans as his cock starts to feel heavy.

he makes his way towards your room, your scent growing more intense as he groans internally. “what are you doing to me y/n?” he thinks about his morals for a minute before diving into your laundry basket, picking up a used lace thong. he curses at himself but he doesn’t stop. instead he goes on your bed and propped himself up nice and pretty.

he holds your panty in his left hand bringing it closer to his face as he takes a fat whiff of you as he threw his head back. his other hand starts palming his refined boner as he continues sniffing at your undergarment. he pulls down his sweats down to his knees along with his boxers, freeing his hardened member. “oh god..” he grunts as he drapes your thong over his leaking, pink tip. staining it with his glossy precum.

unbeknownst to him, you’re already back home taking off you heels. “hoon?” you call out neatly tucking away your shoes as you make your way to your room. “fuck yes y/n, you’re taking my cock in so good~” did you hear that right? you stopped in your tracks thinking there must be someone else in your room. scared, you peep your head in your doorway, looking ahead into your room.

and to your surprise, it’s sunghoon. pumping his cock furiously, his eyebrows furrowed, lip bitten, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead and your thong over his length. fuck he looked so hot. you always had a thing for sunghoon but not wanting to ruin your friendship, you kept it to yourself and your trusted diary. you can’t help but clamp your legs together, almost moaning at the sight.

you decided to test your faith, so you walked over infront of your bed. “shit y/n! your pussy is so fucking tight princess!” sunghoon whimpers out, he opens his eyes only to see you. standing infront of him, arms crossed and face flushed with a crimson tone. “like what you see doll?” sunghoon smirks not showing one bit of embarrassment. instead, a sense of pride.

“i.. uhm..” you stutter shocked by the lack of embarrassment he showed on his face. “you love it huh? watching your best friend fuck himself with your skimpy thong? huh? look at you. i bet you’re all soaking wet from watching me pump my cock for you isn’t that right, slut?” he whispered, walked over to you, leaning down into your ear moaning playfully as he nibble on your earlobe.

“ahh.. hoon..” you whimper at his words, his hands trailing up and down your body stopping where you wanted him the most. “shit. no panties? do you really are just a slutty whore aren’t you? practically begging any man to cream your pussy right? you better fucking stop. because this tight, wet, creamy cunt is all mine. understood?” he degrades as he slaps your warmth, making you jerk forward as you nod your head in response.

“use your words doll. you know i hate stupid little whores.” he orders rubbing circles into your clit making you moan and clinging onto sunghoon’s broad shoulders. “you’re gonna let me breed your sopping pussy yeah? fill you up with my babies to show everyone who you belong to right?” he mutters over your neck, sucking and biting marks all over your neck. “yes hoon.. i’m all yours.” you finally managed to moan out.

“good girl.. now come here.” sunghoon ordered as he picked you up effortlessly, slamming you down on his lap earning a yelp from you. “may i?” he asks for your consent before stripping you to which you consented. “oh fuck doll, you’re gorgeous.” sunghoon admires your soft skin, rolling his fingers over your nipples licking his lips. “feels good hoon~” you whine out bucking your hips into his. “i know pretty girl..” he coos a finger teasing at your wet hole, him waiting for a reaction.

“hoon please.. i want you.” you whimper grinding on his fingers as he smiles in satisfaction. “beg for it then. tell me how much you want me to fuck you dumb.” he grins looking down at you and watching your face contort from the feeling of his long and slender fingers sliding into your core. “i want you to fuck me until i can’t walk anymore.. i need your cum in me hoon. i need it so so bad!” you squeal at the sensation of his fingers going in and out of my sopping cunt. wet, gushing sounds reverberating around the room. “good girl..” he grunts, speeding up his pace.

you feel a familiar knot in your abdomen, panting uncontrollably as you arch your back, “fuck hoon i’m close..!” you whimper, him smirking back at your call as he continues to finger you in the ‘come here’ motion. “cum for me then slut.” he commands as you release on his fingers. the sight was so dirty, your squirt soaking his fingers and your sheets, his mouth sucking your juices off you and you arching your back, your mouth forming an ‘o’ shape.

“fuck,, you’re such a slut huh?” he teases, pulling his digits out of you and shoves them in your mouth. “now suck.” he commands, to which you obey. swirling your tongue around his fingers coating them in your saliva. his cock twitches at the sight, sunghoon wanted to absolute ruin you.

sunghoon sat comfortably on the bed patting his bare thighs, “come here.” he commanded, smirking at you. “what are you waiting for? is it because i’m not heeseung?” he gritted his teeth, the flashback of you giving heeseung a lap dance engraved in his mind wishing it was him you were grinding all up on. “no.. it’s not that” you mutter out quietly, crawling to sunghoon straddling him.

“what is it then? hm?” he caressed your thighs softly, looking at you expectantly. “it’s just.. i’ve been waiting for this since we became friends hoon..” you ground your hips down on his throbbing length, smiling at him softly. His eyes darkened at your words as he tightened his grip on your hips, pushing you down onto his lap roughly, feeling your wet pussy sliding along his engorged cock. "oh is that so? enjoying yourself aren’t you?" he smirked at you once again.

He grabs you by the hair and pulls your face close to his, thrusting his tongue into your mouth, kissing you with a deep passion as his cock twitches against your slick hot cunt. you kiss him back passionately moaning into the kiss. “trust me doll, you’re gonna forget who heeseung even is after i fuck you dumb.” he growls as he grabbed onto your hips pulling you towards himself forcefully slamming his cock deep inside your tiny hole stretching it wide "fuck... yes.... fuck..!" he grunts.

“you’re so fucking big hoon~!” you whine out watching him slowly thrust in and out of you. “i know doll, i know.” he replies cockily while grunts he slams himself against you harder, grabbing your breasts roughly and squeezing them, feeling your nipples get rock hard under his fingers as he continued to slam into you, using you like a toy as he pounded you relentlessly. you moan his name like a mantra, completely fucked out.

“yeah that’s it. moan my name like a whore. you’re all mine understand?” he glared at you waiting for your answer. “yes hoon! i’m all yours!” you pant out, bouncing up and down on his girthy cock, your cunt convulsing around his length. he smirked proudly, thrusting himself deeper inside you until he was buried completely within you. "that's right, doll. cum all over my fucking dick." He whispered huskily, grabbing onto your hips tightly as he began pounding away at you mercilessly, driving you crazy with desire.

“shit hoon i’m cumming!” you scream, feeling yourself come undone. a thick, creamy gloss ring coats the base of his dick, dripping down onto his thighs. “can i cum in you doll?” he asks for permission as you nod your head, “yes yes yes! cum in me sunghoon! i want your load in me so bad!” you beg, your body shaking from the stimulation your yet receiving.

“so fucking good, all wet and creamy all just for me.” he grunts as he finally shoots his milky, thick load inside of you. guiding your hips as he rides out his high. he pulls out of you, you whining at the emptiness. “look. watch my seed drip out of you.” he orders as you watch his gooey cum trickle from your well fucked hole down onto the sheets.

“are you gonna give me aftercare or are you gonna be a dickhead?” you cocked an eyebrow

“only if you be mine forever.” he smirked jokingly, getting towels to clean you off.

“i’ve always been yours.”

#enhypen #enhypen smut #sunghoon #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon #park sunghoon smut #smut #enhypen hard hours #sunghoon fic #kpop smut

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alphabetboyluvr · 11 months

Text

once the thrill expires | jjk

title credit: cardigan - taylor swift

pairing: college!jungkook x female reader

synopsis:

your housemate-turned-fwb takes another girl home after a night out

warnings: angsty, smutty turmoil. it's not that bad, but it definitely isn't a happy lil number. fingering, oral sex (f receiving), rimming (f receiving), vaginal sex, doggy, protected (!!) sex, lil spanks, jaykay sorta makes out with her ear???, jaykay is a fawk boy who needs to learn self-control, oc is holding out for something that'll never happen, multiple partners in one night (jk), jk calls the reader diz (dizzy)

wordcount: 5.8K

note from holly: virgo boy trauma for you in the form of a jk one shot lmao. it's rare you get virgo boy shit laid this bare but he he i love oversharing on the internet! there's an old paragraph from yet another virgo boy fic hidden in here, too so if you think it looks familiar, that'll be why!!

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

The knock on your en-suite bathroom door comes as a surprise.

The subsequent twist of the lock mechanism from a coin wedged in the bolt on the other side does not.

There’s only one person it would be.

And so you don’t yell. Don’t tell him to go away, even if you do hug your legs into your chest a little tighter.

Sitting on the floor of your shower, dignity is preserved - but with skin as red as the flags that Jungkook freely hands you, and mascara staining your cheeks from the onslaught of piping hot water showering down on you, how dignified can you really be?

No words are spoken as the steam billows from the room, Jungkook not caring to shut the door behind himself. He takes a perch on the closed lid of the toilet, elbows to his knees, tattooed hands clasped beneath his chin. Refuses to look anywhere other than you.

There’s perplexion to his taut jaw - a frown embedded in his brows - but more than anything, there’s an overwhelming sense of confusion in his soft eyes. You’re unaware of the way he’s mirroring your expression back at you; how defeated you look, wet hair sticking to the side of your face, an emptiness in your gaze that is pale in comparison to the void in your chest.

With nothing but the pitter-patter of your shower to fill the space, you’re thankful that he can’t hear the way your heart is beating, or how you’re sniffing back the tears you were freely crying before he arrived.

“Jem messaged me,” he eventually says, quiet beneath the sound of the water. Leaning back, he wipes a palm over his face, then pushes it back into his dishevelled hair. Lets his hand fall between his legs, then shrugs as he looks at you as if to say, 'Don’t look at me like that' or 'It’s not my fault.'

And realistically, you know that it isn’t. Whatever he’s done is within the parameters of what was agreed upon. The way you feel - like Jungkook has stolen the moon and stopped the tides from turning - is not.

It’s not like either of you had ever expected to let things get this far, and definitely not for this long.

What had started as quiet kisses in the corners of clubs when your friends weren’t looking, had catapulted into drunken hook-ups after those aforementioned nights out.

He’d call you Dizzy, ‘cause he was convinced you looked at him like you’d been spinning in circles, all awe-struck and smiley. Pretty. Like a giggle was on the tip of your tongue at all times.

Was easy, back then. Convenient. He was newly single. Not looking for anything.

You’d been quietly harbouring an illicit crush on him from the day you moved into your shared university accommodation. Had been waiting for the stars to align - and once they had, you were certain that soulmates had to exist.

It’s the only way you can explain the small earthquake that happened half the world away at the very time you first met, the tectonic plates shifting to make sure you were perfectly presented to one another.

You didn’t feel the tremors - would have been impossible - but your heart certainly felt something. Adrenaline? Limerence? You’re not sure.

Whatever it was only became more and more prevalent with every tipsy hold of his hand on the way to clubs, or moments stolen in secrecy in the house you now share with six of your friends.

Now in your final year of university, if you spent as much time studying, as you do fretting over Jungkook - what he’s up to, who he’s with - maybe you’d get a first-class degree.

You’re on track for a 2:1.

He’s on track for a first, though.

You choose to believe it’s because he’s naturally more academically inclined (as if you didn’t write an entire paper for him last semester), and not because he spends significantly less time thinking about you.

There’s no need for endless thoughts, though.

The arrangement is simple: You’re friends.

Best friends. Spend all your time together. Are plus ones to events. Fill the void that a partner should fill; at the winter balls, cinema screenings you don't want to see alone, and in the hushed privacy of midnight intimacy. He gets you off when you need it, and you him.

Kisses are never shared between lips - apart from that one summer when he accidentally said he was in love with you, then took it back a week later under the guise of not wanting to ‘ruin’ the friendship.

You don’t speak about that summer.

Hook-ups are in your room, always, ‘cause you’ve only got Jem in the room next door. Jungkook’s room is up on the middle floor, surrounded by all the boys. They’d realise what’s going on far too quickly.

It’s simple - yet excruciatingly complicated when there’s a lack of commitment, and Jungkook looks at you in the way that he does.

His lips are a little deeper than their usual pink this evening, but you put it down to alcohol.

Denial is a wonderful thing, and delusion even greater.

Still, he leans forward to push the shower door open. Leans further still, then knocks the tap off. Lets the water trickle down the drain, the hum of the pipes murmuring like your unspoken grievances.

Rivulets of water chase down your skin. Jungkook watches one race from your knee to your ankle, running straight over the bruises from messy nights out and the small cut at the bottom of your calf from the fountain you’d both traipsed through when you were a little too merry a few nights prior.

He’d given you a piggyback the entire way home, blood staining the white of his shirt; the very essence of you embedded now in the fabric of him.

He’d patched you up after you got home. Showered with you, right here, then carried you the measly five or six steps to your bed. Had told you that you’d definitely get sepsis and die. Kissed it better, then decided he didn’t know any better, and trailed his lips up your leg. Took pity on your impending death and gave you a little, lovely death just to soften the blow.

Funny, how you think sepsis would be preferable over whatever the fuck it is that you’re feeling now.

“Jem messaged me,” he repeats. Presses his lips together, the ring in the corner of his mouth glistening under the white lights of the bathroom. “Said I should check on you. Been in the shower for an hour, apparently.”

Well, you think to yourself, bitterness wrapping around your words like poison ivy. You’ve checked. You can go now.

The words don’t manifest in your throat. Nothing does. Not even the echo of a sob you’ve been holding in since he first stepped foot within your sanctuary.

Instead you’re silent as you get to your feet, not caring for your nakedness. It’s nothing Jungkook hasn’t seen before. Probably knows your body better than his own at this point. Can look at the faded bruise on your chest and know that it was left there by his lips last week. Can pick out which ones of your dainty linework tattoos were there before he met you, and which ones have been acquired since.

It’s a quiet intimacy, the way Jungkook looks at you. There’s no towel in the bathroom - an oversight by your tipsy brain when deciding you needed to wash yourself clean of the man in front of you after arriving home from the club - and Jungkook doesn’t care to offer you one.

Insanity is the product of looking at your body, he thinks. Can’t remember a time he’s ever seen you like this and hasn’t wanted to be inside you. He’s a simple man in pursuit of simple pleasures, and the way you fit him like a glove is the simplest pleasure of them all.

“Hm?” He questions your lack of a response.

His deep black eyes are just like the depths of the ocean floor, and it feels like he’s dragging you right down every single time he looks at you like this. Softly. Tenderly. Sweetly. As if he actually gives a shit.

There’s no room for two in this bathroom. It’s not a space designed to be shared, no matter how many times you’ve both squeezed into the shower under far different circumstances - though now you come to think of it, perhaps they weren’t so dissimilar.

It was always Jungkook’s pursuit of pleasure that put you in that position, just like it put you there tonight.

“Hey,” he says quietly, as you turn to leave, his grip on your waist pulling you between his legs. You don’t look at him. Just keep your head turned to face out of the room - but you make no attempt to leave. Especially when his nose brushes up against the bottom of your ribs right between your breasts, and he husks, “Why are you being like this?”

The softness of his lips as he presses them against your sternum, long lashes splayed across the top of his cheeks, has you spiralling. Kind of feels like he’s twisting a corkscrew through your heart. You know he’ll rip it right out - but maybe you’ll let him, if it means he’ll kiss the wound better.

“Hmm?” He hums. One of your hands rests on his shoulder, the other in his hair, and that’s how Jungkook knows he’s rectified the damage done for a short while. It’s like putting washi tape over holes punched in the walls - useless, and bound to fall off eventually, but ever so pretty in the meantime. Another washi-tape kiss is pressed to your skin, a little higher this time. “We had a good night, didn’t we?”

The tenderness of his voice rewrites the events of the evening. A good night.

Not one with tears, and jealousy, and arguments that people who claim to be just friends have no business having. A night shared together, perhaps, with no one else to intrude.

Didn’t we?

You so prefer this false chain of events - the one where he left the bar with you, and held your hand in the cab ride back just like he’d done in the cab ride there.

“Is she still here?”

He’s surprised that you’re mentioning it. Half-expected you to act like it never happened. Like she never happened. Is what you usually do, whenever he goes home with someone that isn’t you.

Still, he just continues to gently stroke your sides. Doesn’t present you with any sort of weakness.

“No.”

“Did you fuck her?”

There’s a little venom to your tone; the poison ivy around your thoughts sprouting now from your throat.

Her. Some inconsequential girl that neither of you will likely ever see again. Looked nothing like you, but a hell of a lot like his ex.

“No, Diz,” he softens the sternness of his tone with a name only he calls you. “I didn’t fuck her.”

You’ve no idea if this is a lie or not.

It’ll be accepted as truth for an hour. Maybe two. Just enough time for you to convince yourself that you’re the one he wants. That he couldn’t bear to fuck anyone else. That he sent her on her way after a kiss or awkward fumble, because he realised no one else could feel as good as you.

You’ll ignore the fact you know he’s here because Jem messaged him.

You’ll ignore the fact he thinks you’ve been in the shower for over an hour, and has no actual knowledge of the events of it all.

You’ll ignore the scratch mark on his back, and in the morning you’ll believe it was you who left there even though your nails are bitten right down.

The lies you’ll tell yourself will be far more grand than the ones Jungkook ever tells you. Nobody can ever hurt you quite like you hurt yourself.

And so, against your better judgement, you let him follow you to your bed.

There's a clang as he tosses his rings down into the ceramic dish beside your bed. It's white, and speckled in tiny black dots, and matches the one Jungkook has in his own bedroom. Not really a surprise. He was the one who bought it for you. Before then, he used to just tuck his rings beneath your pillows - but he kept losing them, and he found it annoying having to rummage around for them whenever he was trying to make a silent exit so as to not wake you.

You tell yourself that small things like this are Jungkook's way of integrating himself into your life; creating permanence. In reality, it's just something that makes it easier for him to leave.

Leaving is the last thing on your mind right now, though, and it will be until he comes.

It used to be different. He used to stay. You convince yourself each and every time that he’ll do what he used to do before things got so confusing. That he’ll stay, and that things will be okay.

You let him kiss your skin, but he’ll never kiss your lips. Let him lay claim to your body, even though you know he’ll never lay claim to your soul.

It’s nice to pretend.

Nice, when he lays you down and rids himself of his shirt. Nice, when he presses your legs apart, and looks at you like you’re the first woman he’s ever laid eyes upon. Nice, when he says shit like, “Such a nice cunt,” and “Let me make you feel good.”

So nice, when he strokes up and down your inner thigh, eyes trained on your pussy.

So, so nice when he slowly drips a little spit between his pursed lips and watches as it trails down your folds.

So fucking nice, when he spreads you with his index and middle finger, groaning at the sight of you.

See, Jungkook can be nice. Can be honest. Can tell you how much he wants you, and you can believe him without having to do mental gymnastics over it all.

As he sinks his middle finger into you - “Shit. So wet for me, aren’t you?” - Jungkook is on his best behaviour. He’ll make you feel so good that you’ll forget he ever made you feel bad, cause he needs this. Needs you.

Not in the life-debilitating, earth-shattering, universe-bending way that you need him, but in a way that isn’t too dissimilar.

You’re his best friend. He loves you in his own, curious way. Would lay his life on the line for you. Just can’t seem to keep his dick in his pants for no other reason than selfish gluttony.

It’s his fatal flaw, but he just thinks everyone has them. That most people are like this.

Of the seven deadly sins, Jungkook wields them all. Too proud to admit his wrongdoings. Greedy in his need to have everything life can offer, and how he refuses to limit himself to just you. His lust and gluttony go hand in hand - yet whenever any one else with similar predispositions look in your direction, he turns green with envy. Green, until he’s red, wrath taking hold.

But he’s lazy, too. Far too settled in how easy it is to have his way with you. Why would he try harder when you never make him?

That’s your cardinal sin: desperation.

It reeks. Spiced vanilla and black cherry. Tarnishes your skin, until Jungkook licks it from you.

And so as his lips press down your legs, wet and wanting, you don’t object. In fact, you don’t really do anything. You just allow it to happen.

Because you are desperate - for him, his approval, his desire. His heart.

You’ll never get it, mind you, for his heart is hollow.

Saw every example of what he considered to be true love crackle and crumble until it fell apart. Parents divorced. High-school sweetheart cheated. Love, as you know it, doesn’t exist in Jungkook’s understanding of life.

You never stood a chance. Not really.

The only times his heart is full is when he steals enough adoration from yours, and cosplays it as his own. Shines it back at you, and tricks you into thinking that maybe he did mean it when he mumbled false declarations into your lips.

But that was three summers ago, now, and Jungkook is a creature of habit. Too stuck in his ways to ever change. Comfortable in this chaos with you.

‘Cause while the other girls are fleeting, and fun, and always very nice, they’re never comfortable. Not like you are.

“I liked your dress tonight,” he whispers, as he pushes a second finger into you. Pumps them gently, palm skywards, coaxing soft little moans from your lips. Curls them just right, just like he always does.

The affection of such a compliment rids you of the haunting way he’d looked at you earlier that evening.

Up, down. No smile. Turned away to change the song coming through the aux at pre-drinks. Didn’t look at you again until he was passing out shots for everyone to take. Just nodded towards your necklace - the one his hobbyist silversmith mother made you for Christmas - and asked, “You like it?”

The pendant is small. Embossed with the letters DJ - the name his mother collectively calls you whenever you spend the summer together at his place. The hammered edge of the pendant matches the ring that wraps around your thumb. Another one of her creations, gifted to you by him for your birthday.

“Of course I do,” you’d said. Seemed silly for him to ask. You wear it most days.

“Good,” he’d nodded, then took his shot and pretended as if he wasn't all too aware that your dress would be attracting good-for-nothing men all night.

See, Jungkook knows you like the necklace. Had just been reminding you of it, and the fact it’s his initial on there with the initial only he calls you. Well, him and his mother. Goes with the territory.

She’s seen you through your formative years. Only ever sees the good parts, because Jungkook orchestrates it that way.

She doesn’t see the moments like these, when he’s crushed your self esteem and tries to fix it in the most idiotic of ways.

The necklace pools around the base of your throat as your head tips back into the pillows, his thumb coming to toy with your clit, gently pressing down.

“Shush, Diz,” he smiles, so pleased to see your body responding in the way that it always does. “You’ll get us in trouble.”

God forbid the people you live with - who’ve all heard the arguments after his illicit encounters with randomers, and seen his face of thunder whenever you’re getting ready for first dates - ever figure out you’re fucking. Not like it’s obvious in the slightest. Not why Jem texted Jungkook, instead of checking on you herself.

Biting onto your wrist, you try and stifle the impact of his touch - ‘cause if they do hear, it will be your fault. You’ll be the reason everyone knows your dirty little secrets. You’ll be the one who ruins it all. Not him. Just you.

He doesn’t mean to condition you in such a way. Doesn’t even really realise he’s doing it.

Nor do you - but your self esteem is shot to shit. You’re good enough to fuck, but not good enough to love, even if Jungkook insists that there’s no one he adores more. It always comes with an add-on of ‘you’re my best friend’, or ‘you wouldn’t wanna date me anyways’.

Maybe he’s right.

But maybe it would have been nice to try.

Shame.

The pace of Jungkook’s fingers pumping into you begins to slow. Leaking around the base of his knuckles, you’re just as wet as you always are with him. Even when the emotional labour of letting him have his way with you feels like a ten tonne weight on your chest, crushing down on your ribs and spoiling you forevermore, your body still wants him. Only him. Always him.

Withdrawing his fingers, Jungkook taps the outer side of your thigh. “On your front for me, Diz. Face down, ass up.”

With anyone else, Jungkook is far more often on the receiving end. It’s a shame, ‘cause his talents go to waste, it’s just what he’s found to be typical of random hook-ups.

He loves pussy. Loves eating it. Loves that you love it, too.

Slow as he spreads your ass with his hands, Jungkook really doesn’t fuck around with wasting time. He dives in without hesitation, burying his tongue between your folds. Cares not for accuracy, nor carefulness. Just wants his tongue all over you.

Your body lurches forward, hands clutching onto the duvet beneath you. He’s always been like this. Hungry. Just as desperate as you so often feel, but better at hiding it than you are.

His tongue laps against you. Sinks into your soaked hole as deep as he can get it. Uses one of his hands to reach around and toy with your clit while he continues to explore somewhere he knows like the back of his hand.

Pulling back a little, Jungkook’s breathing is heavy. You can hear it. Groan, as he grips your ass again. Spanks it softly, then get back to his previous position. Licks a stripe from your clit up to your leaking cunt, then continues. Flicks up against the tight muscle you rarely let him fuck around with.

But you want him to want you. Want him to have you in whichever capacity he so desires.

You reach back. Tangle a hand in his hair, and encourage him to massage your tight hole with his tongue, like you know he loves to do.

It’s kinda cute, in a way. He likes doing it, ‘cause he loves the way it feels whenever your tongue toys with his ass. Assumes other people must love it too. Just wants you to feel good. Wants to right his earlier wrongs.

He continues to trace up and down both your holes, stimulating your entire body in the process. Rubs your clit with his fingers, till you're writhing against the sheets, body pressed flat to the cotton as Jungkook begins to fuck his fingers into your again.

“You gonna cum for me?” He husks, a smile on his wet lips as he watches the tell-tale sign of an orgasm rush over you. Soon, you’ll be looking at him with dizzy eyes once more, and your namesake will make Jungkook feel things he pretends he can’t feel. “That’s it, Diz. All over my fingers. Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.”

There’s a relief that comes with your orgasm for Jungkook. Hope that you’ll stop being mardy with him. He doesn’t like it when you don’t like him. These days, he keeps making choices that make it hard for you to like him.

But you always like him - like him so much - in the comedown of a climax.

He doesn’t give you much time to recover. Wants to coax a second orgasm from you while he still can. Pulls you back into position - face down, ass up - and pushes down his sweats. Cock hard, there’s a small damp patch in his boxers from the precum he’s leaked for you. Lines himself up.

“Let me fuck you,” he begs before he pushes into you.

“Uh-uh,” you full forward a little, preventing him from doing what he so desperately wants to do. Turning to look over your shoulder, you shake your head. “Condom.”

He furrows his brows. Has the audacity to look fucking offended, as if he didn’t bring another girl back to the house you share.

You’re stupid, and you’re desperate, and you make all the wrong choices, but you aren’t naive. Not really. Your delusions and denial are always elevated away from reality, of which you like to think you have a firm grip on.

And so you simply say, “Don’t believe you didn’t fuck her.”

He doesn’t deny it. Shakes his head, not that you can see it. Just reaches to the shelf above your bed, and gets one from the pot you keep them tucked away in. Rarely ever use them. It’s a novelty, more than not, when you use them. Something to make him last a little longer.

It’s different today.

Today, it’s because you don’t know if his cock is fucking clean or not.

It should crush you, but it doesn’t.

Just a fact of life. Jungkook fucked someone else less than three hours ago. Came, probably. For someone else. Over someone else. Inside someone else.

But that desperation of yours is back once more. You want to be the reason why Jungkook loses his mind in temporary bliss. To be better. To be his last memory of the evening.

And so as Jungkook rolls the condom down his thick shaft, you position yourself perfectly for him. Whimper as the tip of his cock kisses your entrance. Whine, as he pushes inside you.

“That’s it,” he husks, gripping your ass cheeks to spread them nice and wide. Looking down to where your bodies meet, Jungkook is reminded of why he enjoys you so much. No one takes him so well. No one. He knows this. Doesn’t know why the fuck he ever feels the need to seek out anyone else. They’re never as good as this. “Fuck. That’s it, baby.”

Your hips roll back, ass bouncing in that hypnotic way he always swears will ruin him. His grip loosens to let you do the hard work, one of his hands stroking up your spine until it’s resting around the base of your throat.

Taking back a little control, he keeps your head pushed into the pillows. Grunts. “Take this cock so fuckin’ well, don’t you?”

The mumble you moan into the sheets isn’t enough for him. He always does this. Asserts control and then realises he actually kinda fuckin’ hates it. Fingers still wrapped around the base of your neck, Jungkook pulls you up.

Chest pressed to your back, Jungkook wastes no time locking you in place with an arm around the front of your waist. His cock continues to pump upwards into you, the movements a little subdued but by no means lacking.

The ridge of his thick head rubs up against your sweet spot. Gets you so fucking needy. Has your hand dipping to your clit to match the pressure.

And when you do? Oh, it’s heaven. You can’t help but whine - so Jungkook uses the hand that isn't on your waist to cover your mouth.

“You only get to cum if you’re quiet,” he tells you. “Be quiet for me, baby.”

But his hips are erratic. The sounds are lewd; skin on skin. It’s wet. Disgusting. Needy. Him, just as much as you. Sweat blossoms on his skin, keeping you both in this clammy haze of hedonism.

Catching his lips on your ear, Jungkook doesn’t care if he isn’t supposed to let kisses linger so close to your lips. Tongue wet, he intrudes. Licks the shell of your ear. Grazes his teeth on your lobe. Whispers, “You looked so pretty tonight,” then drags his tongue across your ear.

Cares not for precision nor accuracy, just the fact that this is an area of the body he doesn’t often explore, and that maybe he should do it more often, given how tightly your pussy is clamping around him.

There’s something about it - the obstruction of one of your senses likely to blame, sound distorted whenever his tongue licks against it - that makes you whine.

You can’t even really do that now. Are too muffled beneath his hand - until he pushes the two fingers that had been inside your pussy earlier into your mouth.

The taste is just the same as it always is whenever he does shit like this. Loves having you taste yourself. Experiencing what he experiences. Wants you to know exactly why he’s incapable of letting you go.

“Slutty little mouth,” he smirks against your ear. “Gonna finish in it.”

“Mhhm?” you mumble against the fingers you’re keeping wet and warm for him.

“Mhmm,” he replies. Presses a kiss to your temple, ‘cause he isn’t really thinking straight. Groans when your cunt clenches from the touch. “God, you want it, don’t you? Want it so bad. Wanna swallow my cum.”

Of course you do. You’ll take what he’ll give you.

Your mumble around his fingers isn’t enough. He wants to hear you say it. Frees your mouth of himself. Grips your chin between his forefinger and thumb. Turns you to face further over your shoulder.

He’s just gonna make you say it. Just make you say something lewd to get him a little closer. Just… Just gonna… Just...- Oh, fuck it. Your lips are just there, and they’re wet, and they’re pouty and - God, forgive me - perfect for him.

His eyes flitter between your eyes and your lips. Is aware you’re doing the same.

“Kook,” you whisper, as if you’re about to reprimand him.

“Please,” he begs. Thinks he needs this just as much as you do. Maybe even more so.

And so somewhere between the overwhelming acknowledgement that this is a catastrophic chain of events, and the promise of a happy ending (of which you know damn well will never reach fruition), you let him sink his lips into yours.

You’re pretty in war, and even prettier in defeat.

Jungkook thinks you’re prettiest when you’re all his.

You think that to be his is to accept an eternal loss.

The breath of his nose is heavy against your cheek as his lips press into yours, brows furrowed. The need for you to be lewd is abandoned, ‘cause Jungkook doesn’t even think he’ll last long enough for it. Thinks that nothing gets him closer than the flavour of your lips.

Hips still jerking up, the sound of his skin hitting your ass echoing around the room, Jungkook fucks himself into you until he can do it no longer. Pulls away. Rips off his condom. Tosses it to the floor. Gets you face down again. Wanks himself to the point of coming undone, hot spurts of cum dripping onto your ass and spilling down to the valley of your spine.

He’s the one moaning now, your body defiled by a boy who you wish would paint you in pretty compliments instead. Still, this is a compliment. Kind of. You’re hot enough to make him cum. That’s nice, you suppose.

“Shit,” he chokes out, breathing all out of sync, heartbeat far too rapid. A light spank is tapped against your ass, then softly stroked. He soothes. Aloe on sunburn. Milk with hot sauce. Pretty kisses in the comedown of a rough fuck.

You won’t get those. Wasn’t a particularly rough fuck, either - and yet it hurts so much when he gets up to leave.

It’s awkward. He doesn’t really say bye. Doesn’t acknowledge the fact he stoked a fire inside you that burned you from the inside out. Ignores the ashes that are scattered around your vessel, as if your soul has been ejected from its home.

He’s warm, when you look at him. That little part of your heart has been stolen once more. He’s just feeding it back to you.

“Sorry,” he says, a hand on your doorknob. “I shouldn’t- I mean, we shouldn’t-”

“It’s fine,” you offer.

That’s the thing about Jungkook. He’ll give you the world, then realise it was never his to give. Always has to ask for it back. You’ve lost count of how many times he’s fucked you, then acted as if was foolish - only to repeat the same mistakes the next evening.

It’s what he’s always done, and is what he’ll always do.

You’ll never learn.

The shirt you chuck on to head downstairs the next morning is his.

Far too big for you, it finishes around your thighs. Television blaring in the room beneath you, it’s obvious your housemates are awake, and even as you’re trudging down the stairs, you’re not quite sure you’re alive.

The headache of an overbearing hangover is threatening your life. You’re certain of it. The fact your housemates have the television set to what must be the maximum volume? Only further sending you to an early grave.

And yet when you see Jungkook sitting by the breakfast bar, hair in all different directions, a bowl of cereal in front of him, and smiling in the direction of whomever else is in the room, you find yourself smiling, too.

“Morning,” you say pleasantly as you walk into the kitchen, ready to flop your forehead down on Jungkook’s shoulder like you so often do.

Ready, until you notice the look in his eyes when he turns to face you.

Ready, until you glance in the direction of his previous smile.

Ready, until you see the girl who looks a lot like his ex-girlfriend and absolutely nothing like you leaning on the other side of the counter. Mug from your trip to Amsterdam together in her hands, and the shirt you got him for his birthday covering her body, she smiles.

You’re drowning.

“Oh,” you say, not looking at him. Only her. “I didn’t realise we had company.”

“Is she still here?”

“No.”

She’s awkward as she nods. “Sorry, hey. I crashed here last night - hope you don’t mind? It’s just you know what it’s like getting an uber at that time-”

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod. Smile. Jungkook thinks you look pretty - but of course he does. You look defeated. “Totally.”

“Did you fuck her?

“No, Diz. I didn't fuck her.”

“Jungkook said you were feeling unwell last night?” She tries to make conversation. She needn’t. You feel far more unwell now than you ever did last night - and that’s before you notice the pretty purple bruise forming on her neck. “How are you feeling now?”

Her care is kind. Considerate. Wholly wasted on you because you’re gonna lie, and say that you’re fine, even though it feels as if your lungs have been filled with venom spat by a lover who is incapable of loving.

Still, you don’t look at Jungkook. Just make your excuses. Leave.

And even though he knows that he should, Jungkook doesn’t chase after you.

He lets you go, because he knows you’ll always come back. You always do.

But if you don't?

Well, he’ll go back to you, and you’ll let him. Again, you always do.

From the kitchen, Jungkook can hear your showering starting up. Appetite lost, he isn’t listening to the girl in front of him. Isn’t even really sure of her name.

All that he’s sure of is that the fall out of this is not gonna be pretty.

#jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk ff #jungkook masterlist #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook smut #bts fanfic #byholly #angst #smut #jungkook x y/n #fuckboy!jungkook #college!jungkook #college au

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loganlermanstanaccount · 10 months

Text

Rigor Mortis (part 5)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 4, Part 6

summary: You deal with the aftermath of last night. Lyla has a party.

warnings: very suggestive. mentions of sex, vulgar language, etc 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: this is so so so self indulgent i cannot express it enough. probably ooc asf: you've been warned.

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 8.5k (i'm on a strict plan and had a lot to get through lmfao)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

and they were good.

Eventually, you're bundled into your room in a fit of giggles and with shaky legs. Even in Miguel's hoodie, insisted upon by the man himself, the sheets feel a little colder after he leaves. Initially, he had collapsed on top of you; smothering you with the heat of his bare skin and the sweats that ride down his hips, dangerously low. You're pushing him off, or trying to, heavy and leaden-limbed. Whether it's the weight of that orgasm or the remnants of that blunt that turns your arms to jelly – you don't know.

Honestly, you don't think you care. He's resorted to laying his head on your chest in mock sleep – clearly still high as fuck – and stretching out on top like a housecat. He's warm on your lap; so you bring a hand to card through dark brown curls that rest on the flat of your sternum.

You'd never have known it: Miguel has a playful side, beneath all the sarcasm and red tape.

In the morning, he's gone - with only his hoodie as proof that something happened. For you, it's a hazy memory - warmth tinged in the lazy light of last night's high. It comes and goes like the tide on a quiet beach: remembering how he touched you, the feel of bare skin on bare skin, the way it burned when he kissed your shoulder….

And it's gone, again. You're left tracing the hickey at the base of your neck, and it aches . A little moment like that, fooling around like teenagers on prom night, and it shouldn't feel as intimate as it does. Groaning into your pillow, you burrow into the expanse of your roommate's hoodie. With a busy week incoming, you can't afford to be distracted – not like this.

And so, you bury the urge to knock on Miguel's door, and put your lips around the words that mean… more. You want more. It feels greedy to verbalise it, as if you've seen too much of him already. The irony; humping almost fully clothed and yet, feeling so bare. It leaves a strange taste in your mouth – blood, maybe. Maybe he's finally done it: stuck the knife between ribs to find out what colour you bleed. Miguel's a scientist after all; prone to making things go pop and snap , slicing into specimens with a steady hand.

It's too much, too close for comfort and you can't afford it: affection and intimacy in any shape or size was a fatal wound , especially after last time. Instead, you let the morning waves crash over its outline left in sand. A body – blood and gristle and guts – washed away by the tide.

You find yourself pushing down dangerous feelings. After finally getting comfortable with Miguel, all that progress seems for naught; bumbling around the apartment like a deer finding its legs. The first morning, you're spared a confrontation as he's already gone from the apartment. Earlier than usual, and you hand-wave away that little voice in your head that says: he's avoiding you .

He's not. He can't be. And you know it because he's able to look you in the eye. Briefly, but it's much longer than you can last. You have a whole conversation when he comes home and it only makes you want to rip out your eyeballs a little.

You're on the sofa, hands in your lap and antsy. There's a stupid soap on the TV, but you can barely concentrate; head too full of cotton to make sense of the screen. You're so lost in thought that when the door clicks open, you jump half a foot into the air.

"Shit." You turn, watching Miguel kick his shoes off at the door. Flashing him a nervous smile, you wave limply and turn around to cringe.

"Heeey," God. You burrow into the cushions.

"Hey." He's got a plastic bag in hand. He drops the rucksack on his back, and goes straight to the kitchen.

You call out. "Takeout's in the fridge."

He hums, and you hear clattering from the doorway. Turning, you watch; sleeves rolled up in a smart shirt. You can see the muscles in his back from here; the ripple of hard lines under cotton. Craning your head, you can't help but be curious.

"Stop sticking your nose in."

You're halfway off the couch, and stop dead in your tracks.

"M'not-"

He peeks out from the doorframe; catching you in the act.

"You're not allowed to look."

It leaves you spluttering, getting off the sofa like a spoilt child. He's telling you not to look, and like clockwork you're itching for it; padding towards the counters. Miguel must have superpowers the way he catches you, leant against the doorframe with his arms crossed across his broad chest. You're on your tiptoes and trying to get a glimpse into the kitchen. He shifts in the way, tight-lipped and shaking his head.

"Meant it. It's a surprise." You cock your head, like you can't believe what he's saying.

You step to the other side and he steps along with you, blocking your view.

"... Miguel ." You say it slowly, incredulous. You're stepping closer, ever so slightly, but he stays stony-faced and resolute.

For the first time in 24 hours, since you basically fucked him in the room next door, you're looking each other in the eye. Squinting, you hold his gaze but he barely cracks a smile.

"Sit down." He says it sternly, but his voice is soft. "Please."

With a flourish, you bring your hands up in surrender and inch back towards the couch. It's the usual chopping and thudding of cabinets being opened and closed. It takes everything not to look back, but you force yourself to concentrate on the TV.

Finally, he places a bowl in front of you before flopping to your side. He's still in his work clothes, adjusting the waistband of black slacks and popping off the buttons at the top of his shirt. You're trying not to stare, not to drool at the way he just melts ; sinking into the seats like a lolly on a hot sidewalk. When he brings his bowl closer, that's when you inspect the contents of yours.

"Is this…?" You start, and he hums; taking a healthy slurp of noodles in the process.

You shake your head to no one in particular. It's the very same instant ramen you've stopped buying, after constant complaints and lectures from the man himself. There's enough salt in here to banish a demon, he'd spit. In retaliation you'd bite back, saying, maybe you'll fuck off where you came from, and retreat to your room to eat in peace. It's your favourite flavour; perfectly salty and flavourful and definitely not good for you. In the broth, there's the milky white and yellow of an egg, with spring onions and fresh veg breaking the surface. Even before you've taken a bite, you feel that warmth at your chest, again.

He doesn't even look at you, pointing a finger at the screen instead.

"I thought Jenny was dead?"

You clear your throat of that lump, rising up like a fishing boat spit up by the waves.

"That was her twin sister, Jane."

"...I thought Jane was dead." He frowns.

"No, no, Jane faked her death in the mining accident; and ran off with all that inheritance money… were you paying attention last episode?"

"No, you watched it without me."

"Yeah, but you said you hated this show–"

" –only because it's a total rip-off of La Patrona ,"

"And yet, you're begging me not to watch without you–"

"Begging seems a little strong–"

He's kept his sharp tongue, and you're too occupied with arguing to notice the hand wrapped around the back of the sofa; how you're both inching closer until your legs come to rest on his own. You're focusing on his lips, drawn in by a pull that seems stronger than gravity.

He's saying your name, and you snap out of it. Blinking up at him, a deer in headlights, you remember yourself and look away. Tension pulls at the both of you, a string as thin as fishing wire that snaps with your realisation. You like the way he looks, flushed and flustered after a long day. You could make him feel even better, right now, if he wanted it. You'd drop to your knees and wrap a hand around his cock, pulling those beautiful sounds out of him – the very same ones you'd fucked yourself to the thought of, not so long ago.

If, being the key word. And with the way he shifts back, away from you, you're not too sure if last night was a flash in the pan or something more.

Everything about Miguel screams dangerous; flags in deep scarlet that are telling you to stay the fuck away. He doesn't commit, sleeps around; refusing to define or put a label on any significant relationship in his life. He won't even admit, say the words, that he's fucking a half-dozen girls right now; even when you've got concrete proof in the form of messy lips and banging on the walls. Okay, maybe half a dozen is a stretch; but three girls, on three separate, multiple, occasions for sure. Probably; you haven't technically seen anything but if the precision of last night was any indicator – the terrifying speed at which he made you fold like a lawn chair – he had significant experience. He was a fucking veteran; dedicated to the sport for the love of the game.

You find yourself caught in his web all the same; kicking yourself at your naivete. He's turned away now, seemingly unfazed, making little comments at the show you've got on TV. It's becoming increasingly clear where you stand: caught in a game of chicken with your roommate – a man with balls of steel, if last night was any indicator. You're ill equipped to deal with such levels of conflict avoidance, despite years of hands on experience.

The question remains, stuck in the gaps of your teeth like udon, thick and dense and chewy: how exactly does he feel about you? Where do you belong?

~~~

It's been quite the week and a half, mostly spent trying to make sense of Miguel. One minute you're at each other's throats, and the next, he's talking you through rate laws and kinetics equations. Apparently , you've got a lecturer he used to have, and he insists on sidling up to you on the dining table; prodding at your paper and liberally crossing out errors. His inconsistency has you irate ; and it means you get petty, picking fights and laying easy bait. Frustratingly enough, all it does is make that tension worse; thick and choking ; in your little apartment.

The only thing you have to look forward to is the party at Lyla's; of which you've volunteered to help set up. It means food, and drink, and a couple hours of respite, hopefully.

On the day, you get to Lyla's early. Miguel's at work, promising to be there in a couple of hours, and so you take the subway instead. Yet again, walking up to her apartment feels like another world – one of marble and faux fur and lots of animal print. When she lets you up, you're left with only your thoughts and the quiet hum of the elevator. In the mirrored wall, you take stock of your outfit: snug denim and a little shirt. Admittedly, your wardrobe felt a little lacking – jeans and a nice top being your go to. Right now, your only hope is that the dress code would be more forgiving.

The door swings open and Lyla's pushing you towards the living room, chattering away at a mile a minute. It's overwhelming as you're dragged into the light, half a dozen boxes and its miscellaneous contents strewn onto the floor.

"–and Jess has the nose of a bloodhound, so if anything seems even a little off, she'll know… "

You nod slowly as Lyla squeezes your arm with so much force, it cuts off blood supply.

"Like clockwork. We need this to run like clockwork."

Fingers numb, you watch as her features set; a wide smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes and shadow that cuts her face just so. Overcast and dramatic; simply put, it's terrifying.

There's a loud Pop! from behind, making you jump.

"... sorry !" Peter's voice rings out, and there’s a tangle of brown hair and dark eyes peeking over the kitchen island.

Walking over, you can see he's splayed out on the tiles, balloons littered all over the place. A balloon pump, long discarded, sits in its packet at barely an arm's length. More importantly, though, he's got a bundle of red hair and freckles in his arms; little May, sniffling and whining with what's left of a balloon between chubby fingers.

"Might need some help, over here…" He says it softly, rocking the little girl in his lap.

Lyla rolls up non-existent sleeves, face scrunched up in concentration. She closes her eyes ; fingers dancing as if typing on non-existent keys.

"...okay, okay, change of plans." She turns to you, eyes wrenched open and hands clasped together – Machievellian in nature. You suppose; with the sheer extent of her party planning skills, able to pull strings this way and that; it fits. "We've got exactly 3 hours and 23 minutes before everyone else arrives, plus about 17 minutes, give or take, before Jess does."

"How do you kno-" You start, but Peter presses a finger to his lips. She's in the zone, he seems to mouth.

“I need you and Pete to get these balloons done, and then we can set up the archway. I’ll call Ben, ask him where the fuck he is, and then we’ll see if we can get some banners and streamers up…. God , and the food…. think I need to threaten someone at the catering company, give me a sec,” She stalks off, muttering something that sounds important. Pete shrugs, kicking over a box of balloons; black, white and gold, a lot fancier than you had expected. May is eased off of his lap, and he presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head. She sniffles, holding her head up bravely. It's probably the cutest thing you’ve seen all year.

“I give her 5 minutes before she realises Miguel’s going to be late.”

“...and God help us when she does.” You finish for him, settling down on the cool marble.

You make a start on the balloons, opening the untouched packets and pulling out a shiny pump.

“How long have you known each other?” You busy your hands by stretching the neck of a deceptively small balloon.

“Oh, Lyla?” He frowns. “A couple of years, maybe. We met because of Miguel – same with Jess and Ben, actually.”

It's your turn to frown. Miguel was the glue? It’s a picture that doesn’t quite match up with the meet-cute that you were painting in your head. If they met because of your roommate, it must’ve been a contentious group project, or someone rear-ended in the parking lot, that brought them together: something with a lot of shouting and arguing, you decide.

Maybe Pete sees the surprise on your face, because he adds, “I’ve known Miguel for longer, though… and he’s a lot nicer than people give him credit for.”

“...I didn’t say he wasn’t.” Nice? Not a chance.

“But you were thinking it. Promise, once you get to know him–”

He’ll give you a mind-numbing orgasm and pretend it never happened. Or something like that.

“ –he gets less confusing?” You grumble. “I’ve seen enough, I think.”

“So maybe he’s a bit of a prick. But under that cold, stony exterior; buried deep, deep, deep…”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Deep down , somewhere, he’s got a heart.”

“I just,” You pause, choosing your next words more delicately. “I didn’t expect his friends to be like you guys. Fun and–” …a little batshit, and… “ – spontaneous. He’s so stoic sometimes, it’s worrying. Like, he’ll just blank out on the couch–”

“–frowning in the corner like the wall’s pissed him off personally? Yeah, I’ve seen that one a few times.”

“He’s just so hot and cold! Sometimes we’re good and almost friendly, and then all of a sudden he’s avoiding me at all costs, holed up somewhere. A-And then he’s making me breakfast, like that blip didn’t even happen… did I do something wrong? Has he said anything to you? I-I just want him to–”

The man besides you chuckles. And then, you flash him a violent look that has him flattening his features in a hurry.

“He just… takes some time to warm up, s’all. He’s changed – changing. I mean, we went to highschool together and I didn’t even realise ‘til we met again in college.”

“You went to highschool with him?”

“Yeah, but I was like, 2 grades ahead of him. We didn’t really talk except… we were both in this robotics club afterschool.”

“Robotics? Wires, and circuit boards, and–”

“ –robots. Honest-to-God, hand-on-heart, stupid little robots. And being teenagers with way too much time on our hands, we’d build ‘em, and then make ‘em fight to the death. Miguel… he took it way more serious than everyone else there. We’d mess around with goobers and battlebots – hell, sometimes we’d skip to get food. He was.. He was always there, though, hunkered down in the corner and tinkering away at something.”

“Now, I wasn’t popular in highschool, at all – I went to Robotics Club , so I think that about sums it up – but I remember… no-one could really understand him. Top of his class, always up for awards, but people thought he was a little weird. Come rain or shine, he’d always be in that corner seat with a screwdriver basically glued to his hand. And we didn’t have a clue what he was building.”

He seems wistful, thinking back to that time.

“When I finally asked him what it was, at the end of maybe… 2 semesters,” He smiles, one that deepens his dimples and brushes the corners of his eyes. “He finally told us. It was a… a fucking arena for all the stupid stuff we built. He’d really thought it through, too: all our equipment would get jumbled up, so he made little boxes and sections to separate them in. There was an LED pad he’d programmed to keep a scoreboard. It was made out of this… self-healing vinyl so we wouldn’t need to replace it too often. He got so excited when he was explaining it all; about how it folded up so we could bring it with us when we changed classrooms, and… honestly, I think they still have it there.”

He sighs. “I think that’s all he knows how to do, y’know. That’s the language he speaks, the only one he really understands. Taking care of people, giving them what they need. You’re barely friends with Miguel, then all of a sudden he’s giving you hangover cures cooked up in his kitchen, and cussing you out in the morning, ‘cus you went a little too ham after a breakup. Or…he’s bringing pizza to your apartment at 3 in the morning, ‘cus he knew you were lying about being okay after your Uncle’s funeral.”

He’s got a faraway look in his eyes, an absentminded hand in May’s. Her stubby fingers curl around his, and then he’s back, snapped out of that distant daydream.

“Give it time. He’s been through some shit. Miguel’s got layers, like–”

“Like an onion?” You offer, weakly.

“No, no. Like one of those cheese wheel things that May likes so much. With.. with the wrapper and the waxy red stuff on the..?” He handwaves it away. “Forget it. MJ knows what they’re called.”

~~~

You put your back into helping set up. You don't quite get the theme, but Lyla explains it all whilst you hang the contents of those boxes on the wall: a maximalist, hedonistic mish-mash of food, drink and decor. She wants it to feel like if Gatsby three raves, and actually fucked that sad twink – whatever that means. The visual representation of an orgasm, but classy, she says. More, more, more; and if your back doesn't hurt by the end of it, then it's not enough.

She's got you hauling ass across her front room, draping fabric and moving furniture like it's your job. Ben arrives and between the four of you (five, if you include May clambering on decor), it's all done. You can't help but think she's done a great job: the whole room decked out to look like the cover of an expensive wedding in Vogue – excessive but in a way that's only classy when rich people hire someone else to do it. Lush fabric in lieu of streamers draped on the walls, balloons sculpted into arches and tastefully dotted around the floor. The theme is black and white, with hints of gold, and gentle strings of pearl hang from ceilings and walls. It looks good, because it has to; Lyla's made you move everything around about a million times.

Gleefully, she rubs her hands together, turning to all of you. "Food's going to be here in 10, I think. You guys get changed and I'll double check when Miguel's bringing the cake."

Peter and Ben disperse into various rooms – with Peter noticeably rubbing his back, May on his arm. You're left with Lyla, awkwardly looking towards her for guidance.

"...get changed?" You look down at your woefully casual outfit. It seems you've come completely unprepared.

"Yep. Miggy didn't tell you about the dress code?"

…it's becoming increasingly difficult to cut your roommate some slack. With everything that's happened, rather conveniently, he's neglected to make any mention of a dress code.

Sheepishly, you start, "I didn't know, shit –"

Lyla cuts you off and brings a hand up to silence you. Bouncing on her toes, she's almost giddy with excitement.

"I know exactly what you can wear!"

She leads you upstairs to her room. You perch on her bed; and whilst you grapple with the fact that she even has an upstairs, you lose her in the deep depths of a walk-in. Lyla rummages through almost cartoonishly; wading through fur and leather and giant coats like an explorer hacking through dense forest. Eventually, she resurfaces, waving a bundle of white fabric. She hands it to you with a grin.

She gives you some room, pushing you through the double doors of her closet to get changed. The dress feels amazing on: well-made, thick fabric and endlessly snug in all the right places. In the mirror, you marvel at how such a simple garment transforms you: a silky slip that stops about mid thigh, draped beautifully on your shoulders, and hugging your hips like a glove. There's a little slit at the side that stops just a bit higher than you'd usually be comfortable with, but… it works. Incidentally, your makeup and hair compliments the look; soft and pretty and–

You hear a small gasp from behind the door. Lyla's got her head peeking out into the room, and then she's at your side with a gentle hand on your arm. She spins you around in front of the mirror.

"You look…" Her eyes light up, marvelling at you. " Gorgeous. You have to keep it."

"No, I can't… I won't . I was already underdressed, and this must have been expensive. I can't."

"No shit, of course it was expensive. But that's not a good enough reason… I barely wear it, and I've got more than enough clothes. Keep it ." She's smiling, head just over your shoulder in the mirror.

"It's not too much…?"

"Honestly, babe, it's not enough." She giggles. "D'you like it?"

It feels weird to look at yourself like this, dolled up and pretty – contrasting how you've felt in the past few months. It feels like you've been in survival mode; exhausted and perpetually tired. On, all the time, and sick with worry about one thing or the other. You've forgotten to take care of yourself, and as a result, this feels different.

Lyla notices: the way you stand up a little straighter and adjust your hair; the way you try your hardest to clamp down a smile. Do you like it? Slowly but surely, you nod.

"You're allowed to like it, y'know," She says, softly. "You look happy. You look good. "

You believe it, when she says it. You let that feeling carry you down the stairs; one hand on the railing and Lyla babbling away with an arm looped around yours.

~~~

Miguel is late – really late .

He was meant to be at Lyla'a about an hour and a half ago, which means he's rushing to get the cake. For once, at least that goes smoothly; and he picks up a little red velvet affair, piped to perfection and with " Happy 27th, Jess!" written on its face. It keeps him company on the way to the party, sitting snug on the passenger's seat as he drives more carefully than before. He figures it's better to be safe than sorry; already this late, there's no need to add cake smasher to the list.

The day's been draining, and he wants nothing more than to curl up in bed with his favourite podcast. He knows his friends like the back of his hand, and knows that when Lyla says a small celebration for Jess, just a house party ; what she means is going the whole 9 yards, an excess of food and drink and disgustingly expensive decor, all for the sake of a birthday. He's had a glimpse of the guest list, and recognises about half of the people there – Lyla's too friendly for her own good, he thinks. He'd tried to talk her out of it, knowing Jess would be more than up for a smaller dinner, but she had her mind set. And it's impressive, what she's no doubt managed to achieve in the past few weeks of meticulous planning.

Nevertheless, it's not something he has the energy for, right now. Work had been a slog; and he'd had a couple hours of lectures before a meeting with his thesis supervisor – where she had ripped his outline to shreds, frankly. He's still sore from that verbal lashing, but fears the one he'll get from Lyla more, if he doesn't come.

And… and there's you, headstrong and stubborn and insisting on attending; even though he had made it abundantly clear you were under no obligation to do so. It must be out of spite, he thinks. But with the dress code, he can't help but daydream as to what you'd look like; maybe, a pretty little dress on, hair done a bit different, and… ohhh fuck. He didn't tell you about the dress code.

He's gripping the steering wheel, annoyed at himself for such a little slip up. And it's not just the fact that he's forgotten; but he knows, considering the past few days, you might take it the wrong way. He's not stupid ; he knows he's been wishy-washy, all because it's hard to decide how he wants you or if he should. More than anything, he feels guilt; getting you high and oh-so close to fucking you, just the way you deserve, and then… he can't. It's hard to explain, and even harder for him to wrap his head around. That logical part of him screaming: you can't fuck your roommate without consequences. But he's already had a glance into Pandora's box, a taste of that sweet fruit – of temptation , strong and heady.

It's that taste left in his mouth, of something sweet, that lingers when he walks into the party. The door's open, but even from down the hallway he can feel it: the rattle and shake of pumping music. He squeezes himself in, dodging the mass of bodies packed into the main room. The lights are low, music loud and the celebration well underway. More than anything, he's hoping it's so busy he can just show his face for a bit, and then slip out.

He towers over other people, shuffling past, giving a nod or hello to all the people that slap his back and greet him. A scattered chorus of 'Hi' s and 'S'up, Miguel's, and then he's placing the cake on the counter, pushing past half-empty drinks and beer bottles. He snatches one up, looking around. He's watching for the furred collar that Lyla's no doubt wearing, or mousy brown in the neon lights; but with the pumping mass of bodies, he can't see much.

He's ready to check upstairs when the crowd parts, and he sees you ; swirling in the mass. It makes his chest bloom with heat; you're gorgeous, dressed in white like an angel and smiling in a way he's never seen before. And then, his heart stops as someone else comes into view: another man, somewhat taller than you. There's an arm wrapped around your waist, and the man dances up against you in a way that makes something cold and bitter flare up within him. Miguel stays glued to the spot, for some reason, unable to take his eyes off of you: illuminated in the light, beautiful and flowing like a spectre. And like nails on a chalkboard, all he can do is watch as you dance up against someone else.

His mouth goes dry, and then he's making a beeline for the double doors at the back; a glassy entrance to a balcony tucked away. The air is stifling in there, but when he's on the balcony, finally, he's able to breathe.

There's someone nursing a brightly coloured drink, in its corner. Jess, big hair braided back and a velvety red jumpsuit on. She turns at the clatter of the door opening, before bursting into a wide smile.

" Miguel!" She cheers, enveloping him in a hug.

"Hey," He smiles warmly, sinking into her arms. "Happy birthday, Jess."

"Thank you, kindly." She curtsies, producing a faux southern twang and laughing all the same. Then, she wags a finger at the man in front of her. "You're late . "

He rubs his temples. "I.. I know."

"Lyla's gonna fucking kill you. "

"I know."

She gives him a playful punch. "You okay, over there?"

He gives her a rueful smile. "Yeah, Jess. Of course. When am I ever not okay?"

"I've got a list, big guy, but we'll be here all day."

She laughs and Miguel glances over through the glass; drawn to you even now. The song's changed, a bass line that rattles the panes, and you're still glued to that guy . Just as quickly, he looks away.

With a front row view to that display, Jess raises an eyebrow. She follows his gaze, connecting the dots.

" Oh. " Her voice is gentle. "S'that her?"

" Her?" Miguel echoes.

" Her . Your roommate. The one Lyla says you're fucking."

"You and I both know– "

"Okay, okay, maybe she didn't say those exact words…. but there's something there, for sure."

"Not possible . " He says it plainly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

She leans against the railing, taking a careful sip of her drink.

"Xina says you're doing stupid shit to impress her. Peter says you're making heart eyes whenever she's in the room. Ben says– "

"Xina? What's she got to do with anything?" He's deflecting, Jess notes. Miguel, usually so quick with the sarcasm, and he's refusing to touch the other half of what she said.

"...you're tutoring half of her classmates."

He purses his lips. "Yeah, but I didn't think –"

"...you didn't think girls would talk?" She splutters. Of course it sounds stupid, when she puts it like that.

"Yeah, well, Xina's still not talking to me , so…" He trails off, shaking his head.

"It's almost as if you broke her heart into a million tiny pieces, Mig." She rolls her eyes. "Get your head out of your ass, man."

She turns to face the city and Miguel does the same, with a heavy sigh. It's quiet for a moment, with only the sound of cars below and dull thrum of speakers behind to keep them company. He's always liked this, he thinks. A moment of calm with Jess, the only sane person for miles around. They're able to sit in comfortable silence, in a half-minute that transcends words.

He reaches into his front pocket, pulling out a little parcel that's wrapped up in red paper. He nudges Jess, handing the present over.

"Happy birthday."

She smiles, tearing into the little package. Then she stops halfway, heart melting at what peeks through.

" Miguel… " She coos, a hand on his arm to steady herself. Out of the packing paper, she produces two little boots; red and blue and made of soft wool. "How did you…?"

"It wasn't obvious, but… sick in the mornings, switching to soda when we go out to a bar…" He allows himself a smile. "And I asked what's-his-face, just to be sure."

"See, I can't tell if you actually don't know my husband's name or–" She cuts herself off with watery laughter. "F-Forget it. Fuck, I'm gonna cry all this makeup off,"

He takes a sharp intake of air. "They were… mamá made them."

"Thank you, oh God . I know how much this–"

He cuts her off with a hand wave, as if to say; don't worry about it. "Sorry I couldn't come to the wedding. Your husband seems nice, and he treats you well. Although , he's kind of–"

" Corny . Yeah, we get that a lot." She's half laughing, half crying, fanning her face to stop her mascara from running.

He wraps a big arm around her, pulling Jess into his side. Happy tears, he hopes as she blubbers.

"I think m'getting too old for this… we don't see each other enough, lately… a-and I would've been happy with the dinner, then Lyla told me there was an emergency over here–"

"She did good. Really good. Don't tell her I said that, though."

She nods, bringing a finger to her lips with a smile. "And you don't tell the other's about…"

"Of course not. When you're ready, Jess."

"I love you, man." She grins wide, and Miguel returns it with one of his own; an increasingly rare megawatt smile. It quickly falls with her next words.

"If you ever tell anyone I said that, I'll break your kneecaps and blame it on the hormones."

She grabs his beer, opening it with her teeth, and hands it back to him. A little scared, Miguel takes a healthy swig.

"Oh, shit. " Jess exclaims, batting his arm. "I completely forgot. Lyla's got some stupid games on, upstairs."

"Who with?"

"The usual suspects, Mig – though Peter's long gone and… I don't even know where Ben goes, actually. But you can bring your girlfriend up, if you promise not to eyefuck her across the room."

" Gross , Jess."

She raises a hand up in surrender, leading the way back inside.

~~~

Miguel's here all of a sudden, and in a moment you thought would be more of a bang ; you lock eyes with him as Jess herds you upstairs. It's less of a sharp pain at the ribs and more of a crescendo; pooling warmth spreading to fingers and toes. He's still in his work clothes: crisp white shirt with a couple buttons undone, and black trousers. A little formal, and yet, he doesn't feel out of place; wearing the monochrome of the dress code, and looking twice as good as any man in the room. Somehow, you've forgotten how tall he is; lumbering over everyone else as he cuts between the crowd. He snakes behind you, giving you a strange look as you walk up the stairs. All of a sudden, you're weary of your dress, tugging down its hem as best you can. Miguel stays behind you, a gentle hand at the small of your back.

"You're okay," He whispers, sending shivers down your spine. " I've got you ."

He doesn't mean it like that , but it's too easy for you to close your eyes and imagine what it could be; words he kissed into skin when you're on top, struggling to take his length.

You ignore that coil tightening at the pit of your stomach, choosing instead to focus on Lyla stumbling through the door, trademark pink shades slipping down her nose. Behind her, there's a little sitting room; plush furniture and a massive tv – with quite a few consoles in the corner, you note. She shouts your name, barely audible over the music.

" – oh, and hi, Miguel!" She's too drunk to be mad, and you don't notice Miguel visibly relaxing. She takes your hand, calling over to Jess just behind you. "We saved you a mocktail, J."

Taking your seat, you settle down next to Lyla; perching with your legs crossed on the seat. Miguel sits some way away, on the opposite side of your makeshift circle, clearly trying not to make eye contact. Jess elbows him, and he turns to her, before having a heated argument; all hushed whispers and hand gestures. It's the most animated he's been in the past week, for sure…

"We're playing Never Have I Ever, Jess! Like back in college."

The woman in question rolls her eyes, giving a flash of pretty dimple. Back in college, Lyla says, when they'd drink cheap beer and spill their guts in dive bars – a tradition Jess wasn't too upset to see go. She didn't have the stomach for it then, and she doesn't now; but it probably wouldn't hurt to relive some of that fun.

It's a warmup round, so to speak; a strong drink thrust into your hands. You take turns going around the circle, starting off relatively tame. First, it's Never have I ever skipped a class. Everyone, all college aged or older, drinks to that one. It's practically a given. And then someone chips in with Never have I ever broken a bone . Again, most people drink – taking advantage of the freebies to get a little tipsy.

It's Lyla that throws out the juicy ones, after a couple of duds.

" Never have I ever faked an orgasm." She says it from behind her glass, giggling.

Less people drink, this time. Sheepishly, you raise your glass, taking a healthy gulp. Lyla takes the opportunity to gasp, clutching at her chest and fanning her forehead dramatically.

You're whispering back, half laughing and half telling her off, "That's not that weird, Ly. Hasn't everyone…?"

"Not me. How's your partner meant to know it's shit if you fake it?"

It's her sincerity that makes you laugh; wide-eyed and completely incredulous. You're clamping down the giggles when you look around, immediately locking eyes with Miguel. He gives you an odd look, as if amused.

You're up next, and roll up metaphorical sleeves. "Never have I ever had a threesome. "

There's murmuring around the room, and a couple of people take a drink. Lyla does, with glee, and someone else you don't quite know the name of. What surprises you, however, is when Miguel takes a swig; eyes locked onto yours.

You feel heat rising, blinking away as best you can. You still feel his gaze, of course. That game of chicken, the one you've so desperately been trying to avoid, rears its ugly head. You think Miguel is winning.

The questions get more and more provocative. Never have I ever been pegged… or pegged someone else. Lyla drinks, Jess takes a gulp of her fruity mocktail…. and so does Miguel. Never have I ever been cheated on. Most people drink to this one, including yourself. A shitty teen relationship barely counts, you suppose; but you're taking every opportunity for a drink right now.

Never have I ever cheated on someone. One or two people drink, and at least they have the decency to be ashamed. When Miguel drinks, however, you shift in your seat. Something settles within you, discontent. Yet again, your image of the man in front of you changes. For someone who sleeps around, maybe it's not too much of a stretch for him to cheat ; but the word feels so final, too cruel. It doesn't match up, for some reason, with your Miguel, who brings you piping hot noodles and hot water bottles on a bad day.

This time, he doesn't meet your eye.

Lyla decides she's bored, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"New game – truth or dare!" There's faux groans from around the room. Lyla sticks a tongue out, ignoring them, and continues. "Jess, as the birthday girl… you get first pick."

Jess lights up, gorgeous , with the hoops at her ears swinging to and fro when she looks around. You haven't spoken much to her, but she seems like good fun; making a whole song and dance of picking the first victim.

It's obvious, in hindsight, who she'd pick. There's only one person in the room visibly squirming, almost sweating , at the idea of something so out of his control.

" Miguel," She says, turning to the man sinking into cushions. "Truth or dare?"

He gives her a look, and she combats it with one of her own; the kind that could melt steel beams, and says It's my birthday, don't be a dick.

" Dare ." He grits his teeth.

"I dare you," She pauses for dramatic effect. "...to show us your porn watch history."

Imperceptible, his eyes flash towards you. You notice , mouth dry. He groans. "We're not 19 anymore, Jess. It's childish. I'm a grown ass man–"

" Truth or Dare , Mig."

"Truth." It's quick – which is very reasonable, considering her tone.

"When was the last time you fucked someone?"

Everyone turns to Miguel. He's looking at you, of course, wincing at the words he's about to say.

"I don't…" He's swirling the beer bottle in his hand, and then he shrugs noncommittally. "I don't know. A… month, maybe."

" Bullshit!" Someone whisper-shouts, and then there's some laughter.

Jess' eyebrows jump up, and Miguel bats her concerns away, whispering something under his breath. You can't quite catch it but his body language is clear: don't ask. He downs the rest of his drink, lips around the bottle, as some liquid trails down the side of his jaw. You're watching, unrepentantly obvious, and he catches your gaze. Without breaking eye contact, he swipes a finger to the liquid and licks it up.

Heart racing, you force yourself to look away and try to concentrate on the next few dares. The circle seems to have moved on, more interested in whatever juicy shit they can drag up in the next poor victim.

You've all but zoned out when it's the turn of Jun, egged on by a couple of friends. You frown. He's that guy you were dancing with earlier, caught up in heady music and swirling lights. Jun is handsome, in that famous starlet kind of way; square-jawed, pretty eyes, and dark, cropped hair. Boy wonder is lean-lined with a nice smile; the very same that had reeled you in on the dancefloor. Maybe it's the liquor, but you think he's looking at you now; raking sharp eyes over your figure.

"How do you know him?" You whisper to Lyla.

She cups a hand to your ear, more than halfway to being absolutely wasted.

"Used t-to work with him. He's nice enough, I think…? There was a rumour around the office; and apparently, he's got a massive di-"

"Truth or dare?" Someone says.

"Dare. Obviously." He flashes a smile in your direction.

You squirm, and Lyla shines with realisation.

"Oh my God." She whispers, and then she's interrupting before you can stop her. "Makeout with the hottest girl in the room. A proper one, tongue and teeth and–"

You elbow her, square in the ribs. Thankfully, she takes the hint. Jun cocks his head, as if mulling it over. He gets up.

Your head spins with the drink, and you're concentrating on keeping your sneakers flat on the ground. Head down, you don't notice the man walking over. He crouches, tapping your knee.

"Oh." You say, blinking up at him. "Hi, again."

"Hi, again." He smiles. It's like you're the only two in the room, and with the way he looks at you, eyes darting to your lips… "Can I kiss you?"

The words get caught in your throat, so you nod, fumbling.

He places a hand to your chin, gently pushing you closer and then you're kissing; sweet and gentle. You separate, and you open your eyes to find his blown . You've got tunnel vision: his lips are pretty and wonderfully swollen – you just can't help it.

You go back in again, parting your lips to let him in. He's cradling your jaw, tracing a hand up your thigh and it feels good. Closing your eyes, you sink into the heady haze of booze, grabbing at his shoulders. They're not as broad as Miguel's, and Jun isn't as clean shaven. When you snake a hand to the nape of his neck; it's rougher than your roommate's hair, cropped into a boyish cut instead of Miguel's gentle curl. Sighing, you both come up for air, and you're almost disappointed at the distinct lack of red-brown blinking back at you.

Nails on a chalkboard, and you're back in the room. You look around to amused faces, catching Lyla wide-eyed besides you. Jun's cheeky, placing a quick peck to the side of your mouth before sitting down. From your vantage point, you're scared to look, to really look , in fear of what you'll see.

Miguel, in the corner, with a white hot grip on his beer bottle. Catching that stormy gaze, something just clicks. Something resembling power, absolutely intoxicating, that heady rush you got from kissing someone else. Or, more accurately, getting a reaction from your roommate. Notoriously unwavering, and yet … he reveals a gap in his armour. A silent swipe to the ribs that doesn't kill, but draws blood.

People are dispersing now, growing tired of the games. Lyla darts off; with the attention span of an excited pomeranian, and the excessive alcohol, she's already lost interest. You take a breather, sinking into plush cushions and catch Miguel's eye. In the commotion, he's tossing his beer and walking up to you, as if gearing up to say something.

Someone sits into the seat besides you: tall and handsome, but definitely not Miguel. It's Jun, who smells like fresh flowers and cut grass, nudging your side.

"You're good at that," He says, with a little smile.

"Good at what?" You say, confused.

"That kiss." He seems a little bashful, probably sobering up. "It was… good. "

"Not…" You're distracted, eyes flicking over to find Miguel. He's gone. "Not my best work, I think."

He stretches an arm around the back of the sofa, caging you in a little closer, and all you can do is blink up at him.

"....you want to try again?"

He's handsome. He's flirting . And he's present; able to give you clear signs that he wants you. It's more than a certain someone can provide, and you're left with a deep-seated need that no-one else seems to be able to fulfill. Four words ring out in your head, clanging around like pinball. You. Might. Get. Laid.

It's enough to have you leaning up against Jun, a hand tracing circles in his thigh and fluttering your lashes as best you can. Hopefully it's a look that's says seductive, and not pink-eye. This far into the night, you don't quite have the energy to care.

Heavy petting and drunk giggling; you spend God knows how long in that little room, whispering stupid shit to each other. You introduce yourself, and so does he. A brief overview of your life; and you find yourself desperately trying to skip the small talk. Jun works with computers. You're a student. Jun is very good with his hands. You're a visual learner. Everything seems to fall into place.

Soon enough, you're swapping numbers and leading him out the door to somewhere more private . His apartment ; you find yourself hoping, as you make your way downstairs.

He's draping a jacket on your shoulders, and you wade through the crowd. The lights are spinning a little less, you find, holding onto Jun's palm. In that great big room; people packed in like black and white sardines; all you're looking for is something to tether yourself to – or someone. Relationships, you've learnt, were overrated. You're young, and single, and gorgeous ; able to bag whoever you want. And what do you want? A hookup, clearly; something simple and uncomplicated, without the mess of feelings to untangle yourself from in the morning.

There's a commotion from a corner of the room, and Jun pulls you back; craning his head to see. A jumble of people, crowded around the epicentre. He nods towards the bustle.

"Isn't that Miguel?" He shouts over the bass, and your eyes widen.

You push past, trying to get a better look. Flashing lights, pumping music. In the red and blue and black, he's there ; hand wiping a bloodied nose. He's saying something; and a couple of guys surround Miguel, giving rough shoves and shouting something you can't hear. Someone throws a punch and he takes it, barely shifting at the continuous blows.

It's a sobering sight, and you're worried; looking left and right at the onslaught of bystanders.

"Why isn't he fighting back ?" You say, barely audible. No-one's doing anything but watching; one or two even pulling their phones out to record. The sight makes you sick, and you're shouting his name, trying to get closer. Like a gunshot, sudden and sharp and cutting through the noise, he locks eyes with you. His eyes dark, with that same look he gave you not too long ago.

Another cruel kick, and he's down on one knee, clutching at his stomach. You notice the broken glass, the blood in his shirt. He's goading them, and still , he refuses to fight back. 250 pounds soaking wet and at least 6"5; he's a fucking killer – and everyone knows it. Why won't he fight back?

There's a pounding at your skull, and something deep and dark and complicated that twists around your insides, threatening to rise up – and then.. and then…

The lights are turned on, and the music stops. Lyla's at the stairs shouting obscenities; telling everyone to get the fuck out, or I'm calling the cops.

People disperse out the doors, but only a few rush towards Miguel. You do, of course, and then Jess is by his side to help him up. He must look worse than he feels because despite the bruising and pouring blood; he pinches the bridge of his nose like he always does, as if it's just a headache. He's laughing ; the smug bastard; incisors sharp and dangerous and flashing pearly white. Your heart's still racing; betraying complicated feelings. As the last dregs drip out of Lyla's apartment, you're all left to deal with the aftermath.

Jess looks shaken, Lyla's sobering up; and you're holding Miguel's hand, elbow deep in the oil spill.

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ja3honey · 1 year

Text

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 | 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢 𝐒𝐚𝐧

【Synopsis】 : After the couple of nights teasing and testing the waters. San finally makes a plan to corrupt your sweet mind once and for all.

『Word count』 : 2.27k

-> Genre: Smut. Fluff.

Paring: Idol!San x Female!Reader

[Warnings] : Cursing. Cyberpunk outfit san (yes, this is a warning) some insecure thoughts. Dirty talk. Foreplay. Kinda shy reader. Virgin reader. Corruption kink. Pet names. Fingering (f receiving). Unprotected sex. (Dont do that).

Note : Thank you for the requester from Wattpad for this. They asked for a part two to my bend fic with a cyberpunk outfit twist... So I hope you enjoy it. Also, I'm trying out a knew layout, so ignore me, hehe.

Masterlist | Navigation | Part One

Frustration and fear would be the only things to describe your emotions right now. After the little sexual activities San and You had performed four nights ago, you couldn’t help but play it in detail over and over in your mind. You wanted, needed, fuck, you craved it. you were going to go insane if you didn’t have another taste of San. And he was not helping, sending you not so safe for work texts or sending photos of his very sexy stage outfits for his performances he and his members have been doing since the comeback happened. What is worse about seeing your boyfriend in such gorgeous outfits is that you are unable to touch him in them. Once he is home, he is already washed up, make up free and outfit gone.

You couldn’t lie when you said you had fantasies of San fucking the living day lights out of you in one of the outfits, especially the Cyberpunk ones. The black crop top, black straps and fake Anarchy symbol tattoo that was displayed on your boyfriends lower tummy. You needed him so badly. But then the shyness comes in, you couldn’t possibly tell him what you wanted. Tell him how much you wanted to feel his cock poun―

“Darling. You awake?” San’s sweet voice echoed through the house, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“In here...” You couldn’t say anything else as you voice cracked. You could feel your heart beat in your ears and your legs wobbled as you tried to walk over to the door of your bedroom. San had turned you on that much, you felt embarrassed that you were that weak for him.

“Hey my baby. Why are you in here?” His voice was drowned out by the fuzziness in your brain suddenly turning up, ten-fold. He was in one of his stage outfits, more specifically, cyberpunk one. Oh no this is not going to end well..

“S-Sannie, w-hy are you wearing that?” You completely disregarded his question, asking one of your own instead. San tilted his head in innocence, looking down at himself before letting out a small chuckle follow by his classic feline smile.

“oh this? Yeah, I have to wear this outfit tomorrow for a photo shoot. So I made a suggestion that I wear it home since I need to tomorrow. It also saves the stylist in trying to find it later.” His ramble did not help the heat growing in your stomach. His voice was so low and raspy from singing all day. You can even see a little form of sweat coating him from the performances. He was a Greek god amongst men. And he was yours.

“Are you okay baby? You keep going quiet?” He took a step forward become only a couple centimeters from your trembling body. Sometimes you think you are living in a dream, how could someone like San be with you? He was sculpted like a porcelain statue and aging like a fine vintage wine. You were plan, normal. Nothing special. How could you end up together.

“Earth to y/n. Come in Darling?” He shook his hands in front of your blushed red face. You finally looked up to him, seeing how close his face was to yours. “Are you okay?” He asked again, rubbing his hand along your frame until it found place against your hip.

“I…Yeah. I’m fine. I’m sorry.” You apologize for acting weird, but San kisses your forehead in protest, saying there was nothing to be sorry for. You hugged him for a moment, taking in his presence, making you feel better.

“So what do you think? I remember you like my outfits. But wasn’t this one like the second or fifth on your list?” His question made you gulp as you sat down on the edge of the bed, fearing you’d fall if you kept standing. He did a little twirl for you, stretching his arms up so he could show off the fit. He knew what he was doing. He knew this was your favourite stage fit, but he wanted to hear it from you directly. He needed to get praise from you. It was like a drug, and he craved it.

“Actually it’s my favourite outfit.” You whispered, biting your nails slightly while you unknowingly checked him out. He pretended as if he didn’t know with a little ‘oh’ slipping off his tongue.

“I have the fake―” He pulled the crop top up slightly so the tattoo could be put on full display. “You want to touch it?” His words came out desperately, making your eyes widen. You nodded like an idiot, watching your boyfriend walk closer to you so he could stand in between your legs. You were eye level with the fake tattoo, letting your fingers graze over it. His abs tensed at the feeling, a tingle in his gut growing.

“It looks so good on you.” You said without thinking.

“Yeah? That’s what you’re thinking?” His teasing nature erupted with the hint of greed. Call him weak, but if he had to, he would get on his knees and beg for you to praise him. Maybe he's got a praise kink, but that was a conversation he didn’t want to have. Not right now, anyway. Even though your brain was fuzzy, you could see the way San’s eyes sparkled when you spoke about him. You weren't as innocent as he thought. You might not know what to do in sexual situations, but to heck, if you didn’t know how to read a person. Especially San.

“I think the whole outfit looks good on you.” You spoke with a little more confidence, gripping the hem of his crop top tugging it, in hopes he got the hint. “You also look good if you have nothing on.”

It was like a switch went off in his mind. You, his innocent―well so he thought―partner basically asking him to take his clothes off. He sent you a devilish smirk, slowly guiding his hands up to the clips of his straps. You gulp feeling instant embarrassment from your statement.

“Is this what you wanted, baby? Wanted to see me naked?” His deep voice made your head dizzy, tucking your face in your hand to hide the blush that surely painted your face the moment he walked into the room. He shook the straps off, watching you intensely at your reaction of shyness. He lived to see the corruption fill your senses, so once he threw his straps somewhere in the room, he pounced. His lips latched to yours, making your head spin. His hand gripped the back of your neck to pull out closer. His knee pushed up against the bed, in between your legs, letting you grind slightly on his thick thigh.

“San…” you moan straight into his mouth, making him groan in response. His free hand that was found perched on your hip glided slowly towards your ache between your legs. His long fingers were quick to wrap around the small flimsy fabric known as you sleep shorts before pulling them off in one motion. You showed no fear, letting him grab your panties straight after so he could pull them off the same way. His lips never left yours through this whole moment, wanting to pamper you before he had his way.

“Pretty.” A word slipped off his tongue, making his mouth leave yours so it could latch on your jaw, then your neck. Sucking and biting at your hot flesh. You never felt such excitement, and you begin to crave it the more you feel your boyfriend’s tongue dancing on you.

As if he understood what your thoughts were saying, his brought on hand to the inner part of your left thigh. Finger tips dangerously close your soaked pussy. You whined, body trashing slightly as if it has a mind of it’s own. Like a primal instinct has taken over. You moan out his name twice, or was it four? You sounded like a broken record and San hadn't even touched you that much.

“My perfect baby. You sound so nice when you beg. But begging isn’t needed tonight. I’ll give you whatever you want…” His lips place kisses on your exposed stomach, sending chills down your spine. “…that’s if you tell me what you want. Come on, tell me, and it's yours. What do you want.”

You choked out another whimper, knowing San was going to pull something like this. He needed you to tell him exactly what you wanted. He needed to hear the filthy words leave your lips. He needed to know every detail that you fantisise in your pretty little head. “San…”

“What’s it baby? What do you need?”

“I want…” He sat completely up, moving back up so he was face to face with you so he could see your eyes flutter with the shyness as they slowly slipped into corruption. “I want you to fuck me. Please, make me feel good.”

“Fuck…” He groans, never seeing something as gorgeous as you asking him to rail you. He had surely died and gone to heaven. “Detail, what exactly do you want?” he needed more…

“I want you to fuck me with your outfit on.”

More…

“I want to feel you deep inside me.”

More…

“Please San if you don’t stick your cock inside me I’m going to scream.”

His brain short circuited, his hands and body moving like they were born to play with you. Stripping you from your pj’s entirely, his mouth latched on your hard nipple while his fingers slipped into your soaking hole with ease. He pumped quickly, bringing his thumb to your sensitive bud, circling it. Your hands fly to grip his shoulders, nails digging into the harsh fabric. Your head flew back, choking out his name over and name. His pace became faster, tilting his hand up so he could sink his fingers deeper inside you, pulling your orgasm closer within the seconds. “San I think I’m gonna…”

“let go for me, baby. I wanna feel you tighten around my fingers.” His dirty words tipped you over the edge, seeing white spots cloud your vision as you convulsed under him. You’ve never felt such an intense orgasm before in your life, feeling like you could walk through fire and not get burned. Once your high came down, he pulled out his soaked fingers slowly before taking them in his mouth, tasting your sweet juices. You panted, letting out a little whine while you watched your boyfriend.

“You ready for more?” His voice was deep, gravelled, but it was laced with love. One side of his brain was screaming, aching to pound you and fuck you into next week until you see stars or pass out, but the other side wanted to make sure your first time was comfortable. He needed to show you how fun sex can be, how loving it can be. And besides, he has all the time in the world to corrupt you.

“Yes…” you whispered, snaking your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. A smirk crept on his lips while they connected to yours, hand snaking down to grip the base of his cock so he could trail his tip along your folds. You took a large inhale, feeling a sense of excitement and worry. It was finally happening, you were finally going to go all the way. His tip slipped slightly into your enterance, making you wiggle in anticapation.

His dark chuckle that erupted from his chest made you roll you hips without thinking, feeling more of his cock slip inside. He took this as a green light, bottoming you out until you can feel his balls hit againsts your ass. Your nails dig into his shoulders feeling the painful sensation soon fade away into pure blissful pleasure. His thrusts started off slow, his hand snaked around your thigh pulling you closer. His lips felt yours and you tried to chase them―which made him laugh lightly―. He sat up pulling a pillow from beside you so he could place it under your hips. You watched him with curiousity, as he basically fluffed it before placing you onto the said folded pillow.

“Comfy.” His cheeky voice made your heart flutter as you replied with a small yes, following with a giggle. His hand pulled your legs to wrap around his waist, instructing you to lock them against him, which you did gladly. Your eyes gazed over his body from head to toe. Your eyes met the sight where your bodies were connected, and you couldn’t help but clench around him. “Like what you see, Doll?”

You bring your hands up to cover your face, groaning at him just freely being dirty in what seemed like a tender moment. He let out a chuckle at your reaction, leaning down you kiss between your breasts in order to distract you. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer. His thrusts started to pick up again, making you seemingly forget about your embarrassment. Grunts escaped San’s lips, losing himself for a moment with your velvet walls tightening around him. “Does that feel good?” He smugly asked.

“Y-yes.” You panted, your chest heaving as yours nails dig lightly into his biceps.

“Good...” He suddenly fell to lay on his back, bringing you along with him. His head almost hangs off the bed, as he plants his feet behind you, bringing his knees up behind your back “Then ride me, baby.”

A whimper escaped your mouth as you slid back onto him with ease. You slide your hands down his chest, over his flat abs, feeling how they contracted under your touch. You started moving, finding the right rhythm, completely pushing away the shyness you felt before. You threw back your head, supporting yourself onto his thighs as you lose yourself in the moment of oure bliss. His hands gripped your hips, bucking his hips into you harder.

He sat up, his fingers digging harder in your flesh, bouncing you on his cock faster. He grunts against your throat, enveloping you in his arms, so he could hold you close as you wrap your arms around his neck, twisting your fingers in his hair. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer, so he needed to make sure he could let you cum before him. Few more thrusts and your body shakes in pleasure, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your walls flutter around him, triggering his release as he spills inside you with a muffled grunt lightly biting your shoulder.

“Perfect” He smiles, breathing against your heated skin, his fingers lazily running up and down your back. Tangling his fingers in your hair, finding your lips, he kissed you passionatly...

- ♡

2K notes · View notes

queenendless · 7 months

Text

🔞 Specialz (Adult!SatoSugu x Adult!Fem!Reader)🔞

A/N: Yeah ... I might be writing more Shibuya inspired smut than I thought. KINDA canon divergence cause in this AU Gojo can heal others too so sorry for the confusion, BIG TIME!

LONG ASS FIC, OVER 7K LONG, MY LONGEST ONE YET OH LORD! ALL FOR THESE TWO SO THERE!

⚠️ CW WARNING ⚠️ NSFW CONTENT! Porn with long ass plot, murder/bloodshed, somewhat feral Gojo, sorta exhibitionism/definite vouyerism, choking kink, tentacle action, deepthroat fuck, breeding/claiming kinks, unprotected sex, clit play, creampie, p in a and v, double p in v, nicknames/pet names, some dirty talk, praise talk, GoGe simping, horny SatoSugu x reader in already established polyamorous MMF relationship. This smut piece is gonna be as horny as I can make it. SO MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

* Please DON'T plagarize, translate, or repost my FANFIC content. Reblog, like, and follow instead.

I hope you enjoy.

Credit to anaemicc on Wattpad for the new smut terminology Imma gonna use as reference help when writing 🔞 content from now on.

The setting is Shibuya on Halloween night. Crimson tainting the skies, the cityscape, your thighs ... The AU where Geto is alive, he and Gojo are secret lovers, and are yours, banging you for the entire city to see amiss the chaos that unfolds ...

"Hey you." The sudden warped appearance of you alarmed Jogo, peeved off Choso and stirred up Gojo's sudden carnal longing. "You're wanted elsewhere. So," Your unsure drawl was cut off by Choso's poisonous blood shots narrowly scraping you, swirling through the air, as bodies got caught in the crossfire dropping by the hat. "Eyes on me."

Though that made it hard to divide your attention as you felt so turned on by the gleeful smiling face of one Satoru Gojo that ripped that special grade's veiny arm clean off right between his legs so provocatively.

"Oya oya~" Gojo's eyes widened at the sight of your lithe self; foolishly valiant in the face of death. "I felt you coming a mile away, sweetie~ Sliding in after me, alright~"

"Less innuendo, more exorcizing!" Your cursed energy pushed as many normes outta the way as you could to leave you more room to work to draw that Death Painting in.

Stopping use of his Limitless technique, Gojo gave up on adjusting his technique and focused on compact attacks using curse energy manipulation, operating with only basic cursed energy manipulation and martial arts.

Unable to use Domain Amplification and their Innate Techniques at the same time, Volcano – Jogo – safely uses the former to protect himself unlike Hanami – Weeds.

Foolishly dropping their Domain Amplification just to use their vines to strike at you two compelled you to force push the panicking crowd afar, barely swerving out of range. You're left breathless at a crazed smiling Gojo spinning like a starfish through those vines, eerily giddy as he ripped out those rooted eyes, feeling weak in the knees at imagining Toru asking your greatest weak spot with that look, in that tone…

Your distracted self sensed too late as you were caught in iron, lean arms, eyes glowing dangerously and narrowed possessively.

"Careful, babe~ You want to get hurt that bad, huh~?" The low, dark tone he took with you as his barrier shield you two from the poisoned blood shed coating it, scoffing under his breath. "Where the fuck is he?"

The lights flickered as Volcano and Weeds tried their Amplification fists once more, spurring Gojo to maintain his technique the more they tried neutralizing it.

"Just be careful …" Gojo sounded so far off, trained onto those special grades, reluctantly releasing you. Now was not the time for further discussion. The plan had to keep going, as should you. "Now."

Barely a moment of you warping out of Limitless, did Choso's hands teeming with cursed energy etched straight close to your glowing eyed face. Just where you wanted him.

You sensed another familiar presence down the other end of the tunnel behind him as your cursed energy wave knocked him back enough in the right spot.

"About time." Gojo smacked his tongue under his breath, smirking regardless, relieved at sensing him as well, of course.

"Prison Realm … gate open."

Tentacles slithered out from the shadows beneath Choso's feet, summoned to immobilize him with their tensile grip, just enough time for the gate to unravel in its bleedy X shape. Just as your cursed punch socked him in the face for good measure.

"Nice right hook, honey~" Suguru's rich airy voice was all you could make out to be him since the lights flickered once again.

Choso's lack of combat experience paired with the task of not causing too much carnage did not make things easier. For every limb Choso erodes away from his cursed bloody touch, ten more take their place. The exploding sprays of piercing blood struck down many lingering fools still unable to see the full picture.

"I'm sorry I can't save everyone. So I promise to exorcise them instead!" Both thoughts raced through yours and Gojo's mind.

Your cursed energized back kick whipped Choso's head sideways, earning a low whistle from Geto. For a human spirit hybrid, Choso could take it. You still felt somewhat bad inside for it, though.

Goosebumps immediately raked up your skin at the sight of how easily Gojo crushed the weakened asparagus between his Limitless and the wall.

Volcano's threat to burn them both alive didn't deter Gojo nor Geto in the slightest.

Just as darkness overtook everything one second, light flickered back on in the next.

Hanami's purple blood splattered the crater dented wall; steam and ash wafted off it, leaving Jogo shitting himself.

"Next one."

God, you got wet hard at that moment, blushing something fierce, wanting Satoru looking at you like that.

One minute was up.

The tentacles vanished in place of the cube latching onto Choso, jutting out of him from various points.

"Good night, Choso Kamo. You are spared … this time. Prison Realm, close." With all cursed energy drained, Choso was swallowed right in, the Prison changing from a red fleshy cube with various open eyes to a solid stone closed eyes cube once more, slamming into the floor with sheer force, and Geto looking down at it with disgust. "His desire to avenge his younger brothers' deaths by Itadori-kun's hands means he won't kill himself trapped inside this until he's freed to see his goal through … still though … wasting my efforts on this hybrid monkey. What a joke."

Geto noticing your attention elsewhere, eyes glowing that cursed blue, floating up onto the platform, alarming those frightened monkeys away as you were lost in your future vision. "None of them deserve my cursed gift the way you do."

"Fuck." Gojo's eerily calm voice barely hid his excitement at how breathtaking you look among the carnage littered ground, twistedly smiling at a fleeing Jogo, "The sooner I exorcise you, the sooner I can pound my angel to oblivion."

Magnetically latching his heels on the metal border and levitating himself upright, he used Limitless to halt thrown humans his way by Jogo as cover. If too many lives were lost here, then there'd be no reason for Gojo to hold back anymore. Jogo was itching too close to you to his liking.

Sooner than scheduled —

"An eight-car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line. Please do not lean on the platform doors or reach your hands or face past them." The announcement came on, followed by the rocking screeching sight of the eight train cars hailing from Meiji Shrine.

Lost in the sea of costumed people running for their believed way out of this mayhem, appalled gasps stirred the crowd bustling around the opening train doors as panic and disgust raced through Jogo at the eight car train filled with gutted, bleeding, dead transfigured humans falling out. And no Patchface in sight.

"Mahito – GRK!" Garbling Jogo got grabbed by the neck in his lapse of focus, slammed into the floor, leaving a crater sized dent in the wake.

"Hands off my woman." Gojo hissed venomously.

"That all went faster than expected." After spraying himself insistently to get rid of the monkey stench, Geto picked up the cube and slipped into the back of the station amidst the chaos.

The root covered exit crumpled apart with Hanami now exorcised, causing dozens upon hundreds of people to fall in. Gojo growled, suspecting more cursed spirits or users are above too.

"I'm on it!" Brazenly catching as many falling normies through the caving ceiling as you could brought faint smiles to both their faces.

Looking back to lock eyes with Satoru once more, Suguru slid the cube to him along the floor, his nihilistic smile being the last thing Gojo saw before warping away himself.

Just as three swift blurs came straight outta the train door, helping you catch every other falling figure, bouncing off the debris chunks like springs alongside you.

Recognizing their cursed energy presences, Gojo cackled with mad glee.

"Game over." Slamming Jogo hard enough into the ground, blue flames licked the air as they enveloped Jogo whole. "I win."

Eroding to ashes, Gojo's form sagged down in relief as the fear felt in the room washed away by confusion and relief. Spotting Yuji and Mei instructing the masses left standing to leave via the stairways as Ui stands proudly by his very much older sister's side, including that the proper authorities would tend to them outside. Scooping up the cube, he floated back up to even level.

"Gojo-sensei!" Yuji's cheeriness lightened the bloody setting, running over.

"The veils have all been lifted. Which made exorcizing the special grade responsible for the transfigured humans attainable. Itadori-kun made sure of that." Mei informed him, making Yuji blush from the praise. "Y/n-chan's seer intel was spot on. Truly a valuable asset~" Mei Mei praised you as well.

"I expect nothing less from her~" Gojo's senses – coming down from his looney high – sensed your presence having teleported farther up. On the highest floor. Oh, sweetie, why?

"Hey! Thank Nee-sama for her compliments, you tall oaf!" Ui bristled up.

"So, Gojo-kun, you owe me for today. Cause I'm guessing … Geto-kun will no longer be helping out around here?" Her coy smile paired with that velvety threat didn't deter Gojo facially. But left Yuji as the dumbfounded cutie at the moment.

"Hmm." Pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket, he meddled with it. "Well, with the veils dropped, I'm finally able to make a hefty deposit in your account." The ping on Mei's own phone plus the wide ass smile on her laughing face spoke volumes. "Yuki and Yuta will be stopping by soon. When they do, hand them this." Airily stating, Gojo tossed the cube for Mei to catch, who recognized it right away. "She has her own plans for that hybrid pup, anyway, so …"

Mei hummed pleased with the conspiratory talk, accepting the curse wrapped cube. "The Prison Realm huh? What are you all up to, I wonder?" He didn't look up for further discussion on the topic. She could keep her lips sealed, for however long she gets paid big at least. "Very well. Thank you for the extra pay, Gojo-kun~"

Seeing his student praying on the sidelines for the human lives lost tonight made melancholy stir within him. "Yuji." Grabbing his attention, ruffling his pink hair affectionately, Gojo's endearing smile had Yuji blushing. "Great work."

"Sensei …" Blinking back tears, brushing them away with his sleeve, Yuji nodded firmly. Mahito was exorcised. The lives lost because of him – Junpei – were at last avenged. "I didn't lose this time."

"Good. I'll leave the rest of the cursed spirit clean up to you all … unless the end of the world comes crashing down on us, that is. If not, I'll see you back at campus tomorrow, my precious pupil~" He chuckled as he ruffled Yuji's hair once more. "Until then, gotta jet~!"

His two finger salute and bright smile was the last sight those three saw before teleporting.

Joining his special two souls awaiting him uptop, sky high.

❤️🔞❤️🔞❤️🔞❤️🔞❤️🔞❤️🔞❤️🔞❤️🔞❤️🔞❤️🔞❤️🔞

Two badasses with God complexes.

Conflicting ideals.

Enemies on paper.

But partners nonetheless.

Quelling this near nationwide disaster by a fragile truce to team up and take down those special grades.

All because of you; your cursed Seer self.

Many lives were still lost.

But better that than tipping the scales into full blown chaos.

A pounding headache, for instance. Which made warping that much harder on your head and neck, to be honest. Wobbly walking, vision blurry, now blinding as the Shibuya night lights sparkled through the glass stained border walls of the observatory deck, draping an arm across your stinging eyes as your other hand leaned on the wall for support.

"Where do you think you're going, sweetheart?" Gojo's slow horror slasher walk upon you was twice as nerve wracking as watching it unfold on Volcano head. That plus sexy. "Nearly getting yourself killed. Butting in when I could handle it all myself. Then trying to slip out?" He sighed heavily, vibrant eyes narrowed like a predator. "What am I gonna do with you?"

"Correction." The nihilistic smiling presence of Geto walking out of the shadows behind one of the few supporting metal pillars had your heart jolting in anxious excitement. "What are we gonna to do to you?"

Your hand slipped as your knees buckled, going limp, as your world view tilted, when Satoru caught you from behind, gently helping you sit down; to both their concern and relief.

"Hey hey, easy." Satoru gently laid your head in his lap as he sat Indian-style against the wall, brushing aside your hair strands tickling your face, his fingers massaging your cranium and scalp. "You pushed yourself hard tonight, sweetie."

"For weeks, actually. Just take slow calm breaths." Pulling your legs gently to straddle his hips as he sat curled up before you two, Suguru massaged your thighs, eyeing you with such prideful devotion. "You did great, honey."

Satoru hummed in agreement. "We're so proud of you~"

"Don't mention it." You went limp in their grasp, desiring to stay this way in your own share of Infinity.

"Still though," Satoru's shaky tone made your breath hitch at that same feral edge from before return; gaping to his sinuous intentions. "After the hell we went through tonight … I just want to take you here and now and make you a mess myself~"

"He's not the only one~" Suguru's own supine gaze had your chest tighten in nervous anticipation. "After all the hassle we were put through tonight, we deserve our own reward. Sparing those monkeys required such restraint on my part, after all. You already understand what we seek the most now."

You squirmed, clasping your hands together in a praying plea. "GoGe foreplay first … please~?"

Suguru snorted, slyly smirking at you, holding your hands in his giant sculpted ones, smooching your knuckles. "Hmm, should we give the lovely lady what she wants, Satoru~?"

Satoru sighed heavily, smiling smugly, dipping down to kiss your forehead. "At this point, why not~? Besides," Roughly grabbing him by the bun, Satoru yanked him forward hard enough to clash sloppy smooches with. "I've missed my Suguru~"

You shifted between their two leaning bodies, eyeballing as Satoru's other hand clutched and squeezed Suguru's neck; veins flexing out on said hand and neck. Drool slipped down the corner of Geto's mouth, raspy grunts leaving his rosy flush face, as their velvet slobbering tongue duel dragged on. It was quite enticing to your GoGe starved eyes. "Hah, I see this still gets you going~ Depraved of my suffocating touch crushing you~" Gojo playfully taunted.

Geto husked out some dry laughs, "You crave it too~ Breaking me in, like the raunchy bastard I can see coming out of you~!"

A welt of anger pulsed the side of Gojo's head, startling you as he shifted his weight against Geto's, quickly slamming him against the glass wall beside you by the neck, "How's this for you then~?"

"Hah~! Perfect~!" Geto's raspy laugh was cut off as Gojo devoured his wet mouth whole, their deep groans of lust slipping out between every parting of their lips, drool connecting their tongues as their heaving mouths were so close to each other. Eyes half lidded with smoldering fixation on each other atop such heightened emotions looked to be borderline dangerous. "Tell me, Satoru~ Do you still miss this~?"

From the inky shadows Geto summoned, the tentacles returned, wrapping around Gojo's wrists to free Geto and let him breathe; red prints left on his thick veiny neck, gleefully smiling as the snowy haired man fell to his knees with his hands restrained behind his back. As more tendrils helped undo his gold colored kasaya garment, his black yukata robes came next as the skin of his broad upper body was revealed; damn muscles. The sash now untied, his length was freed, flapping against Gojo's curling lips.

"Getting impatient, aren't we Suguru~?"

"You are too, smart ass~"

"Mmh, you're not wrong~" Missing that taste he always relishes, Gojo hummed as he took Geto all in one go, slathering that pulsing dick with as much fervor as the starving beast coming out inside him that needed sustenance.

"Aah fuck~! Yes, Satoru~! Just like that~!" Suguru's chants of praise went in sync with his lecherous moans as he raked his hand through those snowy locks to press him closer, his little bun fell loosely unkempt from his insistent thrusting, slamming himself against the wall with each bang echoing off the see through borders. "Take me, Satoru~! Take it all~!"

Satoru's insatiable slurping paired with his thorough tongue lashing and gluttonous sucking accentuated Suguru's echoes; his nose buried deep in those raven colored pubes.

A sneaky appendage slithered beneath Gojo's slim tight pants, then under his boxer shorts. Lurching from the slimy firm hold stroking his own hardened length mercilessly, Gojo's deep groans vibrated through Geto's dong, driving his moans higher and louder than before. Rubbing his head with its wet end, sliding down to brush his balls, it all had Gojo's legs trembling as he instinctively grinded against Geto's beating heat. "Sneaky bastard~!" Satoru's muffled words were overshadowed by the titillated mewls mushing out of his stuffed mouth as well.

"Ah~!"

"Mh~!"

"Ngh~!"

Lathered in the cum slipping down both sides of his mouth and chin, Satoru's deepthroating by Suguru's slamming thrusts paired in tuned with those insistent rough strokes on his girth finally had them coming undone in unison; their verbal and muffled cries of release had your eyes bulging out of their sockets.

Pressing your trembling fist to your lips, you marveled at their flushed expressions and enamored noises, leaving you elated at making you come just from watching their pleasure together. And yet, it wasn't enough. Not until you felt those two interwoven with you. You were long overdue.

Your muffled cry of coming reminded those two you were still here, curled up against yourself, eyes glossed, lost in them coming down from their highs.

"Satoru~ It appears our dear Y/n has been by her lonesome long enough~" Dumping his heavy load for the latter to swallow greedily, Suguru retracted those tentacles out from Satoru's now ruffly tainted pants, freeing his bound arms as well, sending that particular curse back into the shadows, watching you with mischievous glee, knowing you in this state would prefer their touch than an octopuses.

Satoru's breathtaking blue eyes were now in your line of sight, heaving heavily with that rosy tinted face, sending droves of butterflies storming your insides. His feral mindstate was returning, being stoked higher, sharing Suguru's sentiments entirely. "Then, what say I plow that pretty mouth of hers myself?" Satoru's languid tone conflicted with his hungry gaze.

"So long as I can devour that finely plump ass~" Suguru purred, mischievously grinning.

"Deal."

Nothing compared to the white hot scorching of your lovers' tongues as Satoru legit crawled over to you, backpedaling you to be flushed against the opposite wall, openly kissing you to submission, your fingers raking through his white undercut then into his fluffy hair had him sighing in comforting bliss. Your eye peaked open, spotting Suguru kissing you from your neck to your jawline until eventually tempting you to pull away from Satoru's lips just to kiss him instead, despite Satoru's pouting at missing your lips already.

"Are you both good? We are risking getting caught together …" You couldn't help it.

Their hearts throbbed for your worrywart self.

Satoru couldn't help but laugh. "Even now, you're still worried about us?"

Suguru chuckled. "We appreciate your concern for us, Y/n, but we're fine."

"More than ever, in fact. And right now, all I want is to gaze upon you. No covers. No restraints." Satoru, taking your hand in his, pressed kisses to your knuckles. "The way it should be~"

You hummed as Suguru took your other hand in his as he pressed it to his cheek, nuzzling your palm then kissing it. "Just the three of us."

You weaved your hands through their locks at the back of their heads, pressing their foreheads against yours, hugging them around their necks, getting teary eyed from the swell of emotions coming forth. "I need you so much closer … both of you."

Tilting your chin upwards between his forefinger and thumb gave more room for Suguru to clamp his teeth deep into your neck, gnawing long and hard enough in various spots to leave those red marks in his wake. "Goddess incarnate, you truly are~"

Sucking and licking from your ear down to the valley between your bosoms, Satoru smugly grinned up at you. "How did demons like us get gifted with such a naughty little angel~?"

With combined feral impatience, they tore open your dark jujutsu jacket, stripping your gasping self of your undershirt as well, smirking as they ripped your bra clasp apart, before devouring a mound for each to take.

"Toru~! Sugu~!" Your wanton cries made them that much harder, your fingers tugging harshly at their hair, as you surrendered to their mouths.

Suguru flicked your one rosy tipped mound, pinching and twisting it between his lithe long digits to his enjoyment at its jigglingness. "Neh … Satoru? Shall we finally claim this sinfully beautiful lady for ourselves?"

Satoru lashed your other swelling hill with feverish hardness, teething your bud as well as suckling it messily in between, before deeply chuckling. "From the look on her face, I'd say so."

He wasn't wrong.

Grabbing you by your hips, ripping the button off your work pants, sliding your panties down with them as well, they both breathed in your long missed bare beauty and your sought out essence.

Satoru's slim-fit matching black pants were shoved down those long fine legs, along with those soiled briefs, freeing himself at last. Suguru's high waisted poofy pants came down too, more erect and thick than before. In their own mind reading way, they knew what they wanted.

"Hug my neck, Y/n. And hold on tight." Satoru commandingly whispered in your ear. Just as you did as instructed, he lifted you up by your hips just as Suguru grabbed you by your knees, both carrying you with iron clad grips, both standing up with such ease. The strongest duo, people.

Stunned from the swift change in position, your hanging self suddenly rolled your eyes back as your body swayed from the tingling pilfering their already coated dongs evoked as they slid into you with familiarity. The flash of pain from the swift plunge made you shout loudly only to moan even harder as they lit the fire in you.

"Aah~! Hah~! Aghn~! Uhh~!" Your incoherent babbling only got them going, stroking their innuendos.

SQUELCH!

Suguru slamming you so hard from behind, drunk on how exhilarating you felt intertwined. "Mmph! Such a – mgh! – tight squeeze you are~!"

FWOP!

Satoru pounding into you excessively, his feral side coming back with a vengeance, shaking from sparks raking his nerves from your inner dripping heat sucking him up just as greedily. "That's it, Y/n~! Take it all~!"

THRUST!

Cum trickled down from all over, trailing down both men's legs and your flesh, forming puddles on the floor at how much was coming out.

The flaps of skin against skin, the gushing squished, the night lights of Shibuya highlighting all your curves, spasms, shuddering, the sweat lining your forms, your gaping sleek mouths, your muscles contracting and clenching.

You deeply missed this.

Intoxicated by their unadulterated need for your indulgence, your arching back, your bouncy breasts throbbing from each thrust, your lissom face, it was all – !

"Fuck, your cunt is heaven~!" Satoru keened hornfully, crushing his sloppy lips into yours, eating up all your mewls.

"Shit, your ass is bliss~!" Suguru raggedly moaned as you clenched around him, slipping in and out ravenously, bringing his face down to chew on your supple peaches.

The cacophony of your trio's profane shouts of ecstasy reverberated around you, eyeing the nightlife beyond the walls, wondering amiss the chaos in your mind if the others were alright. You could feel the number of cursed spirits dwindling, your allies spirits still intact, and the euphoria drowning away the headache your visions always gave.

Time slowed down as you felt Suguru's sweaty face pressing your lower back and Satoru's own against your own, both stopping as they heatedly caught their breaths, exchanging nervous but curious gazes, before Satoru looked into your eyes with his serious ones. "Y/n … will you let us … start a family with you?"

Your heart squeezed as they slowly lowered you back on the stained ground, humming as Suguru expressed the same intentions, having you straddling his lap from behind, angling your face to see his charming one again resting on your shoulder. "Being apart after all this time has made us consider what we now desire going forward."

"Granted, 10 days is just too much separation, if I'm gonna be honest!" Satoru griped, nuzzling your unoccupied cheek, smiling warmly. "And yeah, raising Megumi and Tsumiki together over the years has been quite the adventure."

"The same goes for Mimiko and Nanako … but they particularly want a baby sibling to dote on and spoil endlessly." Suguru softly laughed.

"Granted, I too would spoil that kid … our kid … to be honest, raising a kid in our kind of world is difficult, especially if they become a sorcerer, inherit our techniques, and be seen as another cursed pawn to use for society's personal gains … unless we destroy the corrupt system first." Satoru's straightforwardness had truth to your current realistic problem.

"This past year has been challenging for all of us. And I believe our secret partnership is not so secret after tonight. But if we do decide to have a kid, then we'll defend them until our last dying breaths." Suguru vowed, squeezing your hand in his giant sculpted one to your smiling delight.

"But only with you. And only if you want to." Satoru sheepishly chuckled. "Even though my dick is literally up your womb now."

"Baka." Suguru scoffed under his breath.

Your hands took each of theirs to cup your now stuffed belly together; Satoru's cock still inside. "I'll only ever bear one … with you two."

You were willing to do it. You yearned for it. Lord, the thought of bearing a child you three created together brought tears to your eyes. "So yeah. Let's do it."

Pulling out of you on both ends to make this work, Satoru stripped off his high collared jacket to ball into a makeshift pillow and Suguru slipped out of his monk robes for you to splay your bare back on, they made sure you were comfy enough to further progress as they gently laid you down on your temporary bedding. "Thanks~" You whispered your gratitude, earning big moist smooches on your honey soft cheeks from them.

Lustful possessive looks now sprouting on their faces, Satoru draping your left leg over his left hip and Suguru doing the same to your right leg over his right hip, each then taking a hand of yours to pin them both above your head; intertwined fingers and all, before guiding their veiny soaking thickness in their spare hands to gently, carefully, simultaneously sliding them into your achingly drenched folds. Your breathless urgent gasps came quickly, them being tolerable enough to give you time to adjust at being double stuffed.

After pulling in a lungful of air, you whispered. "K - Keep going."

Rolling their hips in sync, they completely domineered you in all your good spots, their upper ripped bodies flexing to your inner delight as they heaved in and out, gritting out groans through their teeth with you convulsing around them obsessively.

Blood buzzed in your ears whereas theirs were roaring at how much your moans enlivened them.

Their lean statures bending over just to suckle and smooch your face and neck, leaving red blemishes and bite marks in their wake. Your back curving in order to press your fuzzy nude self to theirs for their comfortable safe warmth.

Your throbbing breasts were brazenly exposed by their groping, thumbing and pinching with those long lithe fingers before their mouths swallowed your swelling melons; one for each to partake on. Their steamy breaths, savage canines, and skillful tongues combined with their jutting taking things up a notch had your toes curling and your legs squeezing their waistlines desperately when you saw it.

Your reflections on the smooth ceiling. Your flamed face, their ruffled heads devouring your boobs, cum slathering your clit as more splattered on your abdomen.

The thrill of seeing you all in your primal states made you howl sharper.

"None are worthy to bask in your raw majesty but us~" Suguru dictated selfishly, drooling popping off your breast, noticing your gaze training upwards before his veiny hand grasped your chin, forcing you to meet his depraved smile. "Devoted to only us~!"

"This cunt, this body, everything that you are!" Satoru's deepened husky voice going with each savage pounding had you gushing out more messily as he looked up from your other abused tit with narrowed eyes, shadowed with the thrill of his feral edge. "Ours."

Shedding hotly shimmering tears from the rippling explosions edging you closer, all you could do was writhe and spasm in delectable anguish as their pelvises tapped you like wrecking balls; delving straight for your womb, with your cunt throbbing at how much you missed this. Them. Smothering you in your own ripple of heaven.

The springs were coiling as you were all etching closer to the edge. Static sparked their fingertips when Suguru began gently squeezing and choking you, earning him your gasping heaving mouth with your tongue sticking out to his wry amusement. "Now then honey~ Come for us long and hard~ Your loving Sugu wants it~!"

Trails of fire forming from Satoru aggressively rubbing your clit had you chortling out such adorably profane mewls. "Your precious little self can't take much more of this, sweetie~ I can feel it~ Just let yourself burst free~!"

Suguru's thumb brushed your quivering bottom lip. "Let us bless you with our essence, our very souls~"

Satoru endearingly kissed your bump for good measure. "Let us put the most precious baby in that perfect little oven of yours~"

"Bear our child, Y/n~"

"Turn this cursed night to the most blessed one yet~"

Their squeezing hands on yours had you clawing at their veiny knuckles.

"No one else but you is worthy enough~"

"You were made for us~ You kept us together for all these years~ It has to be you~"

"Our closest friend, our wife, our ray of heaven~"

Your eyes widened as their free hands left your slightly marked neck and reddened clit to lay their hands atop another's over your accelerated heart, smiling with tears in their eyes at the overwhelming sexual amour, confessing with such emotion as the strongest duo that they are.

"I love you."

Their intimate, amorous words thickened with such raw truth did the trick.

The sensation of total release brought about a dizzying explosion of feeling, leaving you shuddering uncontrollably as you reached your glorious peak.

That broke down their floodgates.

Crying your name out in unison, they once again soared over the edge, but dumping a heavy truck load this time. Curling in on you, they flooded themselves inside you, they poured their dumploads of steaming white hotness in every crevice, fold and bundle you held, sloppily pounding into you for good measure to ride that high.

Their conjoined seeds have finally hit their mark.

All you could do was take it all in, heaving and crying softly at how their friction, their hardness, even their engorged heads felt too good inside you to be real.

But it all was.

This nasty, unhinged, embarrassing – yet provocatively arousing time spent on Halloween night.

With these two powerful, terrifying, sometimes unhinged men that have softer, gentler, tender sides to them.

Endlessly devoted, unconditional and all encompassing.

With each other.

And you, of course.

❤️🔞❤️🔞❤️🔞❤️🔞❤️🔞❤️🔞❤️🔞❤️🔞❤️🔞❤️🔞❤️🔞

Over a decade spent cultivating.

Keeping it hush hush, as those two were on opposing sides, but still kept in touch because of you.

Trying to rebel against the system and make way for the next generation of sorcerers to change this kind of world into a better one takes work. Resources. Allies.

Ergo, you departing Jujutsu High post graduation to aid Yuki Tsukumo in her mission, guided by your visions and your own heart's ambitions to end the cursed energy problem; the root cause of this fractured world.

From your prophetic visions starting in your student days to realizing your two loves parting ways, you divulge your hidden truths to them. Wanting you three to stay united. Acting as double agents in a sense. Better than being forced to take each other out in this long marathon game.

Some convincing and persuading lead to an eventual struck deal. Partners slash secret lovers, regardless of their switched conflicting ideals and surface level allegiances. While neither were thrilled at you collaborating with Yuki; her playing her own part in dividing the fine line between them to their somewhat breakup, they knew you were overall fighting to change things your way just as they were doing the same but the way they individually were best at.

Dropping in on them back and forth, from Suguru's temple of a home to Satoru's private housing to even your own apartment when you were in Tokyo, your desire for you three to maintain your bond stayed strong.

Planned secret meetups, play dates where those two talked in private but watched with affection from afar as you get overwhelmed by those four precious rugrats, late night call sessions that lasted until the sun rose, roundabout impromptu rendezvous in each other's bedrooms …

Eventually, those years became 10.

The kids grew up. As did you three.

But with time came change. Good and bad. For you sensed the divide lingering beneath the surface growing to uncomfortable lengths.

When you had that vision whilst traveling abroad with Yuki doing research.

Of that December night.

The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons.

As Yuuta Okkotsu nearly killed Suguru.

And Satoru was tasked with executing him.

But willingly spared him as you arrived, their stunned faces on par with your eyes glowing and tears trekking down your face, as you tearfully embraced your one armed lover, begging for Satoru to heal him, offering Suguru refuge, for you no longer desired them fighting each other anymore.

Proclaiming that if they ever loved you at all, that you'd all marry each other straight away.

After a stunned faces pause from them both, immediately in came some touch deprived, molten kisses from both your men then watching them exchange some as well, Satoru restored Suguru's arm and promised to rendezvous with you as soon as he could, knowing he had his students to check up on. And Suguru had to pick up his girls as you helped walk him out of the wrecked school grounds as best you could.

While you have been dating for a decade, the idea of marriage popping up various times never came to fruition. Knowing your taboo relationship meant treason for Satoru and execution for them both if found caught.

But that near death experience, the second one, made you all reconsider how short your lives were and how certain precious things shouldn't be taken for granted, especially in this cursed world. You couldn't bear it. And neither could they. The look of heartbreak on your face was one neither desired to be the cause of.

Meeting up in Okinawa, among the snow covered flowers, in loving memory of Riko and Kuroi, internally apologizing for failing them to save them both when your vision came too late and you were too far away and not strong enough to aid them and your loves the most, hoping they and your dear friends back at Jujutsu High were both there in spirit, watching over you all and granting their blessing.

On Christmas Day, arriving well into the afternoon, with an awkward faced, gray suited Megumi and an optimistic Tsumiki in a floral lace bodice ruffle trim wrap hem chiffon formal gown in baby pink. Smack dabbed in between the siblings, Satoru Gojo was well suited up in his tux; hair down and shades on.

As was Suguru Geto, his hair now cut to grace up to his shoulders, right arm intact, in a matching tux, with the twins coordinating with Tsumiki on the plane ride over; Mimiko in a similar dress in navy blue and Nanako in a matching one but in burnt orange.

The impromptu modern-day elopement went underway in the chapel overlooking the snowy garden.

Thankfully, the twins helped score you an Ariel dress; a romantic cloud of matt organza, with a removable balloon skirt and sleeves, and a subtle black chiffon ribbon.

Your chaotic duo were awestruck, jaws slacked and eyes radiating with unbridled love.

Your four kids beaming with supportive glee at how you; their mother practically at that point, walked down that aisle like an angel descending down from the heavens. The girls giggling as you gave a flustered Megumi your bouquet.

Your hands grasping one of each from them as you began the small private ceremony.

Astonished and amazed that Satoru, having memorized both yours and Suguru's ring sizes, had purchased them as soon as they landed.

Improvising your vows on the spot, you three merely spoke from the heart.

The rest of the week was spent touring Okinawa, the guys treating your kids to all the joys this place gave to them and their long passed friends they consider as family too, making sure they were all conked out before your husbands treated you in your shared newlyweds suite and made sure to remind you just how much they both missed, cherished and adored you.

The rest of the year spent looking back on the hectic events leading up to that moment, as fireworks flashed throughout the night sky, the girls and Satoru cheering for the new year, Megumi and Suguru exasperated but smiling nonetheless, and you relishing being snug in between your embracing loves.

The congratulatory calls over Satoru's phone from Shoko and Nanami teemed with suspicion and reluctance whereas Haibara was over the moon for it. Even Yuki called you and gushed over your dramatic lovely momentum. All of them seemingly suspecting Suguru had survived but choosing to keep shut about it along with your kids, to you three's grateful reliefs.

A lot has changed since then.

Satoru letting you, Suguru, and the twins crash at his private home in the countryside where Tsumiki usually stayed with Megumi before he began attending Jujutsu High and staying in the dorms.

Suguru decided to try and start over, becoming the stay at home father of the group while Satoru was working and you were traveling. Still working out and training to still be in the best shape along with his girls, knowing that this new take on life would take time to adjust to as well as work on their hateful outlook on humanity as a whole.

Then a new issue revealed itself.

Particularly… Kenjaku.

Fortunately, your visions have helped you all derail his plans a lot over the past year and several months. But a millennium old cursed user was just part of the problem.

The rise of special grade cursed spirits with self awareness and intelligence was another.

So training Megumi along with Yuji and Nobara made sense to prepare them for what lay ahead. Yuji especially, with the King of Curses taking refuge inside him. But you still cherished them and the second years like your own babies as well.

Your last call with Yuki involved her discovery of the long sought after Prison Realm your vision foretold of as well as its hiding place.

The events of the Shibuya Incident came soon after. The deaths of thousands. As well as who was responsible.

After nearly passing out from the info overload, you made sure to message your husbands on the issue at hand. While apprehending slash rescuing the traitor Kokichi Muta from that Patchface's assault, Satoru saw your visions theories as proven fact with aid from Kokichi's own confessions.

Not willing to take the chance, of course you intervened.

Right before Yuki's sudden visit at your place, dropping the cube in a wary Suguru's grasp, giving him her personal request to capture Choso Kamo alive in the cube, so Satoru's imprisonment in it doesn't come to fruition as your vision unfortunately revealed as well, assuring him she'd stop by to pick it up when the hard work was done, dropping the bomb on him in her own Yuki way.

So Suguru; not fully trusting her, getting involved fell under his own personal agenda to ensure you both would stay alive and unsealed.

Of course Satoru got a text from her to give him a heads up on her and Yuta dropping by soon.

Then came the detailed veils dropping right after you two slipped in behind Satoru.

You know what happened next …

Which all leads to right now.

The walk down memory lane ended with you coming down from your high at last, easing down, relaxing your sore, tingling, fatigued self.

Pulling out their softened dicks in unison, admiring how much of their cum filled your swollen red pussy and stuffed your moistened ass crack; trickling down like tiny streams of thick cream. They released your hands as their heaving selves laid down on either side of you, cushioning you in between. Satoru's snug tee and Suguru's sweaty scarred chest.

"That … was awesome." Satoru breathlessly cheered.

"Our best one yet." Suguru hummed proudly.

"Question. Whose cleaning this mess up?" Your shaky finger pointed at the cum all over the floor.

Both men tiredly cackled, nuzzling your nose and cheeks.

"Eh, let the workers here handle it, sweetheart~ We did help save Halloween, after all!" Satoru mused.

"Besides, we have more important matters to discuss." Suguru pointed out.

"Like?" You panted.

Suguru pushed himself up to gather your discarded clothing. "What shall we name our bundle of joy?"

"Mochi~!"

"No food related names, Satoru." He was deadpan serious.

"I'd rather that than anything outdated or boring! Our kid deserves the best name possible! Unless you want them to be miserably stuck with one for life~?" Satoru prayed that wasn't the case.

"Ahem." Your reaching hand had Satoru pulling you up on your sore bum as Suguru handed back your attire. "I'd rather we put our clothes back on, go home, call it a night, and talk about this in the morning. When I'm not entirely wiped out?"

Satoru started putting back on his jacket, flirting, "Oh our sweet, darling angel, how our world turns to your loveliness~"

Suguru slipped back on his robes and kasaya garment, tying them up tight. "She's right though. We've postponed our departure long enough. The girls are waiting for us back home, after all."

"Work related stuff can be dealt with in the morning." Satoru groaned, stretching his limbs, popping them from stiffness.

"Need help getting up though." You whimpered, fully dressed but too sore to stand up.

"Allow me the honor, our lovely wife~" Suguru swooned, sweeping you up with no struggles.

"Can we squeeze in one spooky film viewing though~?" Satoru pouted, pleading.

"In the living room, with the girls. You handle the snacks, I get the blankets." Suguru suggested.

"Deal." They kissed on it to your giggling relief. "Y/n, you're something special, ya know that~?" Satoru, your husband, pecked your nose.

"Our special wife, soon to be mother of our child." Suguru smooched your forehead.

"Oh, how long will that take, I wonder~? Hehe, our bedroom is gonna get pretty occupied for a while~" Satoru chuckled mischievously.

"Hey." Their eyes looked to yours as you smiled with such smittenness. "I love you both too."

They both kissed either side of your lips, coming together in one drawn out smiling smooch, before Satoru grabbed Suguru's shoulder, allowing you all to teleport on outta there together.

Back home, safe and sound.

For your own special Halloween.

The night is still young, ya know.

407 notes · View notes

ibbythebee · 8 months

Text

Hospital Wing Hermits

gif credit: @handknit on wattpad

pairing: Neville Longbottom x year younger!reader

summary: From Neville's second year at Hogwarts to his last, his most memorable times with you have been spent in the hospital wing.

genre: fluffiness all round, slight angst at the end... but only a little, slow-burny

warnings: this fic is so soft that you will potentially combust, slight swearing, SO MUCH hand holding, the reader is an oblivious goofball until she's not, kissing, talks about illnesses and injuries, blood and boogers

words: 6k

masterlist

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville's 2nd Year

Clutching onto Madame Pomfrey is nothing new to Neville. In the middle of the night, however, is a different story. The Nurse coos whenever the boy makes the slightest sound of pain, holding him up as not to put anymore pressure on his right foot.

"We're just about there, dear. Come on, just a few more steps..."

Leading him to the middle of the hospital wing's room, she then guides him onto an untouched bed, and immediately slides a pillow underneath his ankle. A spot of light on the opposite side of the room does not go unnoticed to either the woman or boy as soon as they had entered the room.

Neville rubs his eyes, squinting at the strange glowing mound of sheets. He watches as, with a sigh, Madame Pomfrey marches to the other preoccupied bed and pulls over the white covers to reveal you, a sheepish looking girl.

Under the light of your wand, your face looks puffy, lips and nose chapped, hair amuck. You cough into your elbow and smile a toothy innocent smile, batting your big eyes at the woman, silently pleading your innocence.

Pomfrey, however, does not play games. "Turn off that incessant light, Miss L/N. Do you realise what time it is?"

Your lips shape into a pout, voice stuffy as you answer. "But Madame Pomfrey, it's so boring here. I'm bored."

"No, you should be asleep. Turn that off right now. I don't want to have to send another owl to your mother about you refusing medical help."

"Just a few more minutes please? I'll finish the page I'm reading."

"Absolutely not. It's basic manners and respect for your fellow peer." She motions to Neville, and you finally turn to him.

Despite the fatigue in your features, your eyes seem to glow, piercing through the dark room. Perhaps it's just his lack of sleep or absence of light, but there is something drawing him to you and he fails to look away. Nothing comes out of his mouth even though he knows he's probably supposed to greet you, but neither do you.

A second longer you stare at your new roommate and in eventual defeat, you pout. The light from your wand fades, as you mumble 'nox' under your breath and get comfortable under the blankets.

Satisfied, Madame Pomfrey clears the rubbish bin underneath your bed and turns back to Neville handing him a small flask of some sort of healing potion.

"All right. Off to bed now both of you. Good night, dears."

You both mutter a 'goodnight', closing your eyes, gingerly pulling the covers up to your chins.

It stays mostly quiet in the room, apart from the Nurse's shuffling. Though as time passes, shoes click and click away, and then the door creaks shut.

"Psst!"

Neville stirs.

"Hey, psst!"

"Huh?" Is all Neville can manage, lifting his head with a groggy squint.

"What happened to you?" You ask in a loud whisper and sniffle. Sitting straight, and staring right at him. Your eyes really are big, inquisitive.

"Well I... twisted my ankle," he finally says.

"How?"

"I... I'd rather not say. It's embarrassing, really."

"I won't tell anyone," you say as-a-matter-of-factly. "You can hex me if I do."

He looks at you through narrow eyes again and this time it's your teeth that glow. As you show no interest in falling asleep, Neville's neck admits defeat and his head crashes back down onto the pillow. "Can we just please go to sleep?"

"I caught a cold... or maybe a fever. Runny nose—" you sniff, wiping your face with your pajama sleeve "—wet cough, high temperature. My mum says I have a weak immune system."

"Well, that's not very good, is it?" He comments half-heartedly to the ceiling.

"No, it isn't."

Silence. For a moment, he believes that you've finally surrendered yourself.

"So how'd you twist your ankle in the middle of the night?"

Never mind.

"You don't seem like a rule-breaker," you say.

He carefully shuffles up to sit and sighs. Where on earth did you get your energy from? He hadn't met such a talkative first year before.

Neville takes a moment to answer, debating on whether or not you're harmless enough for him to be vulnerable. "I had a nightmare, okay? I fell off my bed and... landed badly."

"Well, that's not very good, is it?" You echo.

"No, it isn't."

Silence once again ensues, but this time Neville's ready for your chatterbox mouth.

"What's your name? I'm..." You suddenly stop and he nearly laughs when your silhouette jerks and you sneeze. It's loud, like his Gran.

"Nice to meet you, Achoo." He chuckles, holding a hand over his mouth.

You sniff again, face hot in a new wave of humiliation, and this time you wipe your face with more aggression. "Hey, that's not funny! My name is — A-ACHHHOO!"

"Isn't that what I just said?" He can't help but laugh again. Relishing in the groan you emit and how furiously you blow your nose.

With a poke of your tongue, you retort. "Whatever, Mr... mm... Fall-out-of-bed...n-nightmare-broken-ankle-boy."

"Wow, that's really fantastic, Achoo." He slides back down into his bed, closing his eyes with content and tries to hold in his giggles as you continue with determination to clear up your mistake.

Initially, Neville thought he wouldn't even be able to get in a nap, but now with the understanding that you bark more than you bite, he creates a silly image of you in the form of a puppy. As your voice rings in the background, the puppy image barks with you, and he feels his eyes grow heavy, falling into a content and nightmare-less sleep.

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville’s 4th Year

Ever since sleeping the night in the hospital wing, Neville knew he'd be seeing more of you. It was surprising to him that he hadn't noticed you before that night, especially seeing as you were such a social butterfly. And despite being in the year below, he'd always manage to catch your eyes in the Great Hall. And in the courtyard. And in the halls. And through a classroom window. You were everywhere and anywhere. And when you weren't, you were in bed in the hospital wing.

Just like you are now. The fourteen-year-old hadn't seen you for the past few weeks after the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, and needless to say, he had to see you.

And such a perfect opportunity had arose today, albeit a painful one, but an opportunity none the less.

Neville opens the door to the wing as gently as possible as not to wake you, however knowing you, you probably already were.

Entering the room, he clutches his sore hand to his ribs and cranes his neck to spot the nurse. Instead he finds your lying form under a mountain of blankets.

You stir, and Neville curses at his shoes for making so much noise. Sure, his intention of coming here was to see you, but he’d seldom seen you in such a peaceful state and didn’t want to ruin that for you.

“Neville?” He hears you say and then you’re facing him.

He smiles down at you, with a voice just as soft as silk. "Hey, Achoo. Didn't mean to wake you. How you feeling?”

“I’m feeling alright. Kinda headache-y, but fine. Ugh, what time is it?” You rub your eyes and stretch as you sit up.

The messiness of your bed-hair is incredibly endearing and the curve in Neville’s lips only grow at the sight.

“It’s third period.”

“Then… what are you doing here? Are you hurt?”

You’re suddenly on your feet, eyes round and wide, taking in the scene of the tall boy. He flinches, attempting to hide his hand in his robe sleeve.

You snatch his hand, bringing it close to your face. It’s a burn. All over the back of his palm. "Bloody hell— Where's Madame Pomfrey?"

"I was about to ask you the same question." A small chuckle falls from his lips as you examine him. Somehow, in some miracle he watches your big eyes grow larger as you twist his hand, move his long fingers to get as much information about his wound.

He feels like he’s going crazy, your touch is a new kind of burn on his skin. It doesn’t sting, but it is hot. And you don’t even know you’re causing it.

"She's always gone when you actually need her,” you huff.

"It's not as bad as it looks, really. Just hurts a little when I move it."

"What about when I...?" You drift off, as you slide a delicate thumb over his beet-red knuckles.

The tips of his ears turn the same shade of red. "Stings."

With no further words, he lets you pull him to one corner of the hospital wing, searching for a particular ointment on the many shelves of medical supplies. You don't let go of his hand, and he doesn't dare pull away.

"Let me guess how it happened—" you say, grabbing a round jar of blue gel to read the label.

"Seamus." You both state and then share a laugh.

Placing the jar back, you continue your search and Neville fills the comfortable silence. "It's Potions class. For once I thought I was doing pretty decent and then next thing I know, Seamus' cauldron blows up next to me and of course I get the damage."

His hand is held up to your face again and he watches as you grab a new jar with a less solid looking gel, creamy in colour.

"I suppose it's a good way for me to get out of the rest of the class," he shrugs.

"And get away from Snape," you quip and earn a chuckle from him. There was a time in Neville’s third year, when you had come to learn about his amusing boggart. He’d snuck into the hospital wing, claiming he had a nasty headache and ended up staying the night, neither of you getting a wink of sleep. It had also been revealed that the thing you were most frightened of was giants.

“Sit down,” your motioning to the mattress behind him.

He does so without question, still attached to you by your pinkie, making himself comfortable on the edge of a neatly tucked bed. He follows your every action as you place the ointment jar beside his thigh and open the lid. You scoop a teaspoon amount with your fingers and lifted his burnt hand again.

Before the cream touches his burn, you begin to tell him about what illness you've caught today and he barely feels the sting of the medicine. There's no better spell or potion to kill pain than your voice, that much was evident even back when he first met you.

Concentration laces your features and unbeknownst to you, your hips hit the edge of the mattress, unaware to the fact that Neville's knees are on either side of you.

The sight of you between him for some reason makes it difficult for him to swallow. The urge to trap you with his legs increases by the second. "Hey, Y/N?"

You wipe off excess ointment on your pajama top and turn your attention to him. He rarely called you by your first name. Something's up.

"Yeah?"

"Well, the erm... You know in a week or so?"

"Mhm?"

There's a pause as he searches your eyes for confidence, then he finally announces. "Would you say you're a good dancer?"

Creases form between your brows and you pout at the question, really thinking it over. If there was anything else Neville had learnt about you was that you always answered his queries with great interest and thought. You never treat his questions as though they're dumb, and he’s come to adore you for that.

As you ponder, he slides his non-burnt hand under yours, idly fiddling with your delicate fingers; tracing around the length of them, lifting them up and dropping them one by one, and eventually laying his palm flat on top of yours. Were his hands always this big?

The tips of your fingers tap-tap against his, as you finally answer. "I suppose... I would like to think I am."

"Well... that's good to hear."

"What about you?"

"Oh me?" He finds your face and swallows thickly. "I've been practicing lately, so I can only hope I've improved."

A giggle breaks free from your lips and it’s music to his ears. "Practicing? Whatever for?"

"The Yule Ball, of course."

"The..." The creases near your brows form again. "I've completely forgotten about that."

He squeezes a finger of yours. "So, no one's asked you yet?"

You sneeze into your elbow and then for a second time, and your voice becomes stuffy to the amusement of Neville. "Asked me what?"

"Asked you to be their date, of course."

"Oh. No." Scoffing. "Being stuck in here means no social-life. And besides—" You spin around quick to grab a roll of bandage, and gingerly flatten it over his burn "—who's gonna want to dance with someone who sneezes every five minutes?"

"I would."

"That's what I thought — wait... you would?"

In an effort to look nonchalant, Neville shrugs, finding interest in a bird that's flying near the window. The tips of his ears poking out of his shaggy hair are giving you a different response, they're blushing.

You finish with his wound and step away from the bed, fingers feeling cold when you let go of him.

Upon inspection of your medical handiwork, he smiles gently. He hadn't felt a thing. "Thanks for this."

"I... I can't guarantee that I'll be completely healthy that day," you say.

"The Yule Ball?"

You nod in an almost embarrassed way, as you fiddle with the collar of your sleeping clothes.

Neville just shakes his head. "The suit my Gran got for me has a lot of pockets so I’ll carry all your tissues for you. Or anything else you might need, I'll keep them for you."

"That'sssss.... ACHHU!"

"Bless you. So what do you say? Would you... want to go with me? Maybe? I promise not to step on your feet."

"Miss L/N?! What on earth are you doing out of bed?!"

"MADAME POMFREY!" You both exclaim, faces and necks feeling hot.

"Come on, dear, why don't you ever follow simple orders?!"

Mumbles of pathetic protest fall from your lips as the woman drags you back to the other side of the room. You knock into Neville’s knee on the way and so he’s quick to follow behind you with his own incoherent babble about the burn on his hand.

You're settled under the blankets once again and watch as the nurse's eyes bulge at the sight of the tall boy's perfectly cared for palm. She inspects the bandage, inquires about the pain and what the cause was, all while Neville can't keep the flushed look off his face.

"She— well... Y/N helped me out. It doesn't hurt anymore, I'm fine now, Ma'am."

As the said woman keeps a hold of his hand, she turns to you with daggers. "What did you use? A potion? Spell, perhaps? Mr Longbottom could have severe side-effects if you're not careful."

"He won't," you grin toothily as you did back in your first year and point to the shelf in the right corner. "I used the ointment that you gave Theodore Nott not that long ago. Haha, Nott not."

Neville stifles a laugh, and isn't surprised when the nurse doesn't question you further. You might be the only student that can get away with arguing with Madame Pomfrey.

The nurse's face instead takes the form of an appreciative and impressed expression. It's only natural that with your ‘weak immune system’, you've gained as much medical knowledge as you have colds and flus.

"I'll admit, you've done a splendid job with Neville. However, you simply cannot use whatever you like, whenever you like, on whomever you like. Next time this happens you need to wait for me to return, alright? Is that understood?"

Taking a glance at Neville's sheepish state, you sigh and nod in response.

"And Neville dear, don't encourage this behaviour. Especially not from Miss L/N."

"Okay, Ma'am."

She gives the boy a goodbye and immediately turns to you, a full on lecture spilling from her mouth. He isn’t supposed to leave yet, not when he’s just finally had the courage to ask you out.

Neville finds your helpless gaze behind the woman’s shoulder, and sends you a sad sort of smile before turning on his heel to get to the door.

"I-I'll go with you!" You yell.

The tall boy pauses, heart flipping at your words.

"To the Yule Ball."

There’s no stopping the grin that forms, and he finally nods after a second, hair shaking with the action.

Your eyes speak to him as your own smile appears.

Meanwhile, the woman huffs and puffs, cleaning the area around your bed. "Not in this state, you won't."

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville's 5th Year

The last time Neville was in the hospital wing, he'd come to talk to you about his recent endeavours in Herbology and let slip that he's been secretly practicing defensive magic with a group of other students, being taught by none other than Harry himself. There was no doubt that you would also be trusted enough to join, however seeing as you were once again bed-ridden, it felt best to keep it a secret until you got better.

Now it wasn't a secret anymore, and each time he'd visit you'd ask him to put in a good word with Harry, with the group. Neville always said he would, but he never did, fearing that Professor Umbitch would eventually catch onto you and you'd have to pay the ultimate price.

Karma is an Umbitch, however, and now it looks as if the only answer to Neville's current predicament is to let you join Dumbledore's Army, despite all his worries and his efforts to stop you from doing that.

Today’s DA training has been cut short, due to the fact that the fifteen-year old is now incapacitated. Blood refusing to slow down from his nose.

Going to Madame Pomfrey would've required him to come up with a believable story as to what happened, so the next best thing was to send for you, someone who already knows about this secret group.

"Neville!" A Ravenclaw boy shouts, interrupting his thoughts. "Your Bogey Bug is here— ow!"

Someone smacks the kid, and then suddenly the Weasley twins are leading you into the Room of Requirement. You stand over him, adorning new pajamas he hadn't seen before.

"Hey Achoo," he weakly smiles. "Thanks for coming."

The DA gather around, as you crouch to his side and immediately take the cloth he's been holding to his nose. You make a face at him. “Oh Neville… what are we going to do with you?”

A fresh line of blood rolls down to his lip, so you let him leave the fabric there to sink it in.

"Keep your head steady, okay? Don't lean back, just let the blood flow for now."

"I think my nose might be broken?"

"Neville, I swear to..." your head spins sharply, and a few students flinch. "Who did this?"

"We were practicing stupefy," the familiar voice of Seamus answers and immediately your tense shoulders relax seeing his face emerge behind the twins. "I didn't mean to. I swear, Y/N."

"He really didn't mean to," Neville echoes.

You sneeze into your elbow and shake your head, palm making contact with your cheek. "See, this is why you should’ve told me about this secret army group thing so I could've joined and stopped something like this from happening.”

"I'm sorry."

You take Neville's hand again and lift the cloth, checking over the damage. There is damage, alright. You try not to make a show of wincing, fearing that the brown-haired boy would get anxious by your reaction, but his nose really does look quite out of sorts. Out of line. Broken.

He realises you haven't said a word in a while and smiles again, "you can fix, can't you, Achoo?"

"I told Neville I could treat him, but he kept refusing and insisted for your presence," Luna's soft voice interrupts as she crouches down beside you.

Someone amongst the crowd starts to coo and the tips of Neville's ears manage to turn beet red, more so when you turn your attention to him, expression unreadable.

Luna carries on, eyes focused on you. "He wouldn't let anyone touch him. Not until now, anyway."

"Okay!" A sudden clap startles even Luna, and you all turn to the perpetrator. Harry Potter's back is turned to your direction as he addresses the crowd, "I think we'll call it a day. Neville needs his strength and so do you."

The crowd murmurs, exchanging pouts and disappointed shrugs.

"Be proud of yourselves, you all did brilliantly today. Each and every one of you have improved. Next time we get to meet we'll continue with the Patronus Charm."

"What about Bogey Bug? How do we know she's not gonna rat us out?" A girl in Hufflepuff asks.

Neville sees you stand up, slapping a hand over your chest. "I swear on my life and the life of Neville—."

"Hey!"

"—that I will not snitch on this group or expose any of you. I promise to be loyal and keep my mouth shut about this."

Some faces don't seem convinced, as more murmurs and chatter erupt.

"She can be our nurse!" Neville exclaims, stealing everyone's attention. It's time to put in that good word for you. "We won't have to go to the hospital wing if Achoo— I mean, Y/N is here. She's really good at what she does. Plus, I accidentally told her about the army about a month ago and she hasn't told a soul since. I do..."

Your big eyes soften when he turns to you.

"...I trust her with my life."

"All right then," Harry claps once more. "All those in favour of Y/N becoming part of the army, raise your hand."

A few hands come up, whilst others whisper for a moment. One more, then four more, and then more hands raise faster than you can count them. You and the broken-nosed boy share grins, as you squeeze his free hand.

"That's it then. Y/N, welcome to Dumbledore's Army."

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville’s 6th year

Following the events of the previous year of school you and Neville had grown ever closer. Outside of the classroom you'd never be seen without the other. Inseparable. There'd even been a rumour going around that you were dating, but you always denied such claims and Neville could only comply. He hadn't yet told anyone about his feelings for you, although it seemed that those in his close circle were figuring it out on their own.

After having looked like a lost pygmy puff in the Great Hall, Luna found Neville and mentioned to him that you looked 'out of sorts' during class. He hadn't even asked about you. She just knew to tell him.

So, it’s only fitting for him to be by your side now, during lunch hour.

You’re shivering underneath all the sheets and blankets, and yet as Neville glides the back of his fingers across your forehead, you’re sweating as well.

“Hang in there Achoo, you’ll be fine in no time. The spell will take effect.”

You can only give so much as a nod, and groan when your lower abdomen tightens with a deep, stabbing ache.

“Shh,” Neville smooths his delicate fingers over your forehead again, tucking loose strands back to their place with the rest of your hair. “I'm here. Do you want me to distract you with anything?"

"Anything," you squeak, eyes shut tightly as if doing that would stop your cramps and make you fall asleep faster. "Please."

"Alright, erm..." He slides his tongue over his bottom lip and leans in closer to you, elbow pressing into the mattress. "I suppose I can tell you about a dream I had not long ago. You were in it."

"The Hippogriff one?" You tremble.

"No, this is a new one," he smiles when you meet his gaze, finding your fingers peeking through the sheets and taking them into his hands. "It's really stupid, as dreams usually go, but I really like it."

Your fingers are stretched out, as Neville begins to trace over your palm. First he draws a circle and you giggle a little at the feeling.

"This is me," he draws a triangle, "and this is you. It seems like any ordinary day, except you and I have the same classes. In the dream we're both popular. Everyone cheers for us when we get good marks, and even Professor Snape smiles at you."

"No way."

He laughs and traces a shape with lots of spikes. "Yes way. It really seems too good to be true, because there's even a moment where we successfully sneak out at night, we're just in our pajamas and we're watching the stars from the astronomy tower."

"I'm waiting for the 'but'."

"But — here comes the stupid part — you just start flying out of nowhere. One second you're next to me, the next you're just in the sky. I'm freaking out trying to reach for your hand, but you're just so calm about the fact that you mysteriously gained the ability to fly."

You're giggling again, especially as he slaps your palm a few times to emphasise the story. "Accurate reaction."

"And then it just ends with me being able to breath fire."

"What?" You laugh, brows pulling together in amusement. "I wonder what Professor Trelawney would say about that. What all of it might represent."

He draws a line on each of your fingers, slow and tickly. "If it's anything like I've been told before, it probably means bad luck."

"Well I was also in the dream with you, so we'll go through the bad luck together." To his surprise, you thread your fingers through his and squeeze. You're not trembling anymore, you haven't been for the past minute or so, and it doesn't feel like you're being stabbed over and over in the stomach.

"Think you can sleep now?" He asks, fingers hesitantly unravelling.

You nod, grinning at him, those eyes of yours finally shining as bright as they usually do.

"Want me to go get Madame Pomfrey?"

You shake your head. And then your arms are around his neck, head tucked in the space between your bicep and his jawline.

It feels like a millennium till he returns your gesture, arms securing around your waist and back, pulling you in tightly and desperately. The mix of the wing's clinical scent and the smell of baked desserts fills his nose. He could've sworn he'd smelt something like this during Potions class.

"Stay with me," you purr. "Please."

He knows he has class in ten minutes, he knows he can't skip, he knows he'll get in trouble.

So with your arms determined to remain wrapped around each other he bends over, moving till your head meets the pillow. He kicks off one of his school shoes. Then the other.

You feel his knees dip into the mattress beside your thighs, and then you have to part for a moment as he slips under the blankets, his head settling on the pillow right beside yours.

When he's comfortable, you take one of his hands and lower it until he brushes over your clothed belly.

Keeping the heat from entering his ears and cheeks is impossible, as his hand flattens over your stomach, shock evident in his features from your bold action.

"Could you keep it there?" You say, when you feel his uncertainty. "It'll help if the cramps come back." Your own hands smooth over his, trapping him there.

"I will." He swallows thickly. "Are you comfortable?"

You nod. "Are you?"

"Absolutely. Yes. I am."

A content breath passes your lips and you smile, all giddy like, at the ceiling. "Thank you for being here. For being with me always. For not making fun of me being sick all the time. Not calling me Bogey Bug. For... for just being you. For being my most favourite person ever."

"I could really say the same about you." Both your voices are barely above a whisper, seeing as your faces are so close together.

"Thanks Neville," you turn to him, and tap the back of his hand on your belly.

You stare at each other for a moment, and for some reason it doesn't feel wrong. It's not awkward.

Neville breaks the silence. "You... you know how everyone keeps saying that we're... you know going out?"

"Yeah."

Neville pauses for a second, you're staring so intensely, pupils large and beautiful. He tries to swallow past the lump in his throat and squeezes the material of your clothes. He can talk to you, he can ask you the question. He's battled against Bellatrix Lestrange before, he's been put in Gryffindor for a reason. He can ask you. "What do you say we make those rumours... not rumours anymore?"

The corners of your mouth twitch. "You-You mean... you mean like...?"

"Yes. Like that. Like... I want to spend the rest of my life with you, sort of way."

You don't say anything.

He continues, with a small bite of his lip. "Like... I'm completely mad for you and if I don't tell you now I don't think I'll ever get the chance to again."

"This... isn't a dream, is it?"

"Can I prove to you this isn't a dream?"

"Okay."

And it really feels like a dream, as his face leans in and you feels his lips press against the corner of your mouth.

"Did that help?" he whispers.

You twist around to lay on your side, guiding Neville's big hand up to your waist. "You missed, Neville."

"What?"

"You missed."

This time you both lean in, and this time Neville doesn't miss.

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville’s 7th year

The last Horcrux has been destroyed, Voldemort's killed, the Death Eaters have fled. New life has been brought to Hogwarts, sun pooling through the shattered windows of the Great Hall.

People sit on broken stools, torn and ashy blankets, chatter quiet and solemn. A few people manage to tell jokes and liven the mood, others cuddle, kiss, crying tears of relief. Nurses scamper around tending to the badly wounded.

Only...

As Neville limps his way through the hall he desperately scans over the crowds only to realise you're not here. You're not by Madame Pomfrey. You're not by Luna either. Neville finds Ginny's tired but hopeful figure and before he can tap her shoulder, she's already turned to him with a gentle smile.

She shakes her head before he even has a chance to speak. "I haven't seen Y/N. Not since... well not since she took care of Freddie. 'M sorry Neville."

"No," he shakes his head and gives the girl a gentle hug when her voice wavers and her bottom lip quivers. "No, I'm sorry."

"You helped kill Voldemort. That's hardly anything to be sorry for," she smiles again as they part, softly pushing at his shoulder to leave. To keep searching for you. "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye out for her."

Neville sends her a purposeful nod and turns to leave, the sword of Gryffindor still snug in his hand. At times he uses the weapon as a crutch, the pain in his everything starting to take a toll as previous rushes of adrenaline begin to fade. The only thing keeping him going is the thought of you. You and your sneezes, your messy hair, your often nasally voice, your big eyes and equally big grins. You.

He passes what looks to be remnant of the hospital wing's door, merely a pile of wood chips and metal beams now. He hears the distant tweet of a bird, the pitter-patter of loose rubble and someone's sneeze.

The sword clangs to the ground and he's sprinting. Neville rounds the corner of the entrance to the wing and he stops, breath heavy, vision blurry.

You're there, and you're already staring at him, your grin so large and your eyes even more so and you're holding onto something familiar.

"N-Neville?" your voice is soft and so stuffy and gorgeous.

"Achoo, good Godric." His sore legs carry him to your side, and you're running toward him, arms open. And then you jump and he completely forgets about how much pain he's in when he catches you.

You cling to his sweater, to his shoulders, to his neck, to his waist, squeezing him with every bit of strength you've got left.

He's grasping at your hoody, your waist, your hair, your skin, he's touching all of you, scared that if he'll let go you won't be there anymore.

"I love you so much," he says through a trembling voice.

You pull away slightly and return your feet to the ground, legs unwrapping from his hips. You crane your neck to kiss his jaw, and then you kiss his cheek and his other and then finally his lips. And it sets your heart on fire, full of adoration and care and relief. You don't ever want to stop feeling him here, his supple lips against yours, especially as his hands cup your jaw, reeling you in for more and more.

"I love you Neville," you cry when you finally have to pull away to catch your breaths. "Ever since I first met you. You and your twisted ankle."

He chuckles, tenderly wiping a tear from the apple of your cheek with his thumb. He scans over the room for a moment, as he feels your fingers come to dance over the dry trail of blood from his head wound.

"I don't think we're ever gonna leave this place," he says with a caress of your jaw.

Following his gaze, you giggle. Those beds you spent countless nights on, those countless concoctions and medical supplies you've had used on you, they're all here, scattered and battered around the room.

"That's why I came here instead of the Hall," you say, keeping one arm around your boyfriend's waist and unravelling the other to reveal an intact jar of creamy coloured ointment. "I'm so sorry, I must've scared you nuts."

"Scared me to death more like, but all I had to do was listen out for your sneezes. Turns out it isn't that hard to find you."

You poke your tongue out and he laughs. "That's so embarrassing. Always comes back to me being a Bogey Bug."

"Yeah," he smoothly pulls you in for an ardent kiss, "my Bogey Bug."

"You know what else I am?"

You're leaning against his arms that are wrapped around you and he watches as you take off the lid of the jar. Just like his fourth year, you use your fingers to scoop up a teaspoon of the cream.

"What? What else are you?"

You step out and take one of his hands, letting his palm sit over the top of yours. And then the cream is applied over the burns on the back of his hands. In spite of these burns looking way worse than his wound from Potions class back in his fourth year, the pain is still barely felt once the ointment's smoothed over. What's also killing the sting is looking at your breathtaking eyes. He's lost in them, distracted completely.

"I'm also your nurse," you finally say, wiping the excess over your hoody.

Neville's mouth curls into a smirk, snaking his arms around you again and pressing your bodies tightly together. "Well, nurse. My lips are feeling kind of sore, do you think you can fix them?"

You hum, eyes twinkling with mischief as your hands link behind his neck.

His gaze dips to your mouth, trying to fight the heat flowing to his cheeks and ears. There will never be a time when you won't make him nervous and giddy.

You mirror his action, eyes taking their time stare at his lips. "You know what, darling? I think I've got just the thing for you."

#neville x reader #neville longbottom #neville longbottom x reader #neville longbottom imagine #neville longbottom x you #neville longbottom smut #neville longbottom x reader smut #neville longbottom x y/n

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middlepartmatt · 28 days

Text

After Party

“so i love when you call unexpected, 'cause i hate when the moment's expected. so i'ma care for you, you, you” — EARNED IT, the weeknd

SUMMARY: you and chris have been best friends since childhood, and nothing more. that is, until one night you are the last two people awake after a party and you're both in the mood for something more.

WARNINGS: smut, switch!chris, switch!reader, oral (male & fem receiving), grinding

AUTHOR’S NOTE: writing chris and matt fics on wattpad has actually made me TERRIFIED of the sturniolo police so this is scaaaaary. anyway lmk what u think and if u don't like this, don't read it thx

────

It's currently 4:30 am, and the party has long since died down. Everybody left about two hours ago when the police showed up and kicked out all of the guests because of noise complaints, but the group had decided to stay awake and talk for an hour until Nick complained he was tired, and everybody else mumbled in agreement. They're all asleep now, besides you and Chris, the only two left downstairs.

You're bored out of your mind, sitting and staring mindlessly at the wall while Chris scrolls on his phone. Your eyes unwillingly drift over to him, your gaze comfortably settling on him on the other side of the couch. He's wearing grey sweatpants and a basic white tee, his hair messy and covering his eyes slightly where it's hanging over his forehead. You hate the feeling you get deep in youe stomach as you look at him, illuminated only by a few candles and the light from his phone screen.

Like he can feel your eyes on him, Chris then puts down his phone and turns to look at you. His blue eyes seem muted and sleepy, though there's a glint in them you can't seem to ignore.

"Wanna watch a movie?" he suggests, and you just nod. He picks up the remote and begins scrolling through Netflix. Despite yourself, you study him closely as he looks through the plethora of movies available for the two of you to watch. You suddenly feel the room getting warmer and push the fluffy blanket off of yourself.

Chris settles on a movie, not bothering to ask you if you even want to watch it on before the opening credits begin playing. You leans back against the couch, occasionally finding yourself glancing over at Chris to see his reaction to the movie. Though his face remains the same, barely even showing any signs of amusement. It's almost like his mind is completely elsewhere.

So is yours, clearly, as he's all you can focus on.

You roll your eyes at yourself and decide to start actually watching the movie. It's a stupid Adam Sandler comedy with a bunch of dumb scenes and even worse jokes, though you find yourself amused all the same.

"This movie is so dumb," you chuckle, and Chris turns around to see you, a smile on his face.

"Can't be that bad if you're laughing," he replies quickly, and you kiss your teeth. His eyes remain locked with yours and you suddenly feel nervous, so you decide to look away. You pick up your glass and take a sip of water, before leaning back with the glass still in your hand.

"Well anyway, you must be disappointed about tonight," you say to Chris, who raises an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?" he asks quietly.

"Come on, Chris," you says, rolling your eyes. "I think tonight's the first time you've been at a party and not had your tongue down some girl's throat at least once."

He furrows his eyebrows and presses his lips together.

"Maybe I didn't want to," he says quietly, like he's contemplating something. It irks you though, because you realize it's the first time you've struggled to figure him out. Usually you can always tell what he's thinking, but tonight has been impossible.

"Or maybe all of the girls at school have finally realized how ugly you are," you say, your voice laced with sarcasm. Chris scoffs loudly, like it's the most outrageous thing he's ever heard.

But then, all of a sudden, he twists in your direction and places his hands on your waist, pulling you onto his lap. Chris' grip tightens, fingers brushing against your skin as he sits you down onto his crotch. Your smile falls, and Chris grins as he leans closer and whispers into your ear: "Maybe this is what I was waiting for."

You tense, barely able to move or even think as you register what is currently happening.

"That's funny," you reply, your words coming out weaker and quieter than you wanted.

"Almost as funny as you trying to convince yourself you don't want this," Chris replies instantly, as if without a thought.

The movie continues playing in the background, but neither of you are paying it any attention whatsoever. Chris is just looking at you, his hands still firmly planted on her waist. Every single word has left your mind.

"If you hate this, you can always leave," he shrugs, leaning back but keeping his hands exactly where they are. You could slap him for saying something like that when you're literally sitting on his lap and can barely even think because of it.

When you doesn't speak again, Chris just continues: "Last chance, baby," he says softly.

You don't want to leave. Heat rises to your cheeks, and his eyes darken as he looks down at you.

"I'm not going anywhere," you whisper, and Chris immediately grins before leaning forward to kiss you. It's is full of need.

He kisses you slowly, deeply, his lips pressing hard against yours as he reaches around your waist to pull you closer to him. You return the gesture, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him even closer to you, to which Chris responds by smiling against your lips.

From there, your hands move to his neck, your skin burning hot against his as you moves further upwards, running your fingers through his hair. As you do so, Chris pulls away slightly, his chest moving up and down as he breathes heavily.

"Fuck, baby, you can't-" he pants, but you cuts him off.

"Can't what?" you grin, and he presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, almost in disbelief at your words. His hands then trail upwards from your waist to rest on your neck, right as he leans forward to kiss you again.

You kisses him back, your lips moving in sync with each other. Your mind swirls with a million thoughts; you're now realizing how badly you want this and the fact that you've wanted it for a long while.

Chris leans back against the couch again, you leaning forward to deepen the kiss, your breath hitching slightly as he puts his hands on your waist once more. Throughout the kiss, he fiddles with the hem of your tank top, his fingers brushing lightly against you skin, making your heart beat even faster.

You decides that enough is enough and if he's going to mess with you like this, then you're allowed to do the same. His hands are still on your hips as you brings her hands back up to run through his hair, feeling the softness of it against your fingers.

Chris uses his hands to pull you closer, and you can feel your body responding to his actions as you kiss him harder. You practically melt into him as your hands now find their place on his neck by his collarbone. Unable to stop yourself, you tug his bottom lip between your teeth before kissing him again. Chris chuckles mid-kiss, and you're struggling to believe that this is actually currently happening.

Your thoughts immediately disappear when you feels his erection pressing against your core, and you can't help the grin that forms on your lips. You press herself against him, rubbing your body against his, feeling his cock throbbing against your skin.

Chris groans in response and bites your lip. You feel his hands slide down to cup your ass, squeezing gently. Then he lifts you slightly so that he can sit up straighter, with you still straddling his lap.

You rub your pussy along his cock through his pants, and he whimpers softly. You slip your hand inside his pants and finds his hard cock, stroking it slowly.

"Fuck," Chris grits out, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

"Yeah?" you hum in response, reeling in the way he throws his head back against the couch cushion just at the sound of your voice. "You like that?"

He nods and arches his hips upward, grinding against your hand. You laugh softly and kiss him again, still stroking him.

You pull away from the kiss and slide off of him. Chris sits up and reaches for you, but you shake your head. You first pulls his shirt off over his head, tossing it to the side before leaning forward and kissing him again.

Chris moans into your mouth, his hands sliding down your sides to your hips. He lifts you slightly so that he can pull your shirt up and off of your torso.

You shiver as his fingers brush against your bare stomach. You gasp softly as he kisses your neck, his tongue darting out to taste your skin.

Before he can do anything else, you quickly move away and bend down, your eye level the same as his knees. His hard cock is bulging out of his boxers, and Chris looks down at you longingly.

"Touch me, baby, please," he begs. You grab his boxers by the waistband and pull them down, revealing his throbbing cock. You smile at him wickedly and drop to your knees, taking him into your warm mouth.

"Fuck," Chris repeats, looking up at the ceiling. "Oh God, ma."

Chris moans loudly and closes his eyes, enjoying the feel of your plump lips wrapped around him. You begin to move your head back and forth, tongue swirling around his dick. You moan softly as you suck him, your hand moving up and down his length. You glance up at him and see him watching you, his hands gripping the couch cushions tightly.

You use your hand to stroke him gently while you suck his dick. You love the sounds he makes, and you moans softly every time you take him into your mouth. Chris groans and runs his fingers through your hair, pushing you closer to him. You moan and take him deeper into your throat, your nose pressed against his stomach. He lets out a shaky breath and pushes your head further onto him. You let out a surprised sound when you feels him hit the back of your throat.

You gag slightly and pull back a little bit, but Chris holds your head there, his fingers tangling in your hair. He moans loudly and continues to fuck her face, his fingers digging into her scalp. You moan, other hand gripping his thigh as you tries not to gag. Throughout all of this, you feel yourself getting wetter with each thrust of his cock into your mouth.

You whimpers, loving how he makes you feel. Chris moans and leans back, his cock twitching as he cums into your mouth. You swallow it all, before your eyes widen in surprise as he pulls you up off of him. Chris smiles and pulls you close, kissing you hard.

He pulls away before grinning: "Your turn, ma."

Chris pushes you back against the couch, so that you're laying down before him.

He kneels between your legs and pulls your skirt up, revealing your white lace panties. Chris smiles and slides his hand into her panties, feeling her wetness.

"So wet," he muses. "Is this all for me, baby?"

"All for you, asshole," you reply breathlessly, barely able to think straight. He moans softly and slides his fingers along your slit, teasing you. He pulls your panties to the side and finally slides his fingers inside you, finding your clit instantly.

He rubs it slowly, smirking as you moan softly. He slides two fingers into your tight pussy and finger fucks you. You release a short whimper and bite your lip, closing your eyes. Chris smirks and slides a third finger inside you, making you moan louder this time. He continues to finger you and rub your clit, and your body starts to shake.

"Woah, calm down, ma," he murmurs. "I've only just got started with you." His words alone make you even wetter, if that's even possible. Your legs spread wider for him and he moans as he slides a fourth finger inside you, stretching you wide open. You cry out, thighs clenching together

Chris then pulls his fingers out of you and licks them clean, before leaning down and sliding his tongue along your slit. You moans and now spread your legs wider, so desperate for his touch. He sucks on your clit gently, and you writhe, unable to control yourself.

"Chris, stop," you manage. "If you keep going, I'm gonna-"

Chris suddenly stops then, and stands up, pulling your panties back over your wet pussy. Your eyes widen as you're left lying there, longing for his touch.

"Chris," you plead. "Please."

He grins at your desperate state, a cocky smile playing on his lips.

"What was that?" he teases. "Say it again, baby, I couldn't hear you."

"Fuck you, Chris," you say, your voice strained as you press your legs together for any sort of friction.

"I thought you'd never ask," Chris grins, grabbing your arms and pinning them above your head. He kisses you hard, then slides his tongue into your mouth, tasting you. You moan into his mouth and try to pull away from him, but he holds you tight, pressing himself against you.

His tip grazes you soaking pussy softly, and you spread your legs wider for him, looking up at him pleadingly. You moans and push your hips towards him, begging him to enter you. He smiles and eases his cock into you, making you gasp. He groans and slowly slides his cock further into your tight pussy, filling you up completely.

"You're so fucking hot, ma," Chris whispers, grinning. Moans leave his mouth as he begins thrusting in and out of you, fucking you hard. You groan and grind against him, your pussy throbbing. You arch your back, needing even more of him.

Your body trembles as his thrusts get faster, more out of control. You bite your lip to stop yourself from crying out.

"Moan for me, ma," Chris tells you then.

"Chris," you whimper, and he moans as you say his name. With every thrust you get closer to tipping over the edge, your groans growing louder with every movement.

Your body shakes, your pussy pulsing around his cock. Chris doesn't stop though, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to your lips.

"Cum for me, baby."

You do as he says, letting out a moan as his cock hits the back of you one last time. You hold him tightly, your nails dragging sharply down his back, though Chris doesn't mind. He loves seeing you unravel like this in front of him, knowing it's all his doing.

"Good girl," he whispers into your ear.

"Your turn," you whisper back, suddenly grabbing his hips and thrusting yourself onto him one more time. Chris tips his head back, groaning as he finishes.

He pulls out of you, looking down at you, his best friend, with a smile on his face.

"Bet no one else has ever made you moan like that before, huh?" he grins smugly. You bite your lip, shaking you head. "Thought so."

"Shut up," you reply, getting up from the couch and reaching out for his hand. "We should get cleaned up," you tell him.

"If you wanna have shower sex, you can just say so," Chris shrugs, and despite yourself, blush forms on your cheeks.

"I'll take that as a yes," Chris answers, taking your hand and leading you to the bathroom.

────

AUTHOR'S NOTE PT. 2: i am a y/n hater for life you will never catch me using that so drop more pet names in the comments because i can't be overusing "baby" and "ma" LMFAOOO

#sturniolo #chrissturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo smut #player chris

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callsigns-haze · 4 months

Text

Shower breeze

pairing: young!president!coriolanus snow x fem!first lady!reader

summary: you join your man in his daliy morning shower

warnings: smut, fingering, unhinged coryo, sex, dominance, short fic

A/n: This is my third hunger games post so I hope y'all enjoy! If this seems familiar I've reposted off my old wattpad and old tumblr account

The bed is vacant when you awaken. Coryo usually stays in bed a little later on the weekends to offer you sultry embraces and long, slow kisses, but now his side of the bed is chilly and empty.

You see a light coming from the bathroom door as you focus further and scan the area. Then you hear the soft sounds of flowing water. It is then that you discover Coryo is having her morning shower.

You made the decision to join him outside of bed. Perhaps even pull out a small surprise for him. To avoid letting him see or hear you when you first enter the bathroom, you undress before opening the door and remove your sleeping shirt and underpants.

When you're fully nude, you approach the bathroom door silently and turn the handle carefully. Because of the steaming glass, you can see Coryo's body's faint silhouette as soon as you enter the restroom. Moreover, he is facing the shower head and fully turned away from the bathroom door, which is advantageous since it allows you to approach him from behind without his knowing.

You softly lift the glass door of the spacious walk-in shower, stepping over with your feet. Sincerely, you're shocked he hasn't heard you yet. He seems to be living in a bubble. You go forward and put your arms around his torso in a swift motion after closing the door as lightly as you can. "Good morning, sweetie," he says, seeing that you are awake.

"Good morning."

With a simple smile on her face, Coryo turns to face you and asks, "What are you doing out of bed? After taking a shower, I was going to come back and snuggle with you."

"I just woke up and you were gone." you say with a slight frown and continue. "Then I realized you were in the shower and I wanted to surprise you. We can get back in bed after if you want. We don't really have anything planned for today."

"What kind of surprise?" Coryo questions.

You reach down to seize hold of his stiffening cock that is hanging between his knees and mumble, "This one." When you touch Coryo lightly, she gasps. You lean up and grab for his moist lips as you gently tug on his cock, shifting his foreskin back and forth with each pull.

When Coryo senses your cue, he lowers his head to meet yours. With a passionate kiss, you let the hot water run over your bodies. Because of the hand on his shaft, Coryo groans into your mouth. At that point, he thinks he's had enough and pulls away from your lips. "Enough jokes. I must fuck you." Coryo let out a loud groan.

You drop his cock from your hand and Coryo reaches down, placing both hands on the back of your thighs, and you jump up in his strong hold. With your back against the shower wall, you wrap your naked legs around his waist and arms around his neck.

The shower water makes it a little difficult to cling to his body, but you manage. Then you anxiously plant another passionate kiss on each other's lips. Coryo bends down to pick up his dick and line it up with your dripping hole while your tongues are running wild in each other's mouths. He inserts it gently, causing whimpers to come from your mouths.

"Ughh fuck!" you grunt on his tongue. You can feel every ridge, every vein, every part of his 8 inch cock inside of you. Once Coryo is all eight inches inside of your pussy and your hip bones touch, he places one hand flat on the shower wall behind you and one hand cupping your right ass cheek for grip.

Then Coryo begins pulling his lips from yours and pushing his cock, gently but firmly, in and out of your warm, tight walls all the way down to your neck. You recline your head and relish the tender caresses Coryo bestows onto your physique, accompanied by his deliberate, profound hip thrusts. It's nearly overwhelming how softly and sweetly his lips cover your upper body with kisses. You may be experiencing sensory overload due to the intense heat generated by the shower.

When Coryo's lips make their way to your collarbone, the hand he had splayed on the shower wall moves to grope on your breast. He cups it, lightly massages it, and pinches your hard nipple. "Ahh, Ja…key." you shudder.

The constant prodding of your g-spot by the tip of his cock causes the coil in your stomach to tighten. Coryo grunts as you entwine your fingers in his moist ringlets on the back of his neck and tug just a little. The amount of power it's taking to hold onto his body is making your legs ache, but the pleasure you're experiencing right now much outweighs the agony.

"Are you close love?" Coryo says in a breathless voice as he takes his lips from your collarbone, gazing you in the eyes as his thrusting gets sloppy and he feels like he's about to have an orgasm. He seems to be in a grave situation. He constantly wants you to come first, and you are so appreciative to have a partner that puts your pleasure before theirs.

"Yeah so close babe." To speed up the process and get you to your climax faster, you let go of the hand that's on the nape of Coryo's neck and drag it down to where your conjoined bodies meet.

Next, you locate your pulsating clit with your fingers and quickly apply pressure while rubbing. Coryo is forced to lower his head to your shoulder as your walls begin to tighten around his cock. Then, in order to properly fuck you with all of his might, he shifts the hand he was using on your breast to your other bum cheek. The room fills with the sound of flesh slamming together.

With his wet head bent down, pressed to your shoulder, Coryo watches you pleasure yourself, along with his dick ramming in and out of you. "Mhmm fuck that's hot." he whispers to himself. He loves watching you play with your clit during sex. It's a huge turn on for him.

All of a sudden, the clit stimulation you are doing with your own fingers, the g-spot stimulation his dick is creating, and Coryo's overall power over you get to be too much, causing you to release all over his cock. "I'm cumming Coryo, huh? God, oh God!" Your eyes tightly clenched, you scream, and the sound reverberates off the walls of the bathroom and shower. Both the muscles of your stomach and your vagina contract.

Coryo cums during yours and discharges his cum into your cervix because of how your walls are pinching him. Both cumming concurrently. The way he slows down his thrusts and lets out animalistic noises during his orgasms makes you feel even more attracted to him and prolongs the duration of your climax by a second. Coryo's toes curl on the shower floor, and his eyes are squeezed shut. Conversely, you take your fingers off your extremely sensitive clit and grip onto his back while slightly pressing in your nails. His cock feels like it's becoming limp inside of you, and he hisses sensitively every time you inadvertently strain your vaginal muscles.

With his head raised off your shoulder, Coryo peers into your eyes with his foggy green gaze. After the passionate shower sex that just happened, you're both exhausted. "God, I love you." Coryo gives a heartfelt heaves. For the tenth time this morning, you bring your lips forward and meet his, but you don't say anything back. The kiss is sloppy this time around because you're weak and out of breath, but neither of you cares.

Coryo knows you probably can't feel your legs, so as you're kissing, he gently pushes you off the shower wall and spins you towards the shower bench. He sets you down after walking three feet away. leaving you feeling empty and slipping his cock out in the process. Then he spreads your legs wide with his big hands on both thighs as he kneels down in front of you. Coryo immediately puts his mouth to your swollen pussy and begins to eat out your flowing sperm. Eating his own sperm has never caused him any trouble. He doesn't really mind if it comes from you, but he'd never just eat it for the sake of eating it.

You scream as his tongue unintentionally touches your clit, but Coryo calms you down by sprinkling cool air over the spot. He gets up and grabs your shampoo after using his tongue to clean your lower region. He shampoos your hair as you relax on the seat and take pleasure in his brief massage of your scalp.

He then rinses the suds off with the shower head that detaches. He then treats your body in the same way. uses your luffa to wash it and the shower head to rinse you off. You can see how enamoured Coryo is with your entire body during the entire bathing experience. He moves with thoughtfulness and delicacy. It seems like just moments ago he wasn't beating your behind.

You sit and wait for Coryo to wash his body again when you're clean. You stifle your need as you see him because you know you have the entire day to spend together doing anything you want. After he's done, Coryo shuts off the water and assists you and him in drying off. He places you on the closed toilet and covers your wet body with the fluffy towel. then treats his in the same way. Coryo lifts up your nude body and takes you back to the bed after you're both dry. Knowing that you would both be leaving soon, neither of you tries to put on clothing.

You both cuddle up to each other while lying nude in the cold sheets, engage in little pillow chat, and start some mild foreplay in preparation for your next round of sex.

Hunger games taglist:

@rosiahills22

@shanimallina87

@callsign-magnolia

@hardballoonlove

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@buckysteveloki-me

@hookslove1592

@kmc1989

@callsign-dexter

#coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x female!reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #hunger games x reader #hunger games fic #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus imagine

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 4 months

Text

Sex on The Beach (What a Treat)

Robert 'Bob' Floyd x Reader

Description: You love being a part of the Dagger Squad, but you're well aware there isn't a lot going for you as a woman. You go out on dates - often. But none of those men every meet the mark. Can one drunken night on the beach and one gorgeously bespectacled WSO change your mind? Only the ocean and its waves and your own beating heart can say.

Themes: Virginity, First time, Dirty Talk, Jake has a surprisingly terrible sex story (it's right in the beginning)

Warnings: Bob Fucks!

Word Count: 3291

A/N: This fic is wholly self-indulgent and came to me in an ovulating daydream right in time for @attapullman's International Bob Floyd Fucks Month! I hope you all enjoy it! I'm proud enough to say that yes indeed, Bob Floyd fucks!

Thanks to @horseshoegirl for beta reading this fic for me and telling me that I wasn't writing Bob terribly.

My Masterlist

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

The night is cool and clear. A salty breeze rifles through your hair and dampens your face in soft gusts. It’s late, but on the other side of the bonfire, the other Daggers are continuing the party. A part of you is sure the party will still be going when the sun rises. You’re drunk, inhabiting that state of being between tipsy and drunk off your ass. Your cheeks feel hot, and your tongue is uncooperative. You’re not sure when the conversation veered right into a discussion of sex, but it did. You’re also not sure why you’re helplessly giggling about sex with Phoenix and Hangman, of all people.

“And then she bit me!”

You and Nat take one look at each other and cackle. You inhale a little and giggle out, “D-did she really bite your…?”

Jake nods ruefully, a blush rising on his chest as Nat falls back with another delighted peal of laughter. You’re not sure you can look at the man when he looks like he’s still in pain just at the memory of what happened. His blush seems to intensify the more your delighted laughter rings out, and every time you look at Nat, it sets you off again and again. You feel like you can barely breathe; you’re laughing so hard.

When you gasp for breath and sip your drink, your cheeks feel hot, and you can feel the sweat on your temples. You hold the frosty bottle up to your face in a futile attempt to cool off a little. It’s not like you’re wearing too many clothes, choosing to sling on an unbuttoned shirt and a pair of cutoffs over your bikini when the night cooled.

“You know, you’re laughing awfully hard for a girl who hasn’t said a word. We’ve heard from Tash. You’ve obviously heard from me. It’s your turn.”

All of a sudden, your mirth dies off, instead turning into a cold sweat prickling across your exposed skin. You’re trapped in their gazes, Nat’s whiskey eyes staring you down coolly amused while Jake’s absinthe-colored orbs seem to glare right through you.

“Come on, Artemis.”

When Nat begins to plead along with Jake, you cover your face with your fingers and collapse until you can hide your face in your knees.

“Seriously, Artie. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. After all, I’d love to know if you can top getting bitten on the dick mid-blowjob!”

“Seeing as how I don’t have a dick, that would be kind of hard, Bagman!” You deadpan.

But neither of them is pleased with your only input to the conversation so far. They keep needling you, poking and prying. Jake keeps calling you Artie, too, like only he ever has. Ultimately, that’s what has you lifting your head and glaring right at him.

“Don’t call me Artie!” You point at the grinning blond and wag your index finger.

“There she is!” When your glare narrows, he mimes, zipping his lips closed.

You can’t make eye contact as you spit out in a low hiss barely audible over the hissing fire, “I-I’ve never had sex before. I’m a virgin.”

But they heard you, if the wide-eyed glances they share are any indication.

“How is that possible?”

Nat wraps an arm around your shoulders. You shrug, staring into the distance behind Jake’s head. Unconsciously, the three of you have gravitated to the spokes of a triangle, your legs tangled in the center of the blanket in a pile of sand-encrusted limbs. You’re pretty sure you’ve got Jake’s foot poking into your shin, and one of Nat’s legs is slung across yours.

“I’m always going out on dates, so that can’t possibly be true, right?”

But, you have to snort just remembering those dates. “Those guys have always just fallen flat. They’re perfectly nice, decent guys. But we never seem to click. There’s no spark when they kiss me clumsily goodnight outside my front door.”

“Maybe you need to look a little bit closer to home for that kind of intimacy?”

Your head snaps up at the sudden loud, obnoxious tone in Jake’s voice.

“C’mon Tash. Our Artie is a little boring right now. What do you say we go grab a few more drinks?”

You’re too drunk for this shit, and you’re grumbling that fact as you watch Jake and Nat trip and lean over each other as they walk toward the other Daggers. In truth, it would probably make sense if something was going on between the two of them, though you wouldn’t bet on it.

“Y-you’re a virgin?”

The words are said so quietly you half think they’re a figment of your imagination. But you know that voice too well to think you're dreaming.

“But you’re so pretty, Artemis. Those men didn’t deserve you, not at all.”

You smile and pat the blanket with your hand. Bob sits gingerly on the edge of the blanket with his back to the Daggers.

“It’s nice of you to say so, Bob.” His cheeks are pink, and his blue eyes are dark and deep as they stare into your own.

“I’m serious. If it were me, I’d have kissed you until your head was spinning, and those pretty lips were all swollen for me.” You can’t breathe for a completely different reason in comparison to all those minutes ago. You can smell whiskey on his breath, coupled with the smokey sweetness of the bonfire and the floral notes from his cologne.

“Why haven’t you, Bob?”

“I’ve seen the guys you go out with, Sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you can see stars reflect in his lenses, refracting over navy eyes, as he tips his dark blonde head back. “They’re sexy, suave, and debonaire. Why would you pick me over one of them?”

The self-deprecation in his voice has your mood sobering unexpectedly fast.

“You’re just as sexy, suave, and debonaire as they are, Bob.” He snickers gently at your phrasing.

“You don’t really believe that.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Unconsciously, you lean forward, needing to get closer to him. One of his hands rises to cup your cheek, and your eyes flutter.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” you muse.

He hums, and his big thumb swipes gently across your cheek.

“Maybe it’s because I haven’t trusted any of the men I go out with.”

“And you trust me?”

“Yes.”

The moment feels electric, like sparks skittering across your skin. Bob’s eyes keep glancing over your lips. The alcohol flowing through your veins frees your inhibitions as you stand and brush sand off of the back of your shorts. Bob blinks at your sudden movement, mouth parted sweetly as you reach for his hands. When he’s standing, he runs his hands through his hair, leaving minute grains interspersed through the golden threads. You can feel his gaze on your skin as you bunch the blanket over your forearm.

“Come here.” You take his hand in yours, gently tugging him away from the bonfire and your friends. Nobody notices your disappearance, which suits you just fine. You make for the little lifeguard shack a couple hundred feet down the beach and lay the blanket out in its shadow.

“What're we doing all the way out here?”

Instead of responding, you fist your hands in his shirt and tug his mouth down until it meets yours. The kiss starts clumsy and bumbling, just a brush of skin to skin. It feels like Bob is trying to figure out how genuine you are, so you keep the pressure light. Already, this tender, fumbling kiss is a million times better for you than those first kisses with those other guys. When Bob gasps and his big hands curl around your hips, you moan.

That small sound leaving your mouth makes Bob wild. His hand wraps around the base of your skull as he licks into your mouth. It feels like you're burning up, skin bursting fever hot just at his touch. His hands divest you of your button-down and your shorts; his fingers are studied and quick as he whispers filth into your ears. His tongue traces hot over your pulse, sucking and nibbling and teasing. You chase after his mouth when he pulls away, whimpering as you rub your thighs together.

“You’re so beautiful for me, my lovely Ari.” His eyes are dark now, just a thin rim of blue wrapped around his pupils as he presses you down onto the blanket.

You’re keening, babbling his name as you straighten his glasses. There's a fond, tender look in Bob's eyes as he dips down to kiss you again.

“Shhh, darling.” His mouth drags wet over your collarbones. “I’m going to make you feel so good.”

When his calloused fingers drag your bikini top away, you shiver. Your nipples are peaked and hard as he gazes down at you. It should feel weird being so exposed to a colleague and friend, but all you want is to feel the hard length in his swim shorts pressed up against you.

It's not a choice at all as you mewl, “Please.”

You could fall in love with Bob Floyd's smile, the smirk covering his face when he's feeling confident. When he wraps his lips around the peak of your breast, licking at the swollen flesh with his hot, wet tongue, you’re sure you could fall in love with his mouth, too. You feel like you’re drowning as Bob Floyd kisses over your stomach, placing tender kisses across the stretch marks slicing silver over your skin, as he kneads at your ass with big hands before undoing the knots of your bikini bottoms with his teeth. When the fabric falls away, you exhale, unsure when you started to hold your breath when you know you will need it. You can feel the heat of his breath against that most intimate of places, making you squirm.

“I've got you, Ari.” Even the endearment he's chosen, based on your unfortunate callsign, makes you ache for him. “Mmmm, you're so wet for me.”

His fingers dip gently through your folds, the slow, languid motions making something simmer in your veins. His fingers already feel different from your own, filling your sopping cunt in ways that your own can’t. The brush of his tongue over your clit has your hands burying in his hair, tugging at the soft strands. But his mouth doesn't stay there, nipping at your hips, the tender skin between your thighs, at the soft skin where your pelvis meets your legs. You lose yourself in the feeling of his mouth, babbling his name in whispers and moans. The buildup of your orgasm is already different from when you use your fingers; it is more intense and more fulfilling. When he traces figure eights over your clit with his tongue, you come hard, thighs shaking at the effort of holding them open around his head.

“So beautiful when you come,” he rasps. His glasses are fogged, and his lips are slicked with your release as he settles in between your parted legs. You tug Bob into a kiss, sliding your arms around his neck until his weight rests on you. You can taste yourself on his tongue as he kisses you slowly and sweetly.

“Are you sure you want me to do this for you, sweetheart?” His cheeks are pink, his hair falling onto his forehead as he growls the words out.

“All you have to do is tell me, beautiful.” When he nuzzles your breasts and lays an open-mouthed kiss over the peaks, you’re more sure than ever. “We can stop the minute you’re not comfortable anymore. This is about you, after all.”

“Come here, Bobby.”

He looks almost startled as you pull him back into a kiss, sliding your hands under the fitted shirt he’s been wearing all day. His skin is warm and silky smooth, lean muscles flexing under your curious touch.

“You’re wearing too many clothes.” You’re whining as you drag the shirt up, and you have to moan when he finally yanks it off. His hair is standing up on end, and his glasses are askew, but right now, you're not sure there is a sexier man on the planet.

“Fuck, you’re hot, Bob.”

His blush deepens, eyes wide at your horny declaration.

“I mean it.”

You tug at the knot of your bikini, wrestling with the strings with clumsy fingers.

“Come here, sweetheart. I’ll get the knot for you.”

You should feel ashamed, naked out on the beach where anyone could happen to see you. But you’re not ashamed at all. His hands gently pushing your hair over your shoulder and his mouth kissing the nape of your neck are why. When the triangles of fabric fall from your skin, you turn and kiss Bob again. You could get drunk off of the feeling of his lips against yours, off the way he licks into your mouth. Emboldened by the look in his eyes, you let your hands trail down until they dip below the waistband of his swim shorts.

“God, sweetheart. There you go.” He’s grunting and gasping against your mouth as you wrap your hands around him. For the first time since you kissed Bob, you feel a little out of your depths. He’s big, so big that you need both hands to hold him, big enough you’re not sure he’ll fit. When you voice your worries in a quiet, gasping whisper, he chuckles.

“It’ll fit in that pretty pussy, baby. Just gotta work you up good, and it’ll slide right on in.”

You squeak as he lays you down again because, for the first time, you can hear his accent as he drawls out the words. From this angle, your mouth parts in shock at the sight of him. Bob’s biting at his lip as he rolls a condom on, and that sight makes you giggle a little.

“Of course, you have a condom on you.”

When he snickers, you know you’re going to want more of this with him. “I, um… Jake gave it to me.”

You cover your face with your hands and squeal a little more.

“He’s been trying to get me to ask you out for months now, darling. I wish I’d known a few shots of tequila and a conversation about sex would be all it would take.”

“Are you calling me easy, Bob Floyd?” You’re pouting, but it doesn’t last for long as he seems to blanche at your teasing. When you laugh, he dips down to kiss you, and you hum at how good it feels.

“I think we’re both a little easy for each other. All we needed was a little push.”

He runs his hands up your thighs, smoothing over the flesh as he parts your legs a little more.

“It’s your last chance to stop this, Ari. You just have to tell me.” You can feel him hard against you as he kisses you again. “We can get dressed and just walk back to the bonfire. Maybe we can try again later.”

“We’re not stopping, not now, Bob.”

Your voice isn’t exactly firm, more breathy than anything, but it makes Bob smile. He guides himself into you, and from the first press, you’re sure you’ve never felt so full. It doesn’t hurt, but it does feel uncomfortable.

“Fuck, you’re tight, sweetheart.” There’s sweat beading up on his temples, and his jaw is tight as he growls out the words. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

“Relax for me, baby.” You melt when he kisses you, shivering at the feeling of his bare skin pressing into yours. He rubs gently at your sides, calloused fingers gentle as they pluck at your nipples. It’s when he kisses you again that you relax. Inch by slow, incremental inch, Bob fills you. He kisses you when you tense around his length, a WSO’s patience and talent filling each heavy moment.

When he bottoms out in you, you feel like a live wire. The sparks floating across your skin are back, arcing through your veins until they’re molten with lust. The first few times he pulls out of you and presses in again, it feels just as uncomfortable as that first slow slide. When his fingers find your clit and massage it in counter rhythm to the push-pull of his cock, you gasp, open-mouthed and silent. All of a sudden, it feels so good; you couldn’t describe it if you tried.

“Fuck,” Bob’s vocal in bed. You wouldn’t think it, looking at him. It’s also incredibly flattering. “You’re so tight for me, Ari. Fuck, baby girl. Your pussy’s perfect. I’m so lucky.”

You’re gasping and moaning, trying desperately to quell the feral sounds spilling out of your mouth. Each thrust has your fingers scrabbling for purchase in the beach blanket under you, knuckles whitening under the pressure. Unbidden, you can feel your orgasm cresting, stronger than the last.

“Bob,” You’re nearly sobbing because everything you feel is nearly too much to handle. “Please, Bobby. Gonna cum!”

When those talented fingers find their way to your swollen clit and massage it, you come. His hips stutter even as your legs wrap around his waist, and he roars against your chest as he comes after you. You feel like you’ve been stunned. If this is what sex feels like, you’re not sure why you waited as long as you did. Or maybe it’s not just the sex that was mind-blowing, but the man you just had sex with? He’s blushing again, sweat dripping down his chest as he helps you dress with slow deliberate motions. You steal kisses whenever you can, because, yeah, you're falling in love with his mouth and his tongue and his voice.

“Got to get you cleaned up before we head back to the bonfire. C’mon, Ari.”

After everything you’ve done with Robert Floyd, holding hands shouldn’t make you giggle so much. But you need his helping hand in more ways than one. There’s already a dull ache at the base of your spine, but you refuse to let that feeling beat you.

Unfortunately, Bob leads you back toward the parking lot, squeezing your fingers and smiling softly at you as you lean onto him. But everything is dark and silent the closer you get. The bonfire is glowing embers in the sand, and all of the cars are gone from the parking lot. Your bag is sitting in the tailgate of Bob’s truck, and you have text messages on the device explaining how everyone has headed out. They’re from at least an hour ago.

He better be good to you, Artie.

Jake’s message is the only one in which your friends allude to knowing what happened between you and Bob. When you turn back around, Bob’s biting at his bottom lip, worrying the flesh with his teeth. His hands are in his pockets, and for the first time, he seems anxious.

“Can I take you home, Ari?”

You hum, tugging his mouth down to yours for another kiss.

“Take me home, Bob.” Your voice is a whisper as you let Bob crowd you against his truck.

“I can do that, Ari. But, can I also take you to dinner sometime, sweetheart?”

“Yes, please.” You shiver as he kisses your pulse. “But only if I get your big dick again, Bobby.”

He swats your ass as he helps you into the cab of the truck.

“Everything I am is yours, baby girl.”

This sounds like the beginning of a beautiful relationship. Though, given the chance, you’re going to avoid having sex on the beach again. Sand rubbing you raw isn't quite so fun when you'd rather have Bob do that for you.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@shanimallina87 @chaoticassidy @kmc1989 @desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @callsignspitfire @roosterforme @thedroneranger @cherrycola27 @beyondthesefourwalls @mak-32

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun imagine #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #bob x reader #robert floyd x reader #bob fucks #international bob floyd fucks month

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snowfll · 5 months

Text

Forever Winter; Treech

pairing - victor!Treech x district7!reader summary - after Treech wins the 10th Hunger Games, he returns home but he isn’t the same boy you knew before. words - 1.58k warning - allusions to suicide and depression. note - I'm so sorry this took me forever to get out, finals are coming up and I am stressing. I have a treech fic coming out on wattpad soon, so go follow me @ snowfll.

The moment his name was called in the reaping, your entire world froze. You both were 18; it being the last year there was a chance either of you were chosen to be tributes. You thought you were safe, that the two of you would be able to live the rest of your lives in peace—well, as peaceful as you can get in District 7. You were wrong—very wrong.

“Now, time for the male tribute,” the mayor called out as he stuck his hand into the second bowl. “Treech.” Everything in the district went silent; the only thing heard was your gasp, which soon turned into tears.

His eyes were on you the entire time as he walked up the stage—it felt like a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. As he stood there, the weight of the impending separation hung heavy in the air. That was the last time you saw him in person; as soon as the reaping ended, he had been dragged off the stage by peacekeepers.

For the next few days, you couldn’t bring yourself to go to work; instead, you found yourself sitting in front of one of the few TVs in the district. After being told they would show the games on live television this year, you prayed to see even a glimpse of him.

When the tribute interviews came on, you were finally able to see Treech. He looked paler and skinnier than usual, and he had a sad expression on his face. Looking around, he saw the camera pointing directly at him and began to fidget with his hat, the one you had gotten him a few years prior to keep the sun out of his face when working.

He wore it every day, claiming it was his good luck charm and comfort object. You noticed he would play with the rim whenever he was nervous or he was the main focus of a conversation. Treech never liked attention—opting to hang out with you in a secluded part of the forest as opposed to being with his large group of friends.

“So, let’s talk about your life back in District 7. You’ve caught the eyes of many capital ladies in your short time here.” The man, known as Lucky, paused as the crowd began to scream for Treech. “We are all wondering, and when I say that, I mean everyone—is there a special lady waiting on you back home?”

"Uhh, there is this one girl, but we aren’t together—yet. She is amazing, truly. If there is one thing that can motivate me through the games, it would be her.” You smiled, knowing he was talking about you. He was never interested in other girls, no matter how many times they tried to get with him. Lucky thanked him before welcoming the next tribute on stage.

The following morning marked the first day of the Hunger Games, and you refused to watch; you couldn’t watch as he fought for his life. You had nightmares, starting the day he left—watching the games would just confirm everything you saw.

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

When you heard the news, you were ecstatic—he did it; he won. The prospect of him returning to the district that very day filled you with a sense of exhilaration. Anticipation built as you made your way to the train station, the sound of the train arriving growing louder with each step. The atmosphere was filled with a mix of emotions—relief, nervousness, and agitation.

Although this was bound to be a happy moment, you couldn’t help but realize the lack of people who came to greet him. The only people around were the peacekeepers standing guard and his younger sister, Talia, whom you brought along as a surprise. Treech was very close with Talia; with his parents having to work all day, they were absent most of their lives. This left him to take care of both himself and his sister.

As you caught sight of him, you took notice of the train, which seemed to be one owned by the capital rather than the ones used by the districts. The condition he was in was worse than you last saw in the interview. He wore new and improved clothing that bore the unmistakable mark of Capitol fashion—his lucky hat still on his head. The scars of the arena were evident as he was bandaged up in all kinds of places.

Approaching him, you could see the fatigue etched into his features—a weariness that went beyond his physical wounds. Once he saw you, he ran into your arms, taking off his hat as his head fell into the crook of your neck.

“Everything is okay; you are safe now,” you reassured him, playing with his hair in an attempt to calm him. The weight of his exhaustion seemed to lift slightly in the security of your arms, the familiar touch offering comfort amid the distress of the games.

Talia stood nearby, her eyes wide with awe and concern. The two of you shared a glance, silently acknowledging the shared responsibility felt toward Treech’s well-being.

Gently pulling away from the embrace, Treech’s eyes met yours, filled with gratitude and longing. With a tender smile, you motioned for Talia to join in the reunion. She approached the two of you cautiously, as if afraid to ruin the moment between the older ‘couple’ in front of her. Yet, as Treech brought her into a protective hug, her smile grew—she had her brother back.

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Everything from that day on was perfect—or at least that's what it seemed like. Treech walked around with a smile on his face, like nothing ever happened. His laugh was normal; no matter how hard the day was, his symphony-like laugh always managed to cheer you up. You should’ve known something was wrong—how could you not know?

You found yourself observing him more closely, trying to distinguish the subtle shifts in his demeanor. Late at night, when the district fell silent, he was awake, wishing it was how it used to be before the games.

One evening, as the two of you walked through the familiar forests, you found the courage to check up on him. “Treech, are you really okay? I mean, with everything that went down. It’s okay if you are hiding your feelings; you can trust me."

He paused, his smile seeming to fade, before he replied, “I have a feeling I am going to feel this way forever. It’s not just a phase.”

You wondered how you hadn't seen it earlier—how the façade of normalcy had masked the emotional turmoil that lay beneath the surface. The entire time, you thought he was fine, living his life as a victor, when in reality he was breaking down.

From that moment on, your commitment to Treech deepened. Days were spent deciphering the intricate puzzles in his head. Once you started to spend the nights at his, you really noticed what was happening.

The quiet darkness of his room served as a canvas for the grim thoughts that occupied his mind. On the bed beside him, you were sound asleep as he sat restlessly against the headboard. As dawn approached, you woke up to find him in the same position he was in before he fell asleep—he was motionless.

Scared something happened to him, you shook his body, ultimately waking him up from his trance. His eyes, glazed over with a distant emptiness, gradually refocused on the room around him.

You spoke softly, the concern evident in your voice, “Treech, are you okay? What happened?”

He hesitated as if struggling to find the right words to convey the complexity of his emotions. Finally, he let out a heavy exhale, one that carried the weight of the night. “I… I don’t know. It’s just… hard, you know?” In that instant, the vulnerability in his confession broke down the wall that kept you at a distance.

Gently, you reassured him, "You don’t have to carry this burden alone. I will love you even at your darkest, so please don’t go.” You don’t know what you would do without him; his few days of absence have already taken a huge toll on you. Even while having him back, you still fall to pieces on the floor if he isn’t around.

The sincerity in your voice seemed to pierce through the fog of his inner turmoil, offering a lifeline in the face of the darkness that threatened to consume him. His hesitance around you melted away, replaced by a shared understanding that you were in it together.

“You don’t know how much you mean to me,” Treech confessed, his voice filled with the same vulnerability he had a few moments ago. “I don’t want to go. I need you more than you can imagine. You brighten up my day—like the sun shining down through the trees.” With those words, you wrapped your arms around him, drawing him into a comforting embrace.

From that day onward, your connection deepened. Your love, like the gentle rays of a summer sun, thawed at the icy remainders of his nagging memories. There were still difficult days and haunted nights, but the assurance that he wasn’t alone in the journey provided him with the power to push through. The summer sun, your sun, illuminated his path, casting away the shadows of his past and lighting up your future, where your love went beyond even the darkest of winters—his forever winter.

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bratzforchris · 27 days

Text

the bratzfornick 141 writing challenge

hi everyone! me and @nicksbestie been looking for new fics to read and so many of you are so talented, so what better way to have new reading material than hosting a little challenge to fuel our delusions 😋

here are the basics for the challenge: pick 1 character, pick 4 story elements, and create 1 fic! more details below!!

the following rules are things you must follow. otherwise, you will be eliminated from this challenge.

no being rude or hateful to other creators. this includes us, as well as others participating in the challenge.

no copying or plagiarizing ANY work. this includes challenge submissions as well as other stories that have been posted to tumblr/wattpad/etc. if you choose to use one of your works from another platform, please make sure that you have proof it is your own work

no submissions that revolve around anything weird or illegal (abuse, incest, illegal age gaps, highly graphic mental illness, hard drugs, age play, homo/transphobia/racism/abelism/etc, bathroom play, etc)

5k max word limit. in order for us to be able to thoroughly read all of your submissions, please keep your word count to 5k or less and use paragraph breaks!

when you post your fic, please tag @bratzforchris and @nicksbestie and use the tag #bratzfornick’s 141 writing challenge

characters (pick 1)

matt sturniolo

chris sturniolo

nick sturniolo

nathan doe

story elements (pick any 4): you may mix and match these to your liking. you are not required to do one from all four categories (for example: two locations, one trope, one genre OR two genres, two tropes, etc)

GENRES:

Fluff

Smut

Angst

Age regression (not age play. your work must be 100% SFW and innocent to fall into this category)

TROPES:

Friends to lovers

Enemies to lovers

Little x caregiver

Friends with benefits

Chronically ill x healthy

Mafia x goody two shoes

Academic rivals

Lovers to strangers

Nurse x doctor coworker

Fake dating

Grumpy x sunshine

Royalty x bodyguard

Major character death

Angel x demon

Singer/band member x fan

Arranged marriage

Locations/Settings:

Alternate universe (AU)

College/university

Concert

Outskirt small town

Big city

The forest/woods

Home

Library/bookstore

Vacation

Haunted/abandoned house

Office

Hospital

Plot Ideas:

Accidental confession (it slips out when drunk, caught in the heat of the moment, etc)

Revenge (fake dating, sleeping with an ex, etc)

Getting used to a new diagnosis/disability (a doctor who is so used to coaching patients through their new diagnosis that they struggle with theirs, getting used to new dynamics with a partner)

Forced proximity (one bed, locked in a room, etc)

Redemption arc

Taking care of each other (cleaning wounds, cooking, holding the trash can while they’re being sick)

Hiding a big secret

Fight that turns sexy

Language barrier (a Southern partner not understanding Boston slang, an actual language barrier, etc)

Chance encounter

Caught in the rain

Dare

create 1 fic: please follow the rules, characters, and story elements listed above! as stated before, you do not have to pick from all four story categories, just four total. write as many fics as you’d like for this challenge.

don’t forget to tag BOTH of us: @bratzforchris and @nicksbestie and use the #bratzfornick’s 141 writing challenge in your submission!

Submissions close May 15th, 2024! Most importantly, have fun! No actual monetary or material prizes will be given out for this challenge→it’s all meant to be fun and creative. Good luck and have fun! We can’t wait to see what you come up with ♡

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marvelobsessed134 · 5 months

Text

The girl who works at the hot chocolate stand at Rockefeller

Reposted from my Wattpad.

This is part of my 12 days of fics

Pairings: Kate Bishop x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: in which Kate Bishop buys too many hot chocolates

It's that time of year again. The temperature drops, tiny snowflakes fall from the sky, everyone scrambles to get their holiday shopping done, while making cookies and getting bundled up in red PJs to watch Christmas films. Some people drop the needle down on their Christmas vinyls.

You love everything about this time of year. The cozy vibes, magical feeling, and family gatherings. Which is why you work the hot chocolate stand at Rockefeller center every year. You love watching people ice skate and gathering the tree for the lighting. When you're off your job you join in, and enjoy the holiday magic.

As you prepared orders, you thought about what to get your little sister for christmas. And decided on an American Girl doll. She loves those dolls and has always wanted one, even though they're crazy expensive. But you've saved up a lot for presents this year.

You heard some people whispering and pointing to the entrance. Curious, you looked up to see The Avengers walking around. You heard rumors about them visiting this year as a group, but here they are.

They walked up the stand and got in line.

You made many cups of coco, from ex assassins and super soldiers, to a witch, a guy who can run really fast, a guy with an iron suit,an Asgardian god, and a hulk. And the two world's greatest archers.

One of them, being Kate Bishop. The raven haired girl studied you for a moment. She thought you were extremely beautiful. She got too caught up in her thoughts when she didn't notice you had finished making her drink.

"Uh, Ms. Bishop? Your drink is ready." You spoke up and she shook her head and took the warm styrofoam cup. "I'm sorry, thank you..."

"Y/n." you responded with a warm smile.

She smiled back at you.

"Y/n." she repeated and she walked back t0 the group of supers.

"Well...you seemed very occupied over there." Natasha smirked while Yelena let out a laugh.

Kate rolled her eyes.

"Okay, whatever."

"Come on guys! Let's go ice skating!" Steve exclaimed. The team started skating around, but Kate couldn't keep her mind off of you. She wanted to see you again. So, she bought another cup of hot chocolate. And another one. And in the words of DJ Khaled, another one. Till you finally spoke up about it.

"You must really like hot chocolate, don't you?"

Her face turned crimson.

"I-uh, yeah. I guess you could say that. Um, when do you get off?"

You smirked at her question.

"Whenever I can. Which happens to be right now." you responded.

Kate smiled and you closed up the stand, getting bundled back up in your mittens and coats. And your All Too Well scarf you bought from Taylor Swift's merch store.

She took you by the hand.

The two of you talked for awhile before the tree lighting ceremony started. You stood with Kate by the rest of the team. And as soon as the lights on the tree came on, she grabbed your face in her hands and pressed her lips to yours.

You happily kissed her back.

This was definitely the most magical Christmas you've ever experienced.

#marvel x reader #marvel fluff #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop fluff #fluffy fanfic #cute #12 days of fics

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makelemonade · 1 year

Text

He loves me, he loves me not.

🦋Relations: Ayato and Alhaitham x F!Reader (separate ofc) ASSUMED Ayato x Sara and Alhaitham x Dehya

🦋Summary: Your lover has been neglecting you a full month; hardly even coming home and always working. You start to overhear about his recent involvement with another girl and you can’t help but wonder, does he still love you?

‼️Warnings: She/her pronouns used (only like 5 times in total, endearments of pretty girl, baby and my love are used, insecurities are mentioned a lot, along with body insecurity (body dysmorphia?), thoughts of cheating, mention of a dick once (don’t think anyone cares cuz it’s daddy Alhaitham, ANGST- should be obvious, THERE IS COMFORT THOUGH! LOTS OF IT! bestie Diluc is mentioned along with Tighnari, jealousy, lots of crying, not proofread, can’t think of anything else

🦋Author Note: Alhaitham’s is a lot longer than Ayato’s I think we can tell who the favourite is. I’ll write Cyno and Tighnari next then link it here!

support me on kofi and read my other fics! all on pinned post !!!! (guys if u love Alhaitham go check out my wattpad I got a new Alhaitham x reader fic 😻)

Ayato

Sometimes, you felt like this marriage was a mistake.

Not felt actually, knew. It was an arranged marriage after all. The two of you had gotten to know each other just before the marriage, and you both did indeed have feelings for each other and even ended up falling in love during the arrangement.

So, in your mind, it was a real marriage. Perhaps to his it was just an arranged one.

You spent your days in bed alone, a cold spot beside you always. Even when you woke up, he was never there.

Your parents weren’t as rich as the Kamisatos or popular, but due to the fact the Kojou clan denied the arrangement since Sara wasn’t ready for marriage. Your clan was second choice.

Maybe you were second choice in his life too.

You never felt good enough for him, barely ever speaking on how he was hardly here because you felt like you were in no position to speak up about it. He worked so hard for his family, and his clan represented so much in Inazuma it was a lot of work. Meanwhile your parents did most the work, but your clan was hardly known. It just proved how much better he was than you.

Even after a year of your….marriage, you still felt the same. During the first few months you were both so close, spending nights giggling as he’d cuddle you while slightly tickling you just to piss you off. You don’t even see him anymore.

You started hearing workers around the estate talk about him and Kojou Sara. She was originally the first choice, and you felt like maybe he was going back to her.

“They’re so much better together!”

“Never really thought him and Y/N’s clan were a good go.”

“She’s not a good choice for Ayato at all. I hope he finally comes to his senses and chooses Sara.”

“I heard they’ve been together a lot this past month, so he must be going back to her!”

She was always the first choice.

When you heard the conversation between the workers, you ran into the hall leading to your room.

“Y/N?” Ayaka realized, worry laced in her tone as you bumped into her, tears streaming down your face.

“Apologies.” You murmured, not even sparing her a look as you continued down the hall to your room, quickly closed the door so she couldn’t come and ask questions.

You walked over to your desk, tears falling onto the hard wood of the desk as you grabbed a paper, finding a pen hurriedly.

When Thoma had taken you to his homeland once, you met a very nice man who you considered had very amazing advice. His name was Diluc, and ever since you visited, you’ve been constantly sending him letters- that being the way the two of you would communicate.

Dear Diluc,

You started writing, hoping he wouldn’t mind the tears that would be dry by the time he received this letter. You wrote all about your marriage troubles- how in the last month Ayato has hardly spoken to you, taking up more hours at work, and spending more time with another woman. You wrote down your suspicions he was probably in love with Sara, seeing as she was originally the first choice.

Part of you didn’t understand why you were so shocked because well, why not her? The workers were right, she was so much better that you in many ways; a better fighter, a harder worker, a better clan- a better everything.

When you read over the letter, you couldn’t help yourself from crying even more, fay tears rolling down your cheeks like an endless waterfall. You pushed the paper to the side, not wanting your tears to mess up the ink and your head fell onto the table as all you did was sob into your arms.

Your sobs turned into quiet whimpers until you felt no more motivation to continue crying, falling asleep right on the table.

When Ayato overheard what was seen of you from Ayaka, he rushed home as constant questions plagued his mind.

This was the first time he had ever left work only- it being almost 7pm, the sun starting to go down. He expected to find you on the bed, perhaps napping or crying into the pillows but no, he saw you with your head down on the table.

He walked up to you slowly, putting his hands on your shoulders and giving you a shake. He heard a slight snore and realized you were asleep, immediately removing his hands.

His eyes caught dried tears on a piece of paper and he picked it up, starting to read over it all.

At the end, he’d taken your old spot as he himself started to cry at the words you’d written; how you felt like a nobody compared to him, how he could do so much better and that he was probably in love with Kojou Sara.

That last part was what shocked him most. No! He was in love with you and only you’ he’ll admit, he has been with her a lot, but it was strictly for work! It’s been crazy with the end of the vision hunt degree, leaving the two clans in charge after Sara’s father was removed.

He read it over again, seeing how you wrote constantly “second choice” all over again.

In reality, the Kojou clan was originally his parents choice and was forced to ask them first. He always wanted to ask you first, because he had met you before and found you as the most gorgeous and outgoing girl he’s ever seen.

He looked back at you, one of his tears falling atop your head. Why didn’t you tell him any of this?! He would’ve loved to resssure you that you were the love of his life, the girl he’d always dreamed of. Sure, he hasn’t been here for a while- oh.

He dragged his hand down his face, realizing why you didn’t say anything; because he was never here.

“I’m so sorry, my love.” he whispered, wrapping one of his arms behind your back and on under your legs as he picked you up, taking you towards the bed and placing you down gently.

You started to stir awake when you felt his arms wrap around you. “‘Yato?” You called, barely above a whisper.

He shushed you, placing a kiss to where your shoulder met your neck as he snuggled closer to you. “I’m here now, my love. I promise I’ll always be here. Now go sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up. I’ll be here forever and always. I love you so much, more than words can say.”

It was gonna be a long talk once the two of you woke up, but either way, you felt a lot warmer that night.

Alhaitham

You and Alhaitham weren’t engaged or married, only being together for a year and a half now.

So probably understandable why he was probably losing feelings for you? Right? Right?

“Hey, Kaveh.” You said, sitting in the kitchen of your shared home with Kaveh and Alhaitham.

“You look drained, Y/N. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

That was a lie and a big fat one at that. You weren’t okay whatsoever.

Recently, in the last month, Alhaitham had barely come back home and you’ve hardly gotten the chance to see him. There was no more good morning or good night kisses, little dates in between work or work visits. There was none of that.

Now it was just waking up to a cold, empty spot in your bed.

Kaveh could read you like an open book. He’s noticed the lack of affection and attention you’ve gotten from Alhaitham, and despite the fact he despised the man, he also cared for him and his significant other and noticed everything.

He just hoped his and yours suspicions wouldn’t come true; that he had fallen out of love and was possibly cheating.

The latter was what scared him the most with how recently Alhaitham has been with Dehya. He came back after a week of being away to the Grand Azar being removed along with half the workers in the Akademiya, to Alhaitham and Dehya now best friends. The fuck happens when he isn’t here?!

He’s seen how close the two are during his times being in the Akademiya and he prayed to Kusanali that the worst wasn’t going to happen.

You knew about Dehya; you’ve heard about it all over Sumeru. How she was a perfect fighter, a desert bloom, perfect both and image for all eremites.

You were jealous, and a tad bit insecure. She was perfect in so many ways; popular, appreciated, constantly complimented. Her body was perfect along with her hair and voice.

Your hair had uneven ends and you didn’t consider your body to be perfect.

No wonder Alhaitham would go for someone like her.

“Why don’t you go see Alhaitham?” Kaveh asked before he quickly got a large brown paper bag that was somehow filled with lunch and came out of nowhere. “Bring him lunch!”

It was his one attempt at getting you guys back to how you used to be.

You hoped it would work as Kaveh walked you to the Akademiya, and the whole time you were scared as your heart would drop with each step.

“Tell me where you find him, I need to talk to him about some work.” Kaveh said before leaving to talk to a scholar once the two of you arrived at the Akademiya.

You checked the library and there was no sign of him, even going to the outdoor areas since you knew how much he liked reading outdoors. You eventually asked a scholar who had pointed you in direction of his office and you felt your heart drop again.

You opened the doors slightly, hoping your lover would be happy to see you.

But what you came in to see was a Dehya standing right beside him as he wrote on a piece of paper, sitting on a chair at his office desk.

You felt your heart break a little when he didn’t even notice you walked in.

He only noticed when he heard the click of the door close behind you, the both of them looking up to see you with confusion on their faces.

The way Dehya stood so close to him with her toned and perfect body made your breath quicken in panic.

“Y/N?” Alhaitham spoke in confusion, halting his movement of writing on the paper. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to bring you lunch.” You spoke so quietly that it was almost a whisper that the two couldn’t hear.

“Oh.” He blinked as you put the bag on his desk, a fake smile plastered on your face that even though he was your lover, he couldn’t tell how forced it was. “Thank you.”

That was all he said before he looked back at Dehya, continuing to talk about eremites in the desert.

You felt your heart break into a million pieces and you slowly turned to leave. They broke into a million more when he didn’t even say goodbye or notice your departure.

You closed the door quietly and ran once it closed, tears streaming down your tears as you rushed to get out of the Akademiya.

Although, in the library, you heard a mention of his name and had to stop just to listen.

“Have you seen the Scribe and Dehya lately? I heard they’re together.”

“Really? What about Y/N? Did they break up?”

“Probably. Alhaitham is far better off with Dehya either way, not Y/N.”

You felt more tears stream down your face, not bringing yourself to move as you kept listening to the disgusting things they said about you.

The only thing that brought you out of it was a hand on your shoulder and you looked up to see Kaveh staring at you, concern all over his face as his hand moved up from your shoulder to wipe your tears.

You let out a loud sniff, shoving his hand away before speaking. “He’s in his office, if you’re still looking for him.”

Before he could speak, you ran off, leaving the library and soon leaving the Akademiya.

Kaveh glared at Alhaitham’s office doors. Sure, he lost most of his arguments to Alhaitham, but this one he was gonna win as he marched his way into the office, forcing Dehya out before he started yelling at the grey-haired man.

You couldn’t stay in Sumeru anymore. That was it.

You had been completely humiliated in front of Dehya, Kaveh and now the entire Akademiya knows that Dehya is so much better off for Alhaitham.

Maybe being a forest ranger wasn’t too bad. It would mean hardly being in the main city and you wouldn’t have to see Alhaitham.

You were actually thinking about it as you started writing a letter addressed to Tighnari at the edge of your bed, but halfway through when you realized what you were doing and why, you started violently sobbing as you fell to your knees, the letter scrunched up on the ground beside you as you sobbed into the softness of the edge of the bed.

You didn’t even hear the door open.

When Kaveh came in screaming at Alhaitham, it certainly shocked him and Dehya. He had even gone as far to yell at Dehya to get out of the office and she did, running out.

He went on and on about how you were and with each word, Alhaitham’s heart started to break.

He hadn’t even realized how much he’d been neglecting you until Kaveh had to voice it out for you. He’s been so busy with work and choosing a new grand sage that he’s practically been ignoring you and treating you like a stranger.

When Kaveh said the sentence “at this point, Y/N would be a lot better with me since you can’t be a good boyfriend!” Alhaitham stormed out of the office, making his way straight home with no stops.

You were his and his only and fuck no were you ever going to be Kaveh’s. He loved you, WAY more than Kaveh ever will.

But it seemed like Kaveh loved you more than he did in the last month and he hated every part of himself for it.

When he got home, he heard your violent sobs and started rushing to your shared room, his heart breaking once more at the sight of you.

He went down on his knees and wrapping his arms around you, pulling your back to his chest with his arms wrapped around your waist as you shook with sobs in his arms.

“Haitham?”

“I’m so sorry.” He spoke, his head resting against your shoulder as his own tears came out. “I’m so fucking sorry. You didn’t deserve what I did to you this past month, and I understand if you’re mad and want to leave me. Words can’t express how sorry I am, but I promise I will take the next few weeks off. Even if they tell me no, I’ll go against them and stay with you. My sweet, pretty girl, I love you- so so so much and a LOT more than Kaveh. You’re perfect, so so so perfect for me. Perfect face, eyes, mouth-“

He paused to press kisses all over your cheek, making you giggle through your cries and bringing a smile to your face. “My lips love you. My hands love you. I’ll go as far to say my dick loves you. Everything about me loves you. You’re perfect for me- everything about you is perfect for me. Screw anyone else, I just want you baby.”

The next hour went by with him saying constant reassurances while kissing you all over. He had even ripped apart the letter you wrote for Tighnari, saying you’ll never leave his side and certainly won’t work for another man where he can’t even see you.

He held you close that night, making sure you were warm after all the cold nights.

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loganlermanstanaccount · 9 months

Text

Rigor Mortis (part 8)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 7, Part 9

summary: You visit your ex. Miguel tags along.

warnings: mentions and description of depression. heavy angst, depictions of a toxic relationship. some suggestive language.

a/n: me when idk shit abt the american school system:

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 5.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you had forgotten; they were good.

Blank walls. Quiet corridors. The buzz of monitors and dull chatter sandwiched between blue vinyl and exit signs. You're not usually one to wander during your breaks; but you're going crazy looking at the same four walls.

That hair net itches and the strap of a blue mask digs into skin as you make your way to a little courtyard. You sit out on a paltry bench overlooking concrete. The spindly remnants of a tree provides little cover from harsh elements. Wind whips through its branches, whistling and cool, as you rip off the mask and crumple it up in your pocket. A heavy sigh, and you feel some semblance of peace. Some quiet, before the morning comes. Before a rush of orders and shunting plastic trays up and down the wards.

You screw your eyes shut to still the pounding at your temples. God. You're grateful for the job, really. And all things considered, it's not particularly taxing: coffee orders until the little cafe closes, meal prep for the morning rush, and sometimes you'd volunteer to take orders to bed bound patients. A whole lot of reheating and chopping and pressing buttons on the little machines. You don't quite get it, of course, but your lone coworker picks up the slack well enough.

The older woman doesn't do much for company, anyways. Riveting conversation comes in the form of grunts and sharp elbows when you get in the way or round the corner of the kitchen. It has you counting down the seconds until your shift ends.

And so you are grateful, well and truly. Jamie's not so sappy, anymore; doesn't partake in 'I love you's or grand gestures; but he is dependable. Safe. Willing to stick his neck out for you, at least. He'd gotten you a job at the hospital he has his placement at; with decent pay, and it slots in well with your other ones. He's taking you seriously – taking the news better than your parents. After telling him you wanted to go back to school, you're not met with thinly veiled disbelief, or lips pressed together with pity. He'd nodded, rather simply. Didn't make a fuss. No deep sighs, or heavy frowns. Okay , he had said. How can I help?

It was the simplicity of his reaction that had bowled you over, almost bringing you to tears. To have someone believe in you, for once – wholeheartedly and without an onslaught of questions – felt like a deep breath of air after almost drowning. It felt like love ; and after desperate breaths, gasping and gulping and clawing at something to hold on to, you think you've found dry land. Something solid, something stable; a rough palm to pull you out of swirling depths. Because, unlike your family, and unlike half-hearted friends: Jamie was there.

After heading back in to catch the morning rush, you're wiping down surfaces and sorting plastic trays onto a cart. Rote, repetitive, boring; you've settled into a routine that feels familiar. A couple more months, you reckon, and you'll be able to cover the costs for a second go at undergrad. You can shed the skin that seems to follow you at every family gathering, and the job interviews in between. Dropout – and when your Mom says it, it feels like a vile curse. Jamie calls it spiteful, and you opt for the democratic alternative; she's being dramatic - rather than cruel, rather than hurtful, rather than crass. You've heard enough, from all sorts: ‘too much pressure’, and ‘didn't think she had it in her, anyways’, are common phrases whispered in the background of phone calls home.

Your chest aches with the weight of it – the kind of ache that seeps into skin, and lines a casket. Grief; mourning a person you could've been, and a person you never would be. For a while, it left you paralysed by the what ifs and the maybes; rotting in a quiet corner. Sinking into sofa cushions or caked onto the bed sheets like the mystery mould bloomed onto the plates in your room. But Jamie was there, more than anyone else.

You'll wait for him in the corridor near the back of the service elevator, like you always do after a shift. You finish when he starts, early in the morning and rubbing away sleep from his eyes for ward rounds. You'll give him a kiss, and he'll give you a soft little smile to send you on your way. It almost makes the whole thing worth it. Almost.

You give and you give and you give. Your boyfriend isn't quite the same; doesn't pour into you the way you'd like him to. But it works. It works because it has to; a thousand miles away from anything resembling home. You can't ask for more – the right words die in your throat.

~~~

You've spent the past couple of hours in the library. Procrastinating for at least half of it, but you've managed to draft out a couple of essays and more or less reorganise your life. It's something you've been dreading for the past week or so; letting yourself get swept up in the monsoon that is your roommate. Miguel – sarcastic, saccharine-sweet Miguel – and his stupidly pretty lips, his pretty hands, and the pretty way he scrunches up his face like he's smelt something rotten.

You're staring at a computer with a slew of books spread out on the adjacent desk. Your half-finished report seems to jumble together on the screen; a tangle of citations and filler words and shitty diagrams. It's not quite clicking , and it's making you want to tear out chunks of your hair in search of relief. A tale as old as time, one you can merely wallow in and fold yourself between its pages. Struggling at school; and this time it's a stats module you thought would be an easy couple of credits, that you definitely can’t afford to fail if you want to graduate early.

You’ve picked a quiet spot on the third floor; a computer bay tucked into the corner. It overlooks a little window, cramped and claustrophobic and mystery mould in the corners of its grout. You've resorted to scanning the cracks with sharp eyes, light fingers on your neck to trace the leftovers of the morning. You can see it in the slightly mirrored surface of cloudy glass; you look like shit, you feel like shit, but you can still feel him. Lips on your neck, sucking soft hickies into the skin; and you can't help but like the way it looks on you. It's the same under your jeans, blooming like mauve and purple heather on a sprawling field.

You cross your legs, wincing at the dull ache that spreads. Sore, in that way that feels good; sending flashes of a morning with Miguel. Fingers knuckle deep in your cunt and the heat of him – cut and lean-lined – on top of you; it's impossible to ignore. Condensation drips from the panes, pooling in its corner and you swipe a finger in it, lazily. Again, you're reminded of him, for the thousandth time in the past hour: shaking legs, fisting his cock, spraying fat globs of his cum onto your face and chest.

With another glimpse of your reflection, you sigh. Deep and heavy, with the weight of half a decade of frustration, sexual or otherwise. You've never felt this good or had your needs satiated so wholly, so exorbitantly. It feels odd. You don't know where to put your hands, how to place your feet on the floor. Do you shout, do you scream? How do you tell all the poor bystanders that scatter the third floor: I'm sleeping with Miguel O'Hara! A walking red flag with cheekbones that could cut glass! He wants me, and I want–

Your phone rings. The noise catches you off guard, and has you stumbling to press accept.

"Hey," Miguel's voice sounds tinny in the speakers, and so you press it to your ears.

"Y-Yeah?" You steel yourself, batting away daydreams of your legs wrapped around his middle – too horny for your own good, clearly.

"I'm outside, chula. " He stops talking. The quiet ticking of an indicator becomes the only sign of life, before he says, "In that parking bay by the–"

"I know, I know. Give me 5 minutes." You rush to pack up, clicking off the monitor and haphazardly shoving your notes into your bag. Not everything fits, and you give up trying to cram that textbook in.

A beat passes before you realise he's still on the phone. Quiet, but still there.

"…I brought food, by the way."

You only just manage to catch it, slotting the phone between your ear and shoulder. That makes you perk up.

" Seriously? " You give him a small laugh. You think you can hear him smile through the phone. "Thank fucking God, I'm starving. But you weren't rushing, or anything, right? I mean, it's so soon after your session with… Sally, or–"

You're bounding down two steps at a time, so eager to see him – to get food , actually – that you're careless going down the stairs.

"Sarah . " He breathes, and you make your way downstairs.

It stops you in your tracks, for some reason.

"Okay. Sarah ." You say it with finality, voice tight. "What did you end up doing anyways? At her place, you said?"

"Pressure differentials. Modelling viscosity. It's not very interesting." He hums, shifting in his seat. "What about you? Did you get something done?"

You take a beat too long to respond, and it comes out half-baked.

"Loads, Mig."

He snorts. " Sure. "

" Fuck you. " You say it under your breath, ducking past the entrance, and into a side road.

And there Miguel is, car heaped onto part of the sidewalk. He's leaning back, lazy arm sticking out the car window, showing off muscle and pretty tan skin. It's getting cold, but he's cracked the car door ajar; donned in a well-fitting t-shirt and slack trousers.

You're trying not to drool; and he makes it a little easier by flashing a shit-eating grin.

Childishly, you stick your tongue out; wrenching the door open and slumping into the passenger side. You tuck your things by your feet, and it lands on the floor with a thump.

"You can put your stuff in the back.. . " Miguel frowns.

" Can't. We need the space, remember?"

To pick up the rest of your things left in your ex's apartment. You hope he can parse out the rest of that from a raised eyebrow.

He sighs, tossing a brown bag of takeout onto your lap. He starts the car. "...I didn't think we were still doing that, to be honest."

He seems disappointed, eyes flitting this way and that as he reverses and pulls out. You must've hit your head at some point, because you're in heat – pressing sore legs together at the way he does it. One arm on the back of your headrest, sharp jaw jutting out as he looks back, and bottom lip hooked under his teeth; he's just concentrating, trying not to hit one of the cat-sized rodents that roam the streets this late at night, and he's still hot .

"You promised ."

"I had my face between your thighs. Would've said anything if it meant I could have more."

You draw your lips in faux disgust – your heart's not in it, but it's enough to make him chuckle.

"Fuck you."

He doesn't miss a beat, deadpanning, "...you'd like that."

Lips pursed, you ignore the way it twists your stomach into knots. Steadfast, you stare out at the window, watching the yellow lights of a bustling city pass you by.

Miguel takes a different turning, one that'll take you across the city and away from your place. To Jamie's, most likely. You soften, taking a moment to look across at him.

His eyes flit over, intense and almost a deep red in the neon and lights. It's barely a couple of seconds, but he knows, just like that.

"Are you nervous?" He tests the waters, voice steady and non-committal. It's not an accusation; even though everything feels like one, lately. Not from him, though. Never from him.

" No ." Your tone is betraying, and you both know it. He seems to pretend not to hear that tremor in your voice.

"You'll be okay, sweetheart." He says it soft and low, not quite looking at you.

"It's just… it's the first time I'm going to see him after–" Your voice crackles. "After everything."

"You'll be okay," He starts. It doesn't feel like an empty platitude when he says it: it feels genuine and full-bodied and sonorous, clanging around your head like the chime of church bells. "Probably not right away – it's going to hit you like a semi, first. And you'll feel like shit afterwards. But it won't last. You'll move on, and you'll be okay; because you have to be."

He drifts off somewhere far away when he says that last bit; and you're not too sure what he's talking about anymore. Regardless, you wrap his words around you, holding it to your chest like a little songbird in the cradle of a tree.

You'll be okay. You have to be.

It feels less solid when it's not Miguel saying it, you think. You don't tell him that, though, sinking into the seat instead.

He doesn't let that silence sit for too long. Traffic creates a natural lull, and he reaches over to tap at the book in your lap – one of many different textbooks, the rest of which is lodged in your bag.

"You're taking a stats module, I assume."

You nod.

"With Dr. Karev?"

You sit up slightly. "...yeah, actually."

He hums. "You thought it would be an easy A, then."

He's right, but it doesn't make it sting any less. You were hoping for simple math and data processing, and here you were: drowning in matrices and linear algorithms.

"I thought it would be."

"Let me help you, then. I took one of his classes and he barely changes the syllabus. I could dig up my old notes, and–"

"You want to tutor me ?" You splutter – but you don't mean to sound as shocked as you do. " Why? "

"Why not?" He shrugs.

"I… I don't have any money, or anything."

"M'not offering because I want money." He's nonchalant, inching towards the car up front.

You squint. It's not adding up. "What's the catch?"

"No catch, I swear. Is it so hard to believe I'm being nice?"

Now, you feel guilty. "Sorry, Mig. I appreciate it, I really do–"

"Sit on my face and we'll call it even."

He turns to you now, face flat but with a twinkle in his eye. The corners of his mouth are slightly upturned - amused. He thinks this is funny?

You give him a light shove as the traffic starts to break up. He's riled you up, now, and you're much too annoyed to be nervous.

"Eyes on the road, asshole."

It's more bark than bite, and you settle into the seat, finally cracking open the paper bag. You munch on fries and it makes him laugh. Miguel swears he can see it: the hint of a gentle smile on your face.

~~~

He pulls up to the apartment complex. Modest, close to the hospital; and you probably couldn't have afforded to live there without your ex. Jamie was lucky; his parents could foot the bill of moving out, and he had family that lived in the city.

It feels odd to be on the outside looking in. The building's windows become snapshots into other people's lives. For some, it meant an early night, blinds drawn and lights off. From the parking lot, you can see the dim yellow of lights streaming through other apartments. Silhouettes flit past every now and then; the only sign of life.

Jamie's apartment is on the top floor, the two windows on the far right. You crane your head out of the car window, to get a better look. The lights are on, with one window left slightly ajar.

Miguel moves to get out, with shuffling that breaks the silence. You stop him with a hand on his arm.

"No, no. I'm going up by myself."

He cocks his head to the side, ever so slightly.

"...you sure? If you need help shifting boxes, I can–"

"I'm good, Mig. I just needed the car."

It comes out snappier than you meant it to, already irritable. With that, you pop the door open with a thunk . You can't see it, but he frowns, watching you swish and sway towards the entrance.

You trace familiar steps to Jamie's apartment. The door code hasn't changed, and so you buzz yourself in. This is something you can do quickly and efficiently, you've decided. In and out, and you don't have the energy for much else. Bracing at the door, you get ready to knock, hand curled into a fist.

The door swings open before you get the chance. He's there; still in light blue scrubs and a name badge pinned to his chest. It's the first thing you see, trying not to look at his face. But it's like pulling teeth, you decide: less painful when it's quick and sharp.

" Where's my –"

" Your stuff's in the –"

In a great clash of words, you finally look up at him. Where you're expecting some form of emotion – a flash of something, even for just a moment – Jamie is steadfast. Blank; blinking back sleep, if anything. You clamp down what feels like bile rising in your throat and push past him into the front room.

"Is this how it's going to be?"

Head down, you grit a quiet, "Don't . "

It's just as you left it, to the point it's almost comical. The same pillows you'd bury yourself in after work, the patterned tea towel you'd bought on a whim. The bar stools in lieu of a proper dining table, and that great big desk he had insisted on carting to the living room for years . Bits and pieces of you, of your relationship, and he barely bats an eye. He'll use your mugs and sleep on your patterned sheets.

It makes you sick .

You head to the second room. There's a stack of boxes, hastily stashed in the corner. There's still permanent marker on them from when you first moved in. Now, it houses the things you couldn't take with you the first time – everything you left behind.

Sick, sick, sick .

You take a moment to dig through the top box, that's clearly been moved. Knick-knacks, books, clothes and all the clutter you've acquired; and it reminds you of family, it reminds you of friends.

Jamie leans by the doorway, looking on in silence.

When you pick up a box, straining to lift it, he doesn't offer to help. He watches as you flounder, dragging it towards the door.

You're huffing when he finally says something; something that's clearly been on his mind for a while, with the way he says it.

"Are you seeing someone?" He's looking out of the window, gaze fixed on the car parked outside. Miguel's car.

Your eyes widen. You don't quite trust yourself to speak.

You leave the box by the door. "Are you?“

He shrugs. "Don't have the time."

It's noncommittal and frustratingly blasé. He's not giving you much, and it's fucking with your head. This whole thing feels like a big joke – he wants to talk, and all he's doing is asking bullshit questions. Once upon a time, you would've stewed in it; sat with that question on your tongue and let it rot.

"I don't understand." You croak. It hurts to say out loud, but you say it. That's the important part. "I don't know why you're doing this… why are you still doing this?"

"I don't like how we left things." He says it slow, like he's choosing his words carefully.

You want to scream.

" So? "

" So , I need some kind of closure. We've got unfinished business."

" Unfinished business? " You roll it around on your tongue, reeling at its bitter taste. It feels clinical and lifeless, yet again.

And then… oh. It clicks. Looking at him, arms folded and leaning on a wall, he looks antsy and uncomfortable. Now, when forced to face you.

" Closure. " Another word that tastes like shit. You give a watery laugh. "You feel guilty."

He doesn't say anything but his body language says enough. He shifts his weight side to side, unable to make eye contact.

You don't bother to stick around for an answer, snatching up the box as best you can. Through the doors, and down the corridor. You stagger down the flight of stairs, gritting your teeth. It's heavy – you've packed as much as you can inside, trying to get this over quickly – and you make it to the first floor before it clatters onto the steps.

You fold ; knees drawn to your chest and hands tight in your hair. Heart racing, chest pumping: you're trying not to get swept away by heavy emotions. The tide rises. You pump your legs around the swirling mass - barely staying afloat in deep, deep water.

You'll be okay.

You remember Miguel's words, gentle and sweet and kind. You remember the way he said it; firmly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. The kind of grace that you don't have to work for and doesn't need a performance. He believes in you, at least; thinks you're stronger than you have any right to be. And you think of him in the car: eager to help and reassure. You brushed him off. You were mean.

Deep breath.

Miguel's waiting for you, just outside those doors. Diligent and patient, saccharine-sweet Miguel. Getting up, you make your way down the stairs with that box.

When he spots you, a pretty little thing in a hoodie and jeans, he leaps out of the car.

"Hey, hey, easy… "

"I'm good, Mig – "

You're struggling with the box, and he eases it out of your hands without breaking a sweat. One hand on the boot of the car, the other holding up the heavy box effortlessly, and he gives you a quick once over.

"...he didn't offer to help?" His face is scrunched up - disgusted by the looks of it - and all you can manage is a limp shrug.

It doesn't take him long to figure it out. You're dejected; nervous, down-trodden, blue in every meaning of the word; losing a little bit of that shine you had started the day with. If he had to guess, and he knows you well enough he'd bet money on it, it was that ex of yours – stealing away that light in a burlap sack, a thief in the brilliance of bright sun.

It makes him grind his teeth, eyes flicking up at the fourth floor window.

"I could help." He offers, a hand on your shoulder. It's your favourite hoodie, he thinks, as he circles the soft fabric with his thumb.

You purse your lips, thinking it over.

"It'll be quicker, chula. "

That pushes you over the edge, and you finally nod.

It must be a sight, knocking at the door with Miguel hot on your heels. After living with him for so long, you've forgotten how intimidating he can be when you first meet him; taller than Jamie, and mean-mugging the blonde with a deadly look. If you weren't so on edge it would make you laugh: you know your roommate is mostly harmless.

Jamie doesn't, of course. He visibly bristles, looking you both up and down.

"I just need some help with the boxes. This is my roommate, Miguel."

You turn to the man beside you.

" Miguel ," You say it softer. "This is Jamie."

Wordlessly, he stretches out a palm,

rough and broad and tan. Hesitant, the man in front of you takes it.

"Hey, man." Jamie flashes you a strange look when he says it.

Miguel doesn't answer.

You lead him to the second room, divvying up the boxes as Jamie hovers at the doorway. It's surprisingly efficient: Miguel insists on taking the heaviest boxes, hauling them up onto his shoulders, before stacking them up at the door. You'll take the smaller stuff, and it seems everything will be done in far fewer trips than before. It's hard to say out loud, but you're grateful for his help – Miguel was right , for once.

After the first trip, he's bounding back up the stairs for more. You've both made it into a game, with neither one of you having to explain the rules. He pinches your arm whilst you sift through boxes, and you stick your tongue out in response. Elbow deep in crap, and he manages to make it feel a little better.

Jamie stews. Jamie festers. In a corner of what used to be your shared apartment, he pretends to tap at his phone, uninterested. You know him too well for that facade to stick.

Miguel takes the last of the boxes down, and you're straggling behind, picking up the last few bits and pieces. You're left alone with your ex, for a brief moment.

"You're fucking him." He says it quiet, in a whisper that sounds oh-so loud in that little room. Fucking. He spits it out, and makes the word feel cheap and dirty.

You look up from across the room. Slowly, he traverses its width, gaze pinning you down like a bug under a microscope.

He brings a hand to your chin, cupping the flesh tenderly. It's intimate and familiar, reminding you of better days. Something bubbles up in your stomach, sweet and innocent. That feeling doesn't last long.

"You're fucking him."

It's accusatory, spat out with a rueful smile pulling at his lips. His fingers brush over your throat and you squirm, pulling up the mouth of your hoodie.

Those hickies, blossoming like flowers in the spring. They crackle across your skin like fallen leaves in autumn.

"It's none of your fucking business."

"Of course you are. I can't believe you." He rolls his eyes, half-laughing. "I was going to apologise! I was planning to say sorry for the way I handled things and you had to rub it in my face."

" What ?" You croak.

"You brought the guy you're fucking to our apartment!" He explodes.

His lips flatten into a tight line.

" ...now it's our apartment? You kicked me out. You dumped me ."

"Don't…. fuck , don't do that. Don't make me the bad guy, here. I gave you plenty of time to find a new place."

"Two. Weeks." You grit. "You gave me two weeks, asshole. You left me alone, and told me to fend for myself whilst you fucked off to your sister's."

That fire dies down as he hesitates. "I… I would've let you stay longer. You know that, baby."

" No. No I don't know, 'cuz you don't tell me shit , anymore." You blink back hot tears. "I don't make as much money as you do, and my family can't support me like yours can."

"I would've–"

"You didn't. " You swallow roughly. "You didn't. I don't even know what I did wrong ."

"No, no." He cradles your face with his hands, swiping at stray tears. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Now, you look up at him. With glistening eyes, and a heavily furrowed brown, it barely comes out as a whisper; red-raw and strained.

"Then why don't you love me?"

He doesn't deny it. There isn't a scramble to reassure you; to pat your head and kiss away tears to show you how much he cares. Instead, he steps away guiltily.

"I care about you, of course I do. Remember when you changed your major?"

You nod.

"I was there, wasn't I? I stayed up for hours talking you through it. And when you dropped out, I came over on the weekends and brought you groceries."

"I was there. I helped you through that funk , and helped you get that job for school. Every stupid little question, every depressive episode, all those moments where no-one else would help: I did. Even though I had other things going on in my life, I showed up. For you. It was enough, for a while."

Until it wasn't. He sighs.

"I'm starting my residency next year… and you're still in school, right?”

“Yes, I am.” You say it simply, not able to say much more without breaking down.

“I'm happy for you, really - proud that you actually got that far. But we're going in different directions, and at different paces. It's easier now that we're not together.”

You bristle at his tone: still in school, actually got that far . It oozes pomp and a quiet kind of superiority. Easier now, like it was difficult before.

“I didn't make that decision because I hate you, or because I don't care about you. I know you're angry.” He places his hands on your shoulders, and doesn't break eye contact. For the first time since you got here, you think he's finally showing emotion; quiet melancholy just below the surface. Up this close, you can see it: deepening bags under his eyes, sallow skin, and fine lines. Jaime looks tired. In fact, he seems exhausted .

“I'm sorry that I made you feel that way. But that doesn't excuse the fact that you brought your fuck buddy here, when I just wanted to talk.”

It feels cruel. The way he looks at you, and the way his demeanour switches from the Jamie you knew before, to this .

"I wanted to talk." You strain. " Months ago. After you broke up with me, and disappeared off the face of the planet. Every time I called, crying and panicking, it went straight to voicemail."

You shake his hands off of you, stepping back.

"Miguel's a friend… did you ever think of that? Maybe I just needed some help moving my things, Jamie. Maybe I don't have that many friends since they stopped talking to me because of you, Jamie. Maybe, there's not some devious plot to spite you."

You pick up the rest of your stuff, a little basket of trinkets and books. The very same books that he had told you to pack up; to make some space for his textbooks.

"Get your head out of your ass. Don't call me. Don't text me. I'm done. "

You're already halfway out of the door. With that, you start to storm off; clattering into Miguel by the stairs. When your things spill out of your hands, you both drop to your knees in a scramble to pick them up. You're chewing the inside of your cheek so hard it draws blood, fumbling around. Miguel is more efficient, scooping up your belongings back into its box.

You're drooping, only able to mutter a quiet thanks. On the way to his car, you're dejected. Miguel watches carefully, trailing behind.

~~~

He doesn't know what to say.

You've left him speechless before. Many times, in the span of your couple months together. Miguel recalls it in exasperated messages to Lyla; you're something else entirely. Frustrating, sometimes. Quick-witted. Perceptive. Thoughtful. A million and one words to describe you, and yet, it still doesn't paint the full picture. You are multi-faceted and brilliant in a way he's not sure he completely understands.

[Sent: 22:33]

Can't explain it, Ly.

[Sent: 22:33]

I'm going fucking crazy.

[Received: 22:34]

ur being dramatic :p

[Received: 22:34]

think u just need to get laid

[Sent: 22:34]

Fuck off.

[Sent: 22:35]

I said I'm taking a break. Meant it.

[Received: 22:37]

(image attached)

[Received: 22:37]

got this at the party

[Received: 22:37]

ur staring, mig

[Sent: 22:38]

…

[Received: 22:38]

that's my dress! told u I have great taste :))

[Received: 23:06]

miggyyy

[Received: 23:06]

stop ignoring me! its not fun anymore >:(

That was a while ago. Before anything serious happened between you both. And he's had the privilege of seeing you in many different ways; stressed, angry, beaming with joy. Bouncing off the walls after too much coffee, or crawling out of bed following a late night. He's seen your lips curve to form a delicious O as you writhe underneath him; he's seen you smile. He'd tattoo it onto his skin, if he could.

Fuck . He's overthinking it.

You've retired to your spot on the couch, and yes, he's staring. Tracing the slope of your jaw and the tilt of nose outlined by the glow of the TV. After getting back home late, he brushed off limp protests and took most of the boxes up himself. It sits in a pile by the dining table. You'll deal with it tomorrow, he supposes.

Retreating behind your ratty blanket, you stare blankly at the screen. Glassy eyes, you've curled up to watch reruns late into the night. Can't sleep, you told him, as he hovered by the doorway.

He should go to bed. It's nothing to do with him, really, and he shouldn't have overheard as much as he did. Miguel is curious but not nosy, and well-versed on the art of minding your business . So he shouldn't feel his heart splintering; creaking like the trunk of a felled tree; hacked into two by the way he sees you drowning.

He sits by your side. Not too close, of course, he's wary of all the shit you've been through today; not wanting to make you feel more uncomfortable.

He's reminded of a childhood holiday. Half a summer spent at a campsite, bounding through woodland and creeks somewhere up north. Gabi and him would disappear, forgoing the beaten paths for their own adventure. Miguel couldn't make friends the way his brother could, so he'd straggle behind; watching from afar as the other kids would climb trees or swim in quiet lakes. Reading by the banks, and he remembers a time someone had slipped under the water. Drowning, and it wasn't anything like the movies. It was quick, silent and deadly. Thrashing under choppy water, and then…

…nothing. Just quiet.

He feels that panic rising now, watching you stay so eerily still. You've slipped under the waves, and he doesn't know what to say to pull you back out.

Miguel isn't too good with words. He's not known for his warmth, or comforting presence. Sometimes, he thinks he wasn't built with that switch turned on in his head – and he certainly didn't learn the right words from his parents. And so, he gives you comfort the only way he knows how. He shows you. He takes care of you.

You come to him. Like two parts of a whole, you slot together perfectly: your head on his shoulder, at first. You end up on his chest, curled up like a housecat; matching shaky breaths to his steady ones. He brings a hand to your shoulder, drawing lazy circles in the fabric to soothe you.

With the dull chatter and gloom of the TV, you fall asleep. It takes Miguel a little longer, but he wraps his arms around you. He listens out for it: the gentle rise and fall of your chest. Steady, like a metronome, and it grounds him – drowning out the creak of gears.

@delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs @bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook @sonderspider @spear-bitch @cryingintheclubdhmu @mageneire @notdyl4n @slezhara @funkyfoxx0 @smol-beb @iceclaw101 @lixhizy @errorundyne-exe @707xn @beantokki@twentysomethingwereyote

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