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ellecdc · 3 months

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Come Back, Be Here (finale)

Sirius Black x fem!reader - First Wizarding War Order of the Phoenix - 5.7k

p1 // p2 // p3 // p4 // p5 // p6 // p7 // p8

CW: mentions of past abuse/torture, amnesia, hurt/comfort, fluff, use of Y/N

A/N: Holy. Friggen. Crap. WHAT A RIDE! Thank you all so much for enjoying this story with me - it has truly felt like the most niche book club and I have had so much fun chatting with you all. Feel free to send in requests for these lovely characters in the CBBH universe - I'd love to continue playing with them! xx

Lily and James Potter returned to 12 Grimmauld place on the 3rd of November – Sirius’ birthday. There were long hugs, a lot of tears and soft dinner conversation, but there would be no gifts or raucous celebrating.

Regulus Black was arrested at Malfoy Manor as a marked Death Eater, but with the backing of James, Sirius and Dumbledore, the Ministry allowed Regulus to be placed on house arrest, confiscating his wand whilst he awaited trial. Dumbledore assured the group that because of Regulus’ defection, his support of the Order, and the memories that Dumbledore, you, and those who were present on October 31st provided the Ministry, Regulus would likely be acquitted of his charges, or at the very least receive a lighter sentence.

Tom Riddle was quickly charged with treason, tyranny, countless charges of the use of unforgiveables, countless charges of leading or causing the death of wizards, witches, and muggles, countless charges of torture and brutality, eliciting fear and chaos, and illegal use of Dark Magic. He was sentenced to the Dementor’s Kiss and the act was carried out on the 5th of November.

Peter Pettigrew did indeed receive a fair trial for his role in the Wizarding War. He was questioned under Veritaserum, and it was found that he was guilty of treason, using unforgiveables, contributing to the fear and chaos of a treasonous leader, the use of Dark Magic, and sexual assault and brutality. He was sentenced to life in Azkaban.

Lucius Malfoy came looking for his son and was thus arrested by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement on the charge of being a marked Death Eater. He was questioned under Veritaserum which proved Lucius was guilty of harboring dangerous criminals, using unforgiveables, contributing to the fear and chaos of a treasonous leader, and the use of Dark Magic. He was sentenced to life in Azkaban. His property and vault at Gringott’s were seized by the Ministry and, after taking what was owed for reparations, was placed into his son’s name.

The Ministry respected Narcissa Malfoy’s dying wish and placed Draco Malfoy in the care of Sirius Black and Y/N L/N. The Ministry offered the couple access to the Malfoy vault to support Draco’s upbringing, but they opted to leave it aside for the child to choose what to do with the fortune when he was of age.

Narcissa Malfoy’s funeral took place on the 7th of November. The blustery November air accosted the patrons which mostly consisted of Order members and a few of Narcissa’s friends who were able to dodge persecution for their roles or complacency in the war. She was awarded an Order of Merlin posthumously for her role - a title she now shared with you, Sirius, James, Lily, Remus, and later Regulus along with the rest of the Order of the Phoenix. Draco left his mother a beautiful bouquet of narcissus, baby’s breath, lavender, and pink camelia’s. You and Sirius gave her a bouquet of edelweiss, fern, and gladioli. Blue hydrangeas and hyssops came from Regulus who was unable to attend due to the nature of his house arrest but were placed at Narcissa’s headstone by Lily and Harry in the family plot of Malfoy Manor. Andromeda, Ted and Nymphadora Tonks stood by you, Sirius, and Draco at the headstone during the funeral service as Dumbledore spoke of the bravery, loyalty, and dedication Narcissa showed not only to her son and her family, but to the greater wizarding world on the 31st of October.

“There is not one witch or wizard amongst us today that does not owe Narcissa Black Malfoy a considerable debt. Without her bravery and cunningness, evil could very well have prospered, dooming us all to life of immense pain and suffering. She dreamed of a legacy - of a better future - for her own son as well as for every child of wizard kind. Narcissa was a beyond bright student during her time at Hogwarts, a strong leader in her social circle, a skilled healer during the war, and an incredibly brave soldier. Though, possibly her favourite and certainly her greatest role was that of a loving mother; for she died to ensure that her son would live to see a better tomorrow. Narcissa Black Malfoy is the type of person, friend, partner, and parent that each of us should aspire to be. May her legacy of love and loyalty live eternally.” He said as he raised his wand.

One by one, every person present raised their wand to the heavens in honour of Narcissa Malfoy and her sacrifice to the wizarding world. Draco, Harry and Nymphadora, along with the Weasley children and Neville Longbottom who did not yet have their own wands raised a narcissus flower in solidarity.

The remaining marauders, you, Lily, and Regulus did indeed stay at 12 Grimmauld place for some time. The house was unrecognizable from the time Regulus and Sirius spent growing up there; it was bright, it was colourful, it was full of children’s laughter and squealing, it was a place people liked to come to visit, and it was chock full of love.

The problem with the new and improved Grimmauld Place?

Your tribe quickly outgrew it.

As time went on, your memories seemed to return to you basically in full, and the full extent of your trauma reared its ugly head. For years you became hyper-focused on knowing where each member of your family was at any given moment, and a panic attack threatened any moment you didn’t have everyone important to you within your periphery. The Third Worst Day™ of Sirius’ life (in chronological order, the first being the day he almost ruined things between you two, the next being the day you ‘died’) was the day Lily and James suggested to you, him, Remus, and Regulus that they should perhaps fix up Potter Manor and move their ever-growing family there. It was partly the worst day because of how the idea of James and Lily moving away made him feel, but it was mostly because of the mental breakdown you had at the news.

“You can’t! You can’t do this! I just got you back, we just got each other back. You can’t do this!” You shouted as everyone tried to get you to breathe. The numerous hands approaching you placatingly was in fact not what you needed at the moment, and you fell into a manic state.

Needless to say, the suggestion was not met well by you, and ended with you being admitted to the psychiatric ward at St. Mungo’s. Sirius sat at your bedside with your hand in his, Lily and James in chairs across from him whilst Regulus and Remus stayed home and watched the children.

“I cannot live without any of you anymore. I’m sorry, but I refuse. I can’t do it.” Sirius admitted quietly to his friends as he rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb.

You had been dosed heavily with calming draught and dreamless sleep in order to prevent any seizure activity, which you became plagued with due to the trauma of the brain from memory retention and prevention throughout the war.

“I can’t either.” James admitted, causing Lily to turn and face him.

“I’m sorry Lil’s, I know-” he cut himself off to take a steadying breath. “I know when we got married, you probably imagined us living at the Manor or maybe in another place as independent adults. After we lost mum and dad, I’m sure you imagined us taking that over in their place, and I think I wanted that too, but now, knowing what we know, I would have done things differently. I wish we had moved in with mum and dad and been there to enjoy their last few years with them. We had our own flat at the time and Moony, Pads, and Vix had theirs and I was so lucky that I got to spend as much time with Vixen as I did, being her order partner and all, but then she was gone, and I regretted ever spending a single moment away from her. Now...now I’m afraid that every second I don’t spend with you – all of you, any of you, my family – is a second wasted and I don’t want to waste another precious second. Not anymore. Not ever again.”

Lily looked imploringly at her husband.

“You really are a bell-end.” She muttered fondly.

“Pardon me?”

“Do you really think I imagined us living alone in that big ass manor just us and our kids? What part of that do you think appeals to me? I love you, James, but a girl needs backup to deal with the likes of you.”

Sirius and James exchanged a bemused glance before Lily continued.

“I want to live the rest of my life with my family. That’s you, James, and our kids, but it’s also Sirius and Y/N, it’s Remus and Regulus and Draco. Hell, if Alice and Frank or Marlene and Dorcas told me they wanted to move in I’d happily help them pack the boxes.” She laughed as she looked at you and Sirius’ intertwined hands.

“I think we’re all going to be stuck with one another until the end of time.” James said as he pulled his wife into his side.

Sirius smiled greatly at them. “Until all the mischief is managed.”

After that, the friends all agreed that none of them were willing to part from the group, and if for whatever reason anyone felt the need for more privacy, they would opt to build an outbuilding on the property.

“Oi! You’ve gotta knock, Prongs! Fuckin’ wanker.” Sirius had shouted as he hastily pulled the sheets up around the two of you.

“Uhm, maybe you’ve gotta lock the door, Pads.” James muttered with a mouthful of muffin as he came in to sit on the edge of the bed, completely unperturbed by the fact that the two of you were still naked and very recently involved in unmentionable deeds.

Nevertheless, no one ever felt the need to build their own place on the property.

And Sirius made sure James got a taste of his own medicine a time or two after that incident.

Lily Evans Potter did indeed contact Healer Grundke at the end of the war and was brought on to work under her as an intern whilst she worked toward getting her Healer license. She spent many years in general medicine before moving fulltime to labour and delivery. Sirius often teased her that between the number of days she has spent in labour & delivery as a patient and as a doctor, he was surprised any of their other friends ever saw her.

His nose was charmed green for a week.

Regulus Black was eventually acquitted of his crimes. He was placed on a sort of life-long probation in the form of a tracking spell on his wand that would alert the Ministry of him ever practicing Dark Magic. He opted to stay with his brother and his friends though he pretended to hate every minute of it. In truth, Regulus found great joy in being an uncle to Sirius’ and James’ children and Godfather to his best friend’s daughter Luna Lovegood. He declined the opportunity to join the Wizengamot, stating that as the rightful heir to the Black name, Sirius should be the one to take the Black’s seat.

Sirius Black, in Sirius Black fashion, dramatically refuted this idea. He did not want to pick up the mantle that was laid for him by the generations of Black’s before him; he refused to sit in the nearly still warm seat that his father had left. It took Regulus, Remus, and Lily all to tell him how much good he could do by not only bringing in a younger generation’s perspective to the Wizengamot, but as a wealthy heir to a pureblood line, a war hero, and an advocate for werewolf and muggleborn rights, he could bridge the gap between the left and right-wing members of the court.

It also helped that you had told him he’d be the only one capable of making the robes look punk rock.

James Potter opted to be a stay-at-home dad and uncle to care for the children living at Potter Manor. The Potter vaults had enough money in them to last his family multiple lifetimes without every making a dent, and with the money Lily was making as a healer, there was no need to be worried financially. Also, being a kid at heart made him the absolute best friend of any child who met him. As the children grew older, he and Mrs. Weasley worked together to homeschool the children of the Order until they were old enough to attend Hogwarts.

Remus Lupin, never one willing to ride on his friend’s coat tails, spent the first few months following the war applying to various jobs through out Wizarding London. He had hoped that between his stellar academic record, his time spent as a prefect and tutor, his Order of Merlin, and his dedication to the winning side of the Wizarding War, that he would be able to secure a job within wizarding society. Unfortunately, it seemed the wizarding world still had a long way to go with the prejudice it held for werewolves. Walking through Diagon Alley feeling sorry for himself, Remus spotted a “for lease” sign in the window of what used to be a pet store. He immediately sent an owl to the landlord and asked for a meeting.

Though Remus tried to refuse, Sirius and James insisted on investing in Remus’ planned bookstore.

“I’m not borrowing money, Prongs.” Remus muttered defiantly.

“It’s not borrowing, Moons! It’s an investment! If anything, you’ll be making me more money.” He exclaimed excitedly.

“Moony, please,” Sirius added...well, seriously, “think of how pissed off my ancestors would be to know I’m investing their money in a half-blood werewolf’s business which happens to stock muggle literature?”

With a mischievous smirk, the deal was settled, and the lease was signed.

Remus wasted no time to get started at the bookstore. He walked into the small storefront and conjured a broom, deciding to start by sweeping up the hay and owl droppings.

No sooner had he started did he hear the door chime.

“Oh! My apologies, we’re not quite open yet.” Remus offered as he made his way to the door. He stopped in his tracks when he saw you and Regulus standing in the entry.

“I should hope not. This place looks awful.” Regulus commented with a wrinkled nose.

You elbowed him hard in the ribs.

“Looks like you could use some help.” You said cheerily as you held out a stack of papers. Remus took them gently to find your CV and cover letter. Before Remus could even look up, Regulus dropped his on top of yours in Remus’ hand.

“All my references are either dead or in prison so.” He offered with a shrug.

“I’ll vouch for him.” You said.

You were smiling at him so kindly and so sweetly, Remus wanted to cry. You had always been his biggest supporter; championing him through every milestone in Remus’ life. He was certain he didn’t deserve even half of the love you gave him, but he was eternally grateful for every drop of it.

“Thank you, guys.” Remus said wetly as he pulled the two of you in for a hug. Regulus groaned the entire time but when Remus finally pulled away, he had a slight blush.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, what is family for?” He muttered which elicited a sharp gasp from you and a bark of laugh from Remus.

“Don’t be going soft on us now, Black!” Remus said with a laugh and ruffled his hair.

“Fuck you guys, clean this barn up on your own.” He grumbled as he turned to leave, but the two of you wouldn’t let him.

He was grateful that you didn’t.

Sirius eventually proposed to you – though beg was likely a more appropriate definition.

“We should get married.” He had said to you late one night as he came back to the bedroom after putting Draco down.

You lowered your book into your lap as you considered him. “I beg your pardon?”

“We should get married.” He repeated plainly.

Your lip threatened to quirk into a smirk, but you kept your face blank. “And why should we get married?”

Sirius guffawed at you. “Uhm, maybe because we’re in love? And I’m the best and would be the best husband?”

You continued to stare at him.

“Why shouldn’t we get married?” He asked, now beginning to panic.

“I never said we shouldn’t.”

“Then why won’t you marry me?” He shrilled as he moved to kneel at the end of the bed.

“You’re the first thought in my mind when I wake up in the morning and my last thought at night before I fall asleep. Fuck, you make up the majority of my dreams too. Did you know that? Did you know that I go to the Ministry and count down the minutes until I get to see you again? Did you know that when you’re at work, I spend my time thinking about what you’re doing, who you’re talking to, what they’re saying to you and you to them? And not in a stalkery way, I swear. But I just think you’re the coolest fucking person ever and I’m jealous of everyone who gets to listen to you speak when I’m stuck at home or at work. And I watch you with Draco -our sweet boy - and our Godson and the other children and I get fucking giddy thinking that I get to spend the rest of my days with a woman so lovely. So, marry me. Marry me, damnit!”

It was a battle to keep your face straight but by the absolute grace of God you did before saying “Siri, babe, you’re coming off a little desperate.”

There was a brief pause before you got a “you cheeky little minx” and 45 seconds of tickling which turned into kissing which turned into touching which turned into so much more.

You were sticky and satisfied as you both caught your breath, still intertwined with one another when you said, “I will.”

“Hm?”

“I will.” You repeated as you leaned onto your elbow so you could look him in the eyes. “I’ll marry you. Marry me.”

Sirius stared at you in awe before pulling you down into his embrace for a searing kiss which once again turned into so much more.

And you guys did. Marry each other, that is. It was a beautiful spring day on the grounds of Potter Manor with only your closest family and friends. It was perhaps a touch smaller than what either you or Sirius grew up picturing your wedding to be, but it was so much better than either of you could have ever imagined.

“...I thank my lucky stars every day that I get to love such a wonderful woman. There’s not one person in this world who deserves to know the likes of you, me least of all, but will do everything I can to ensure I get to keep what little light you’re willing to share with me forever. I have already loved you in sickness and in health, for rich or for poor, and in life and in death. There is not one planet in any universe, nor a timeline that exists where my love for you does not. I vow to you that you will never spend a day in this life not being loved by me. Wherever you go, I go; in this life and the next.” Sirius said through his tears.

With a smile you began your own vows. “Sirius, I have had the absolute pleasure of getting to witness you become the man you are today. It wasn’t always easy or pretty, but I have seen you through it all; the good, the bad, the really bad, and the ugly. And I have loved you through all of it. As I laid dying, I told James that I didn’t regret a single moment of this life with you, and that is still true today. Every moment, all the blood, sweat, and tears, brought us here today - and I would still do all of it again if it meant getting to stand here today by your side. I made a vow that I would find you in our next life and I would love you there too. Well, here I am. I found you. I will always find you.”

Lily, Marlene, and Alice stood by your side, and James, Remus, and Regulus stood by Sirius’ as your magic was bound together, and you were pronounced husband and wife.

Sirius hung the framed parchment that Remus had found in the wooded area where he first met Regulus in his office. The note symbolized your dedication to him, to your friends and family, and your unyielding perseverance. The parchment was later joined by your wedding pictures, drawings that he and Harry had painted back in Grimmauld place as well as pictures Harry and Draco had given him since, and the first ever check he received for his investment in A Marauder’s Map to Books.

You loved working at Moony’s bookstore; everyday felt like getting to hang out with your best friends even though you pretty much lived with them as well. It was nice to see Remus and Regulus in a setting outside of the parental/guardian role you’d all taken on following the war. You were surprised at first (though you supposed you should have known better) that Remus and Regulus worked really well together – Regulus’ uptight and serious façade was well balanced with Remus’ laidback and jovial personality. Regulus would handle the more difficult customers whilst Remus made sure every customer who came in felt welcome. Things often fell by the wayside or got overlooked when Remus was away due to the moons, and Regulus was quick to pick up the slack. Regulus would often get too caught up in work and forget to stay fed or hydrated, which Remus counteracted by briskly walking past Regulus and placing biscuits and cups of tea brewed exactly to Regulus’ liking before he could refuse. If you noticed Regulus’ cheeks tinge peak and a shy smile grace his lips – you didn’t mention it.

Draco grew to be a very happy child; you and Sirius couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride every time that boy giggled or laughed. You kept your word and left the Malfoy vaults untouched save twice a year when Narcissa would purchase a gift for Draco on June 5th and December 25th.

He was such a good son and an even better big brother.

Draco was the most jealous of Harry when Harry became a big brother to his sister Jasmine Potter. It was hard not to chuckle at how proud the four-and-a-half-year-old was as he bragged about being the ‘bestest big brother’ and watching Draco skulk around the house.

“I could be a big brother! Really, I could. I’d be so nice and gentle, and I would share all my toys!” He told you and Sirius solemnly as you tucked him in to bed. You assured him he would indeed be a wonderful big brother, but not to worry about it too much as you were sure Lily and James could use two big brothers for their newest addition.

You both gave him kisses goodnight and closed the door behind you. You’d hardly made it two steps from the door before your husband had you pushed up against the wall.

“I could be a really good daddy too, you know?” He whispered into your neck before starting to suck on your pulse point.

You couldn’t stifle the moan that escaped your lips. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

Sirius kissed his way back up your jaw before slotting his lips against yours. “Perhaps we should give the kid what he wants.” He managed between kisses.

You chuckled.

“He gets everything he wants already, Siri.” You whispered back as you pulled his body flush with yours.

“What about me, hm?”

You pulled your head back to search his face. “Do you want another baby, Sirius?”

Sirius’ pupils seemed to blow wide at the sentiment. “I don’t so much want a baby as I want your baby, my love.” He whispered reverently.

Your restraint snapped and you launched yourself at him. He caught you as your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms around his neck, carrying you down the hall to your bedroom.

Approximately ten months later you gave birth to your daughter Aurora Black.

September 1st, Kings Cross Station

“Merlin’s saggy balls, how do you – for fuck sa– oh, got it!” Sirius could be heard behind you as he fought with the pram.

“Would you watch your mouth?” Lily muttered.

“Yeah Pads, watch your fuckin’ mouth!” James loudly announced causing other parents to look over at the absolute freak show that was the Potter & Black family’s stepping onto Platform 9 ¾.

“Sorry.” You offered with a quiet smile to a particularly perturbed looking couple as they grabbed their smarmy looking child and ushered him away from the likes of you. “Wankers.” You muttered as they hobbled off.

“Who’s a wanker, mum?” Draco asked as he slid up beside you. The rotten child knew he wasn’t supposed to use such language but couldn’t pass the chance at getting to repeat your nasty comment.

“Presently, it’s you.” You commented while teasingly narrowing your eyes at him.

“Oi, leave your poor mum alone! You’re buggering off to Hogwarts and leaving her with the likes of me for the next ten months.” Sirius said as he (finally) made his way to you with the pram in tow. The three-year-old twins seemed none the wiser that they just nearly got folded into the damned thing and thrown onto the tracks in a fit of rage.

“My deepest condolences during this trying time.” Draco offered you severely.

Sirius scoffed and you laughed as you pulled him into an embrace. You were waiting for the day he pushed you away because hugging your mom goodbye in front of your friends was embarrassing. But today, you relished in the feeling of your first child letting you hold him tight.

“I’m so proud of you, Draco.” You murmured into his platinum hair.

“Thank you, mum.” He responded quietly.

“Draco! Harry! Over here!” The sound of Hermione Granger interrupted your hug as Draco turned to wave at his friends.

“Be good kid, okay? Look out for your sister?” Sirius asked as he pulled Draco into his own embrace.

“’Course, dad. I’m not new here.” He teased as he ruffled Aurora’s hair.

“Draaaccoooo...” She whined in response.

“Go see ‘Mione.” You ordered Draco with one last side hug. Harry and Draco swapped parents and siblings to give their respective goodbyes before heading off to catch up with their friends.

“Are you ready, Rory?” Jasmine Potter asked your daughter kindly. She was a year above Aurora and was very excited to get the chance to show her younger cousin around the castle.

Your daughter looked between her cousin and her parents before Sirius spoke up. “Jazz, do you mind giving us a minute?” He asked his Goddaughter.

Jasmine turned to talk to James and Lily who were busy entertaining Posie and Lyra as you and Sirius bent down to talk to Aurora.

“What’s on your mind, love?” You asked your daughter gently.

Your heart welled as Aurora’s eyes turned glassy.

“I’m not ready.”

Sirius made a cooing sound as he wiped the tears from under her lash line. “What are you most worried about, my little star?”

Aurora sniffled miserably. “What if I’m sorted into the wrong house?”

You and Sirius couldn’t help but rear your head at the comment. Out of all the things you thought would be worrying your daughter on her first day of boarding school, which house she got sorted into was not it.

“Rory, that’s the exciting part baby.” You tried as you rubbed her arm consolingly.

“I get it, Ro, I was worried about which house I was going to be sorted into as well.” Sirius commented.

Aurora rubbed a fist against her eye as she turned to consider her father. “Really?”

Sirius nodded solemnly. “Really. You see, I came from a long line of proud Slytherins. I was supposed to get sorted into that house too, because I was supposed to be just like them. But I couldn’t be like them, I could only be like me. So, I was sorted in Gryffindor, even though my family didn’t like it.”

“Did you get in trouble?”

Sirius nodded sadly. “I did.”

“But Ro, you know that no matter what house you get sorted into, me and daddy are going to be so, so, so proud of you. And we’ll be proud of you because you’re you, not because you were sorted into Ravenclaw or Gryffindor or Hufflepuff or Slytherin.” You added with a soft smile.

Aurora seemed to consider this. “Well, Harry and Jazzy are in Gryffindor, and Draco is in Slytherin. I’d like to be in one of those I think.”

You nodded at her, but it was Sirius who answered.

“That’d be pretty cool, huh? But listen, I met the most fantastic people in my house even though I knew no one in it when I first got sorted. Uncle Prongs and Uncle Moony were my dormmates for seven years and look at us now! Completely co-dependent and still living together.”

“What is co-dependent?” Aurora asked with furrowed brows.

“Not important. What I’m trying to say is, Rory, you are going to give that hat a run for its money, you know why?” Sirius asked.

Aurora shook her head.

“Because you are your mother’s daughter. And she is the the most loyal, the most cunning, the bravest and the smartest person I know. You’ve been raised by the most spectacular person, and any one of those houses will be lucky to have you. Got it?”

You watched as Rory took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before offering her dad a solid nod.

“Atta girl!” He said as he enveloped her in a hug and kissed her head. “You show that sorting hat who’s boss.”

Aurora chuckled as she moved to hug you.

“I’m so proud of you, my love.” You said into her hair. She tightened her hold on you before letting go and stepping back.

“I think we’re ready for you, Jazzy.” You called, and the older girl came and took Aurora’s hand as they headed towards Draco and Harry to board the train.

James and Sirius wolf whistled and hollered, waving frantically as they watched the kids walk away. Hermione, Harry and Draco chuckled while Neville and Ron turned beat red at the attention.

You propped Lyra on your hip and the two of you continued to wave as the train pulled away. None of you stopped waving until you couldn’t see your babies anymore.

A sob tore its way through James, and you looked over to see Lily making alarmed eye contact with you as she awkwardly patted his arm and he and Sirius leaned into each other.

“First time?” An older woman asked as she went to walk past you.

“No” was yours and Lily’s chorused response as you peeled your husband away from his best mate and moved him toward the pram where your youngest two sat forgotten.

“Lord, is it going to be this bad every time we send one of the kids off the first time?”

“It’ll be worse!” Sirius cried emphatically as he fell into your arms, basically crushing poor Lyra who was still sat on your hip. You looked over to Lily hoping for help only to see her in a similar predicament.

“Sirius Black, at this rate our youngest three won’t ever want to come back to Kings Cross Station.” You muttered as you moved Lyra to your other hip so you could support your husband’s weight.

“Good! Then they’ll never leave me!”

Your heart twinged as you patted Sirius’ back.

“Siri, look at me.”

For a moment you thought he might refuse, but he unfolded himself slowly and stood to look at you.

“This is what we fought for, my love.” You said as you caressed his cheek. “So that our babies could go to Hogwarts and learn and be children and be free and be safe.”

“I still hate it.”

You laughed at his petulance. “Me too, actually. Do you think Hogwarts is hiring? What if we all just move there?”

“Great idea, Vix!” James cheered from beside you, eyes rimmed and cheeks glistening. “Lily flower could work in the infirmary, Padfoot could teach astronomy, you could teach muggle studies, I could teach flying, Moony could teach defence against the dark arts and Regulus could teach potions! It’s perfect!”

Though you had to admit this plan of James’ actually sounded pretty perfect, your attention turned to little Posie falling asleep in Lily’s arms.

“Why don’t we discuss this more once we get these kiddos down for a nap, hm?”

Sirius found you later sitting in the sunroom with a book in hand. He thought you made the prettiest picture sitting in the soft sun filtering through the leaves of the trees outside, plants surrounding you with your nose buried in a book. So, he took a picture.

“I wasn’t ready!” You whined with a smile on your face.

“You’re always ready.” He said as he pressed a kiss to your lips. “I’m sorry I was such a mess at the train station today.” He said as he lifted your legs off the loveseat to sit down and replace them atop his lap.

“You don’t have to apologize, Siri.” You said as you tapped him with your book.

“I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you.” He commented, his gaze seemed far away as he watched the branches dance in the September breeze.

“You can do that tomorrow.” You whispered back.

A smile graced his face before he turned to look at you. “I love you; did you know? I don’t think I say it enough, but I do; I love you.”

He punctuated his sentence with three loving squeezes of the fat of your thigh.

“Sirius. Every breath I take means ‘I love you’.” You responded and sealed it with a kiss.

You got an owl from Draco and Aurora later that night.

Aurora was a hat stall.

She was also sorted into the same house as her mum.

Thank you so much for reading! Can't get enough? Check out these CBBH themed one shots, or, feel free to request a one-shot from your faves in this universe!

#marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black fic #marauders x reader #first wizarding war #first wizarding war fanfic #reader insert #escapism #self insert #canon divergence #hurt/comfort #sirius black hurt/comfort #sirius black one shot #sirius black blurb #sirius black ficlet

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munsons-maiden · 10 months

Text

𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮

Here's a little oneshot for you, lovelies! I hope you enjoy 🖤

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Eddie Munson x female reader (no physical descriptions, though)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | Based on this request: could i request maybe eddie brings reader to a deal but wants her to stay in the van so she’s safe but the people he’s dealing to see her because she walked out to tell eddie something and it doesn’t go so well. and after the situation eddie and her argue but eddie’s upset and just what’s to protect her 🥺 but ofc it ends well🫡

- I hope you like it, dear!🖤

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 | fights turning into love confessions, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 3k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | angst with a happy ending, attempted (sexual) assault

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝🖤

You can barely make out your surroundings, the little dirt path leading you deeper into the woods, in the darkness between the trees as you slowly draw closer – the moon and stars have vanished behind the clouds as if they’ve gone into hiding, and the taste of a summer storm already laces the stuffy air.

In all these years of being Eddie Munson’s friend, there’s been one simple rule when it comes to him meeting his customers for a drug deal:

Stay in the car.

The customers are harmless. It’s the cops I’m worried about, he tells you, expression stern, whenever you crack a joke about him being scared you could scare away a customer.

It’s tiny little Hawkins, and the deals gone wrong that sometimes make it into the TV news or newspaper headlines are over coke and heroin and all the hard stuff Eddie would never sell, not over something as harmless as weed or the occasional pill of ketamine.

Tonight has been no different.

It was supposed to be a quick deal on your way to the Carnival two towns over at Sycamore where you’re supposed to meet the rest of Hellfire.

Some new customer sent by Reefer Rick.

But the longer you’ve been sitting in Eddie’s van, in the dark, in the middle of the lonely road that cuts through the woods surrounding Hawkins…this nagging feeling started to grow in your chest. First into worry, then into outright panic when you’d watched the clock on the old van’s display tick, one minute turning into five, and five into ten.

What if something went wrong?

What if something horrible happened to him?

What if Eddie needs your help?

You wanted to tell him, tonight at the fair, beneath the see of glittering lights of the Ferris wheel. That you’re in love with him. That you’ve been, for a very long time. That even if he doesn’t feel the same, you need to say it out loud, how you first fell for all the tiny little pieces that make him Eddie and then wholly and utterly and completely.

When ten minutes bled into fifteen, and your mind had come up with the most horrid scenarios fueled by news coverage of drug deals breaking into violence, conjuring up gruesome images of Eddie bleeding out between the ferns and brambles covering the forest floor, blood soaking the moss, you couldn’t stay cooped up in the confines of his old van a second longer.

You broke Eddie’s one rule. You left the car and went looking for him.

As you’re now traipsing along the small dirt path cutting through the brambles and ferns, the fabric of your summer dress you’ve spent an entire weekend picking out at the mall just so Eddie might finally start seeing you as something else as his friend, sticking to your sweaty skin and thorns scratching at your legs, you realize that even if Eddie needs your help…how the fuck would you even be able to help him?

It’s not like you’re carrying a gun in the little bag you’re clutching at your side.

The sound of voices startles you out of your thoughts, and in the dark, your eyes lock on the two silhouettes in the little clearing ahead of you.

You recognize Eddie first – you’d recognize him everywhere.

He’s standing with his back to you. Even with the remaining distance between the two of you, the darkness of the woods, you can tell that his shoulders are tense.

His whole body is holding a kind of tension you’ve only ever seen on him once before, a few years ago, when his deadbeat father had shown up at the trailer park drunken and shouting curses into the wind before Eddie had dragged you into the safety Wayne’s trailer.

A twig snaps beneath your sneakers, and both Eddie and his customer whirl around to you.

And you realize you’ve made a huge mistake.

The guy in front of Eddie is no nervous classmate, not one of the chill stoner guys always hanging around beneath the bleachers. No friendly family dad or stressed housewife looking for a little relaxation or piece of rebellion.

The guy’s buzzcut does nothing to soften the harsh angles of his face, the lines around his mouth formed by the frown that seems to be engraved there.

There’s something menacing in his eyes as they lock on you.

Something evil and predatory.

The guy licks his lips, and his mouth curls into a lewd smirk, a twisted mirror to the abysmal panic in Eddie’s wide eyes as he stares at you.

You can read them like the pages of an open book.

What the fuck are you doing here? I told you to stay in the car!

The guy slaps a meaty hand on Eddie’s shoulder, hard enough to make Eddie sway a little on his feet with the impact. And contrary to what the jocks at Hawkins High believe, Eddie is strong.

“And at first I thought you’d brought the cops,” the guy laughs – but it’s not a friendly laugh. It doesn’t reach his eyes, either. He’s got muscles. A lot of them, flexing beneath his skin as he lets his arm sink from Eddie’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t do that to your old friend though, would you? Instead, you brought me a present.”

There’s an eagle tattooed across the guy’s throat, wings spread wide. It’s fitting, this bird of prey marking him. You feel like a tiny little robin beneath his gaze.

Eddie’s eyes haven’t left you for a single second.

“I told you to stay in the car.” His voice is strained with barely suppressed fury and, above all else…panic.

“Nah, we’re good,” the guy grins, letting his eyes roam over you.

Making you wish you were wearing something other than a short little summer dress.

“Come on closer, little birdie,” he drawls, “Don’t be shy now.”

“Go back to the car,” Eddie says, louder, the vehemence of his tone flashing in his panicked eyes. His voice is trembling. “Now.”

“What, you don’t want to introduce us?” The man drawls. The threat in his own voice is as clear and tangible as the panic in Eddie’s umber eyes as he shakes his head, the movement subtle, barely visible. Go, he mouths. Now.

At the guy, he adds, “I thought we were here to talk about business.”

“You want me to focus on business when you brought your pretty girl with you, boy?” The guy makes a beckoning motion at you, still frozen like a deer in the headlights, rooted to your spot only feet away from him and Eddie. “Come closer, doll. Don’t be shy now.”

“No,” Eddie interjects, fervor smoothing his voice as it cuts through the rain-laced air of the clearing, despair flashing out beneath the panic, “She’s not part of this.”

You’re scared out of your mind.

But hell will freeze over before you leave Eddie alone with this man.

So you do what the guy told you.

You step closer, coming to stand beside Eddie.

“Tell you what, boy,” the man purrs, tearing his eyes off of you to meet Eddie’s, a flash of yellowed teeth in diffuse moonlight, as his smirk grows into a grin so devilish you wouldn’t have been surprised had they been pointed, “I’m gonna give you a few more bucks and you’re gonna give me a few minutes with your lovely lady here.”

Beside you, Eddie inches closer to you, shifting to place himself between the guy and you.

Trying to shield you with his own body, you realize.

Eddie Munson, who always swore he was no hero outside of D&D, is becoming your hero right now.

“I’ll give you everything I got with me right now, and you leave,” Eddie counters, voice hard.

A desperate attempt to get you out of this situation.

Almost completely hidden from the guy’s field of vision with Eddie having placed himself in front of you, his muscles taut and ready to fight, your hands slowly dive into the bag slung over your shoulder, fingertips carefully feeling for something, anything, to use to protect him, to protect both of you –

“Or,” the man drawls, taking a step closer, with the ease of a predator rounding in on a wounded fawn, “I’ll just take whatever you got and have some fun with your pretty lady.”

It happens too fast to see it coming.

There’s a snapping sound as the flick-knife the guy must have been holding, concealed in his meaty fist and the dark of night, is flipped open, the jagged blade flashing in the obscure beams of moonlight filtering through the clouds and the foliage of trees above your heads – and Eddie pushes you farther behind him.

Placing yourself between you and the knife’s path as he snaps, voice vibrating, “Stay the fuck away from her.”

The man lets out a low, rumbling chuckle. “And what are you gonna do, hm?”

There. Your fingers wrap around something smooth and cool nestled at the bottom of your bag.

And not a second too soon.

Before the guy can let the knife in his fist soar down to hurt Eddie, you duck around your friend, your own hand flying up as you press your index finger down in the spray bottle in your sweaty grip, sending a blast of hair spray straight into the guy’s face.

He screams, hands flying up to cover his eyes as he stumbles backwards, and the flick-knife lands between the ferns.

Eddie doesn’t waste a single second.

His hand finding yours, he pulls you away from the screaming, staggering man and pushes you towards the path that leads back to the road and the van and safety. Together, you break into a run.

You don’t notice the thorns of the brambles cutting your legs, the burn of your lungs, your muscles, because it all fades to white noise beneath the roaring of blood in your ears, the wild pounding of your heart, Eddie’s own racing steps behind you.

Only at the edges of your panic-addled mind you realize that he’s staying behind you to make sure you’ll get away, first.

The van comes up in the distance, a flash of white among the leaves and branches, and you feel the first tender burst of relief wash through you at the sight.

Eddie rips the driver’s side door open, all but shoving you inside and onto the passenger seat as he climbs in after you, and the old engine comes to life with a sputtering roar. The van jerks forwards with screeching tires as your hands shoot out to grab the door’s handle to avoid toppling over into the footwell.

As the vehicle bolts down the country road leading out of the woods, silence descends upon you, heavy and loud even beneath the roar of the engine, your own panting breaths slowly calming.

You cast Eddie a careful sideways glance.

He doesn’t look at you.

His eyes are glued to the road the way his foot is glued to the gas pedal, jaw set, and his knuckles clamped around the wheel are white.

You’ve never seen him so angry in all the time you’ve known him.

You’ve never felt so angry in all the time you’ve known him, either.

When the van emerges from the woods and lights of the carnival come into sight, the twinkling form of the Ferris wheel rising over the rolling fields of wheat covering the landscape, Eddie steers the vehicle to the side of the road.

By the time he cuts off the engine and pushes the driver’s door open with a force that makes you fear it’ll just rip off its hinges, he still hasn’t uttered a single word.

You reach for the latch in your own door, but before you can open it, Eddie has already rounded the hood, and the door is ripped open to reveal his face, unreadable and void of all the usual humor and goofiness.

“Are you okay?” It sounds strangely hollow, the way he says it.

“Eddie –“

“Are you okay?” It’s nearly a shout, but not an angry one. Only scared. So fucking scared that it makes his voice shake as much as his hands coming up to rake through his curls while his dark eyes roam over you in the diffuse moonlight over the field, the dim glow of the lights inside the van, scanning the tiny cuts decorating your face and arms and legs where the brambles and branches of the woods have left their marks during your flight.

You give a tentative nod.

The breath he seems to have been holding leaves in a sharp exhale as he rakes his hand through his dark curls once more, sending stray leaves falling out as he starts pacing at the edge of the road.

You climb out of the car.

And the storm that’s been building the past few minutes breaks lose – not in the sky, but down beneath it.

“I TOLD YOU TO STAY IN THE FUCKING CAR!”

Eddie has never shouted at you.

You’ve never shouted at him, either, but it breaks out of you like a flood-wave.

“ME?! THIS IS MY FAULT?!”

“YES! FUCKING HELL YES IT IS! SHIT. IF YOU HAD, JUST FOR ONCE, LISTENED –“

“ME?! I’M NOT THE ONE MEETING FUCKING KILLERS IN THE WOODS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT!”

“THAT’S WHY I TOLD YOU TO STAY –“

“IF I’D STAYED IN THE CAR, YOU’D BE DEAD ON THE FOREST FLOOR NOW!” The thought of it, of Eddie, bleeding out between the ferns, scared and alone and in pain, makes the tears spill over and your voice shatter as you choke out the rest of the sentence in a miserable little whisper. “You’d be fucking dead!” Saying it aloud brings back the fury at him for being so fucking careless. “HE WAS ABOUT TO HURT YOU!”

“AND THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN WAY BETTER THAN IF HE’D HURT YOU! I CAN’T LOSE YOU, I FUCKING LOVE YOU!”

Eddie’s words shut you up.

They ring through the night, mingle with the soft summer breeze that ruffles the stalks of wheat in the nearby field, the rustling too loud in the shellshocked silence.

The tears which have been glittering in his dark eyes have started running down his pale cheeks.

For a few wild heartbeats, you just stare at each other in the moonlight piercing through the passing clouds, the glow of colorful lights of the fair at the edge of the field sending flares into the night, the stuffy summer night’s air pressing down on the two of you.

In a few quick strides, both of you cross the small distance between the two of you, meeting in the middle.

And then, you’re kissing.

And the world stills, heartbeat accelerating as panic and adrenaline bleed into something entirely else, something that’s been trapped within you for so long it takes a second to realize this, right now, is truly happening.

Eddie’s lips, soft and hot against yours, his palms cradling your face, the metal of his rings warm with the heat of his body as they press gently against your skin.

He kisses you like he’s been waiting for this moment just as long as you have.

He kisses you like he really, truly means it.

Because I fucking love you.

It’s better, so much better than even your wildest daydreams.

You know you’ll never want to kiss anyone else after this.

You know you don’t ever want this kiss to end.

It does, eventually. Eddie pulls away, wide-eyed and panting, lips slightly apart in a gape and curls in a tangled mess – from his own hands raking through it or yours right now, you can’t tell. Even in the half-dark of the night, you can see the blush dusting his cheeks.

“I – I’m sorry,” he breathes, the kiss-dazed gleam in his eyes making room for an appalled expression. “God, fuck, I’m – I didn’t think. I didn’t even ask –“

“I’ve been waiting for you to do this for a very long time,” you say quietly, giving him a soft smile.

For a moment, Eddie just stares at you, as if he’s contemplating whether his mind is playing tricks on him. “You, uh. You did?”

“Yeah,” you whisper into the few inches of between the two of you. “And now I’ll be waiting for you to do it again.”

He does. Not a single beat of hesitation.

This time, when Eddie’s lips meet yours, it’s softer, slower, yet just as intoxicating and feverish as that first kiss.

His hands snake up to cup your cheeks and angle your head as he slowly walks you backwards, until your back meets the side of the van, the metal still warm from the day and the sweltering night air, and butterflies flood your belly, your entire body, a colorful swarm of them making your skin tingle in all the places his body brushes against yours. His chest against yours, one of his knees between yours, his calloused fingertips gently trailing down the column of your throat.

Kissing Eddie Munson is as easy as breathing.

“I meant it,” he breathes into the kiss, before resting his forehead against yours, the curls of his bangs tickling you, “What I said. I’m so fucking sorry I dragged you into this mess. I’m so fucking sorry I put you in danger.” He swallows. “And I’m so fucking much in love with you.”

“I love you, too,” you whisper, placing a kiss to the corner of his lips, feeling his smile. “I’ve been loving you for a very long time, Eddie.”

You place your hands over his, still holding your face.

“I was so fucking scared,” Eddie murmurs, voice trembling again with new tears. “Fuck. I was so stupid –“

“We’re okay,” you whisper, fingers squeezing his, “We’re safe. You saved me.”

“Shit, you saved me. What even was that? Pepper spray?”

You chuckle. “Farah Fawcett hair spray.”

Eddie blinks, before he gives a breathless little laugh, as if he’s not sure he’d rather laugh or cry. Probably both. “Pretty fucking metal.”

“I wanted to look pretty for you tonight,” you amend, and Eddie’s expression grows serious again.

“You always look pretty, sweetheart. I’ve been having a pretty hard time not ogling you every second we’re together.”

“You need to promise me you’ll never ever meet clients in the middle of the woods. Not at night. Not by day either. And –“

“I promise,” Eddie interrupts, voice sincere. “I’m gonna stick to the clients I know. No expanding the business.”

“Good,” you breathe, letting your hands fall away from his to lock them at the nape of his neck, fingertips playing with his dark curls.

“Your hair is really soft,” you breathe, lips not an inch from his, feeling stupid all of a sudden for saying it out loud, but Eddie replies with an adorable little giggle that makes your heart soar and race and squeeze with love all at the same time.

“Thanks. It’s…uh. Don’t laugh. It’s Farah Fawcett conditioner.”

Your own soft laugh fades into the night as Eddie’s lips find yours again, the summer storm brewing over your heads and the glittering lights of the carnival in the distance and the moment of terror in the woods blurring against the radiant joy of knowing the one you love loves you back just as much.

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝🖤

Requests for angst/smangst remain open. If you want to check out my works in progress, here's the list🖤

#eddie munson #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic

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captainfern · 10 months

Text

✿ captainfern's masterlist ✿

below, you can find all my works. it will probably take me a while to update this list when i post something new, so give me a day or so and it'll be linked in no time :)

🍃 - indicates nsfw content

🌿 - indicates sfw content

🌱 - indicates fem!reader/afab!reader

☘️ - indicates gn!reader

🌷 - indicates fern's favourites

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

Captain John Price [#captain'snirvana]

About A Girl [🍃,🌱], About A Girl pt. 2 [🍃,🌱]

All Apologies [🍃,🌱]

Breed [🍃,🌱,🌷]

Come As You Are [🍃,🌱]

Heart-Shaped Box [🍃,🌱]

In Bloom [🍃,☘️]

In Utero, In Utero pt. 2 [🍃,🌱,🌷]

Lake of Fire [🍃,🌱]

Lithium [🍃,🌱,🌷]

Lounge Act [🍃,🌱]

Love Buzz [🍃,🌱]

Milk It [🍃,🌱]

Nevermind [🍃,🌱], Nevermind pt. 2 [🍃,🌱]

Serve The Servants [🍃,🌱] +Ghost

Something In The Way [🍃,🌱]

Stay Away [🍃,🌱,🌷]

Where Did You Sleep Last Night [🌿,☘️]

With The Lights Out [🍃,🌱] +Graves

You Know You’re Right [🍃,🌱]

Marigold - Dad's Best Friend Series

Marigold Prequel [🍃,🌱,🌷]

Marigold [🍃,🌱,🌷]

Marigold pt. 2 [🌿,🌱]

Marigold pt. 3 [🍃,🌱]

Marigold pt. 4 [🍃,🌱]

Marigold pt. 5 [🍃,🌱]

Marigold - The End [🍃,🌱]

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

Simon "Ghost" Riley [#captain'smetallica]

Damage, Inc. [🍃,🌱]

Fade To Black [🍃,🌱] +Price

Master of Puppets [🍃,🌱,🌷]

Nothing Else Matters [🍃,🌱]

Orion [🍃,🌱]

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick [#captain'stimbaland]

2 Man Show [🍃,🌱]

Give It To Me [🍃,🌱,🌷]

Morning After Dark [🍃,🌱,🌷]

Release [🍃,🌱]

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish [#captain'sKISS]

Rock Bottom - Voyeur Series [+Price]

Rock Bottom [🍃,☘️]

Rock Bottom pt. 2 [🍃,☘️]

Rock Bottom pt. 3 [🍃,☘️]

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

Commander Phillip Graves [#captain'sfleetwood]

Dreams [🍃,🌱]

Need Your Love So Bad [🍃,☘️]

Tusk [🍃,🌱,🌷]

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

Imagines [#captain'simagines]

141 - This Is Not A Book Club [🌿,☘️]

141 - Okay, Maybe This Is A Book Club [🌿,☘]

141Rugby!au [#141rugby!au] [🍃,🌱]

Introductory and Definitions

Part One - Pink Tape [Gaz]

Part Two - Crush [Soap]

Part Three - Good Girl [Ghost]

Part Four - Greedy [Price]

Part Five - Perfect [141]

#captainfern #call of duty mw2 #call of duty #cod smut #cod mw2

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sprout-fics · 10 months

Text

Tag, You're It: Part Two

(Poly 141 x F! Reader) 18+

Masterlist

Rating: Explicit, 18+ WordCount: 6.3k Tags: F! Reader, Minors DNI, Chase/Takedown, Hunter/Prey, Anal sex, Anal fingering, Dirty talk, Consent checks, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Semi-Public sex, Edging, Orgasm delay, Orgasm Denial, PriceGaz, Phone sex by technicality Warnings: Mild Consensual Non Consent

You manage to avoid Gaz and Price- up until you don’t.

It’s after sunset when you finally pause to take a breather, hidden in the shadows of the empty drill area. Darkness shrouds the shanty buildings and hastily constructed walls, slanting shadows through the distant flood lights that illuminate the rest of the base.

You had caught some strange looks from some of the recruits earlier in the day, looking a little disheveled from your earlier encounter with Soap and Ghost. You can still feel the mess between your thighs, the drip of Johnny’s spend oozing from your entrance into your panties. You had managed to scrub most of Simon’s cum off your face, enough so it isn’t noticeable by anyone who you pass. Just as long as they don’t look too closely. It makes your skin shiver, a little embarrassed, shamefully turned on that you’re walking around with an ever-present reminder of their claim on you.

Cold air seeps into your lungs as you breathe, doubled over after your short sprint past the guards. The damp mist of it curls away from your lips like smoke, legs trembling a little with exertion. Yet beneath the fatigue there’s still a low, thrilling excitement at this game you’re playing, knowing that for now- you’re winning.

Price and Gaz have yet to find you. You gave them the slip earlier as they stalked you through the outer perimeter of the base, their forms slipping through the trees in search of you. They had been hard to spot, you hadn’t even noticed them sweeping the forest for you. Not a word had been spoken between them as they searched for you, and with your heart racing in your throat you had prayed simultaneously that they would pass you by and discover you hiding.

You’d pressed yourself flat against the dirt, shielded by ferns and through some miracle, they had passed you. That had been hours ago. Now, with darkness fallen, you know there’s no holds barred the closer the clock ticks to midnight, counting down the minutes until the end of this game.

You hear it then, as you heave an exhale against the side of the hastily constructed buildings, intended for sweeping houses and sniper shoot outs. It’s distant, an unintentional crunch of boots against gravel, and it has your ears attuning to the smallest noise in the distance- a low voice that murmurs into a radio.

“Roger, Cap.”

Gaz.

Instantly the air in your chest seems to freeze, and you barely stop yourself from sucking in another breath that the sergeant might hear, close as he already is. He sounds like he’s on the opposite side of the building, slowly circling to your position. With every heartbeat he creeps closer, tracing the scent of you through the evening darkness.

For a moment you consider a mad dash to freedom to escape Gaz’s slow but silent pursuit. Yet if your previous instance with Soap and Ghost is anything to go by, you know exactly how that will end.

Then again, that’s the fun of it all.

A murmur, quieter this time, and you’re unable to make out the words. Yet it’s closer, and your heart hammers louder in your chest in response. You wonder if maybe he’ll hear it, hear your unsteady breathing, might somehow smell the arousal on you that rises with every shaky inhale.

It’s no good. You’re too exposed where you stand, just on the outside of the building, out in the open as moonlight streams onto your wide eyes, your back plastered to the wall. If Gaz walks by he’ll spot you instantly. You can almost imagine the smirk of self-satisfaction at having found you, eyes twinkling with victory. It makes your eyes narrow, your blood rising with determination.

You sink, crouch and listen to the subtle shift of him in the near distance. You think you hear Gaz’s footsteps somewhere behind the building, but it’s unclear which direction they’re headed. A gamble then, to make sure you flank him and escape.

Your movements are slow, like a puma stalking through the undergrowth. You’ve learned your lesson from earlier- more careful where you put your feet, gentle with your breathing, ears attuned to every whisper of sound that comes from Gaz’s direction. As you round the corner of the edifice there’s only silence, and a peek reveals he isn’t there either. So, you stand, slowly, press yourself to the wall and slink along the exterior.

A crackle of a radio. A huff.

Gaz blinks abruptly into existence in the path ahead, nothing there until you suck in a breath and he’s just there. His form coiled, ready and before you can even finish processing that damned smirk he launches himself at you.

You yelp, bolt in the direction you came, but surprise dulls your movements, has your feet skid along the dirt. It takes mere moments for Kyle to seize you by the back of your shirt, spin you off balance and push your front up against the outside of the building.

“Target captured.” He huffs into his radio, pleased, and there’s a pause and a crackle before an answering huff of laughter greets your ears. Price.

“Good work sergeant.” The captain praises and oh. That makes sense. No doubt Price is somewhere nearby, watching, observing, reporting your movements as Gaz does the dirty work of stalking you through the training area. You should have known.

“Hi Cap.” You breathe, torn between annoyance and amusement. You hear Price chuckle on the other end of the radio, and you know that sound. Know the feeling of it rumbling through you with his chest pressed against yours, his weight pushing you down into the mattress. It melds with the scent of Kyle clouding your senses, making your eyes flutter and your gut stir with a silky, slick desire.

“Made it easy for us, didn’t you love?” Price taunts, and you grunt at that, wiggling in Gaz’s grip with little success.

“Ah ah.” Kyle scolds, tightening his hold on you until a hiss of pain threatens behind your teeth. “You’re not getting away. We’ve been tracking you since we saw you escape the warehouse.”

You pause at that, blinking as you process Gaz’s words. That had been hours ago, you thought you’d shaken them more than once, but now you realize the game they’d been playing the entire time. Getting close enough to drink in your scent and then smiling to each other, letting you escape out from under them, if only to prolong the excitement of the chase just a little longer.

Toying with their food.

You go lax in your surprise, and Gaz’s hands soften on you as a result. It’s a split-second decision on your part, entirely instinctive as you thrash and somehow shake him off, boots skidding as you bolt.

Gaz yelps with surprise, reaching for you and coming up only with air. You hear Price bark an order at the sergeant, but Gaz is already moving, giving chase.

You manage to make it around the corner, and not weighed down by the same gear Gaz is wearing you manage to put valuable distance between you both. Yet Gaz is still hot on your heels, huffing a gritted little “Why you little-” somewhere behind you. It makes an almost hysterical laugh bubble up your throat, breathless, choked on a toxic combination of delight and adrenaline.

You weave between the shanty buildings, taking sharp corners and trying desperately to shake him. Yet it seems every time you manage to get just enough of a gap on him, Gaz manages to close the distance, Price chattering in his ear and informing him of your every movement.

It’s the captain’s words, then, that pilfer away the remainder of your luck.

You run around a corner and run straight into Gaz’s chest with a breathless little ‘oof’, reeling backwards a moment too late. Gaz reaches out, catches both your wrists in his fists, hauls you off balance so he can press your back up against a wall, his knee wedged between your thighs.

“Going somewhere?” He asks cheekily, panting past the delighted, thrilled smile that spreads across his face.

“Trying to.” You answer, equally breathless. Gaz huffs a laugh at your reply, and raises his knee just an inch higher, enough to make you shudder a gasp of sensation as it grinds against the apex of your thighs.

“Atta boy, Gaz.” Price rumbles in Gaz’s radio, and he also sounds pleased, drinking in the easy victory.

You crane your head a little, unintentionally baring the bare flesh of your neck to the sergeant- a mistake. Gaz leans forward abruptly, mouth pressing against the skin there and letting his tongue go flat over the spot he’s seized before he seals his lips over the spot and sucks.

Your knees tremble under you unexpectedly, and you moan at the bite of pain and pleasure as Kyle sucks a dark hickey into your neck. His entire front is flat against yours, bracing you against the rough brick of the wall behind you, allowing you no escape from his onslaught. The wavering, licking flame of need inside you blazes brightly at the sensation, shuddering as the heat pulses low in your core, slick and warm and empty. It only grows when Gaz shifts just enough for him to expertly roll his hips into your own, teasing you with just a moment of dizzying, needed friction.

“Let’s take our captive somewhere…a little more intimate.” Price encourages darkly as Kyle parts from you. You shudder at the tenor of his voice, with Kyle pressed flat against your front, your hands caught in his, his breath fogging against your shoulder. You’re already panting, a little dizzy off a few touches alone and it’s unfair how Gaz can do this to you when he’s this wound up, laying his intentions into your sensitive skin until you puddle into his touch.

“The building to your right, with the window and the desk.” The captain goes on, and Kyle grunts as you hauls you to him, your feet skidding as you attempt to thrash him off. It’s useless, and the thought that maybe you’ll manage to evade them again dims quickly into nothing.

It doesn’t take long for Gaz to bend you forward over the desk, forcing your hands up above your head so they grip the opposite side. His lips trail the shell of your ear and you shudder, containing a sound of want that bubbles up inside you.

“Keep them there for me, won’t you, doll?” He breathes, and gods, the lust in his voice is so evident it renders you soft, malleable under him, a quick and painless surrender that forces the air from your chest in a sigh.

“Good. I can see you.” Price’s voice filters through the radio, and Gaz takes a hand to tilt your head towards the window, to the rise in the distance from which the moon hangs low in the sky.

“Smile for the captain, pretty girl.” Gaz taunts, and you feel heat rise to your face at the realization Price is going to watch, going to tell his sergeant exactly how to defile you before he drags you to his captain like a prize.

It’s as if Price can read your mind, can see your expression through his scope in the distance, for you hear his voice rumble through the static with a chuckle.

“That’s right, love. Gaz here is going to warm you up for us, and then bring you in like a proper soldier. Isn’t that right, Garrick?”

“Yes sir.” Gaz breathes, and before you can even make a sound his hand seizes the waistband of your trousers and drags them down over the swell of your ass in one quick movement, baring your bottom to the cold night air. You suck in a bright gasp of air but make no motion to try and stop him as you did with Soap and Ghost- Gaz is gentler, more tender, might mistake your feigned protests for genuine distress. Instead, you levy him a look over your shoulder with heavy, lidded eyes, a wordless temptation in your gaze.

C’mon then, soldier.

Gaz grins.

“Looks like Ghost and Soap had their fun already.” He teases as a finger trails through your cum-slicked folds and you jerk a little at that, automatically trying to squirm away a little in embarrassment. Yet Gaz merely hums at the mess he finds there, finding the smeared drip of Johnny against your hole and pressing it back inside.

“No moving.” Price admonishes when you squirm, press back towards Gaz in a mild attempt to try and get his fingers a little deeper. You try to heed your captain’s warning and stay still but you can’t- not when Kyle’s fingers circle your entrance and find a fresh wave of arousal coating his fingers, his murmur of “Oh, good girl~” makes you whine and squirm, flush with the praise.

You yelp, however, when there’s suddenly a hand landing sharply on your exposed asscheek, fingers gripping the corner of the desk just as Kyle settles his weight behind you, the growing hardness in his crotch bumping against your ass.

“You heard the captain.” The sergeant reprimands smugly, soothing the area with his palm. “Stay still for us.”

There’s a pause then, over the radio, and you wonder if Price is trying to collect himself at the sight of you splayed forward, out in the open, with his sergeant gently stroking your pink asscheek as he rocks into you from behind. You whimper.

“Color.” Is all Price supplies after a moment, and your answer is ready, face hot, limbs trembling, need coiling sharply in your stomach at the strain in his voice.

“Green.” You breathe. “Green, fucking green, cap, god- please, I- ah!!”

You gasp loudly when Kyle’s hand lands in the exact same spot, body jolting as the noise trails off into a groan, low and heady, head falling forwards in surrender.

“That’s no way to talk to your superior officer.” He laughs, and you glance over your shoulder at him accusatorily, only to catch the playful bright glimmer of his eyes.

Price hums over the radio, the sound smoky and gritty in the best of ways and the sound alone has you moan, unable to contain yourself despite the lecherous shame of being so open, so ready for them.

“Where did Soap and Ghost leave their mark?” Price asks smoothly, and once more Gaz’s fingers dip into the mess of your cunt as you struggle to keep yourself upright against the desk.

“Her pussy, sir.” Gaz answers perfunctorily, and for some reason it’s so arousing the way they’re talking over your head so casually, like you aren’t even there.

“Open her up then, sergeant.” Price orders, and you hear how his voice is caught in his throat with a dark, yearning hunger, wanting to sink his teeth into you and take, take whatever you can give him, and then somehow demand more.

“Yes, sir.” Gaz breathes, and he shifts so he can pull something from his vest, a little pop as the thing opens. You remain where you lay, legs trembling a little, breathing uneven and dizzy with desire, eyes blinking hazily as the aphrodisia of them both washes over your senses, muffles them in a spinning, avid want that boils low in your stomach, needing more. It tightens across your hips, sears inside your chest and when Gaz’s hand smoothes over the sting of your ass you hiss at him to just get on with it-

Another smack, this one gentler than the one before but still enough to make your voice rise abruptly, fingers clenching at the edge of the desk.

“Shh, shh, shhh.” Gaz hushes sweetly, and before you can regain your bearings there’s the cold, wet drip of something against your asshole so sudden it makes you flinch.

“Easy, doll.” He tries again, pressing low and warm over the arch of your spine, craning up so his lips flutter on your nape. “Gonna make you feel good, promise. Just be good for us. Yeah?”

You force yourself to breathe as Gaz’s finger circles your asshole, spreading the slick of the lube salaciously there, not yet pressing in, gentling you to his touch.

“Yeah?” He asks once more, nose buried in your hair as the hot, shuddering breath of him blankets across your nape. It draws you down heavy into omnipresent need, sinks you further into his touch until you’re limp, lost to him.

“Y-yeah.” You whine back, voice high and reedy as you feel him smile into your skin.

“Good girl.”

You feel him press his finger against your hole, and despite the resistance there he manages to wiggle the slicked digit inside, making a moan drop against the metal surface of the desk. It’s a little bit of a stretch at first, but Gaz is gentle as he gently pushes in, pulls out, bit by bit as he gets you used to the intrusion.

“You need to relax, gorgeous.” He reminds you, a hand reaching over your head to tangle his fingers between yours as an anchor as you force yourself to breathe, relax, legs weakening under you. “There we go, that’s it.”

“Doing well, love.” Price murmurs over the radio, and that sends a flash of something that purrs low and hungry in your core, the praise that your captain gives you, more toxic than any other. Yet then his voice turns wolfish, dragging low across your senses as he adds “Such a good captive for us.”

You brace your head on the desk and whine.

“Oh, I know.” Gaz hushes you, raising off you so his warmth vanishes from your back, his hand settling on your nape instead and keeping you pinned to the desk. “I know it feels good, doll.” As he draws his finger back, squirting more gel between your asscrack so he can gently press a second one beside the first.

“F-fuck, Kyle, please-” You beg, not even sure at this point what you’re asking for. It’s just so much- being out here in the open, bent over for him as his captive, his endless endearments and praise, the lewdness of him fingering open your ass while Price watches-

You moan, loud and long, shameless, not caring if any lingering rookies around the training grounds hear you. It’s met with a sound of delighted disbelief from Kyle, a “That’s it, that’s the way-” as Price’s rumbling, pleased hum crackles through the radio.

“God, you should hear yourself.” He tells you, his own voice wrecked at the sound of you, at the obscene squelch of him drawing his fingers out, only to push them back in. “Sounds like sin, doesn’t she, Cap?”

Price growls, and the drag of the noise from his chest is only accentuated by the radio’s echo, making you grip the desk and look to the hill where you think he is.

“Keep your eyes up here, soldier.” He tells you, and you can hear the ravenous hunger in his voice. You wonder if he’s palming himself through his pants, getting himself off to the sight of Gaz fingering you open and smoothing his hands over you like he’s admiring a prized weapon.

“W-wouldn’t have them anywhere else, sir.” You manage between breaths, and you can imagine his smile tugs at his lips. You wonder if he’s smoking, imbuing himself with the taste of tobacco and the sight of your debauchery.

Then Gaz presses low across your back, his warmth pressing into your spine just as his teeth skim over the shell of your ear. You shudder, try and arch under him prettily, encouraging him to touch you more, to lose the restraint he clamps onto with a soldier’s resolve. There’s a low, pleased tenor vibrating low in his chest, and with his other hand you feel his fingers press at your lips with a small “Open.”

You do, and without prompting your teeth secure on the material of his glove, securing it as he tugs free. It drops onto the desk beside his other one, and soon his thumb presses down on the cushion of your bottom lip, loosing a little shivering exhale as you take it in, begin to twirl your tongue around the digit shamelessly. You can hear his bitten back little groan above you at the sight, your eyes half lidded, mouth parted so your uneven exhales spill onto his open palm.

“Bloody hell-” You hear Price bite over the radio, voice snappish, strained. It startles a barked little huff of laughter from Gaz above you, pinning you down to the desk with his full weight, preventing you from moving.

“Like what you see, Cap?” He asks smugly, and Price hums low and dark over the radio like approaching thunder. It’s a warning, a reminder. Kyle may be touching you, may be lighting your skin on fire with smooth little touches and honey sweet praise, but it’s Price who’s making the calls here, watching you be taken apart piece by piece by his trusted sergeant until you have no choice but to surrender completely.

“Let’s give Price something to really look at.” Gaz whispers in your ear, low and sultry, and you whine as his fingers retreat from your ass. Before you can try to question him his arm snakes under you, hauls you up against his front as he stands. You toss your head back against his shoulder as bare palm snakes under your shirt to grab the hem, pushing it up past your collarbone. You shiver at the chill of the air, feel Kyle roll the swell of your naked breast in his hand, fingers dipping into the supple flesh there.

“Kyle-” You try, hands reaching up to secure on his forearm, trying to find an anchor as he kicks your legs a little wider apart under you. Gaz nuzzles up against the underside of your jaw, affectionate with dizzying desire, nudging it to the side so he can teeth over your pulse. “Kyle, please-”

“Please?” He asks, just a little mocking as he grinds his erection into your ass so you can feel the full length of him press into your form. “Please what?”

“Fuckin’ hell Kyle-” You manage as he revisits the bruise he’s sucking into your skin. “Just touch me already, fuck-”

“Have to ask the captain for that, doll.” He tuts, rolling his hips into your back with a grace that feels effortless. You teeth your lip, eyes scrunched shut, feeling the drip of lube between your asscheeks, feeling slick pool low between your legs as you clench around nothing. With the absence of Kyle’s fingers, you feel the emptiness inside you intensify, build upwards with a need that has no satisfaction.

“Please Price, please let him fuck me.” You plead, voice cracking with just a hint of desperation that you try to choke back, to no avail.

“Think she deserves it?” Price asks Kyle, ignoring your little whimpered plea as he doesn’t answer you, fixing his scope on the sergeant instead.

“Dunno.” Gaz pants, rolling a nipple between his wet fingers. “But you’re gonna have to give me something here, cap. Getting a little impatient.”

“At ease, sergeant.” Price replies silkily, and how he appears so in control of himself despite the circumstances is beyond you- a concentrated focus driven from years and years of experience, an unwavering fixation on the mission before him. “Go on then.”

“Thank you sir.” He manages, using one hand to quickly pull at his pants, shoving them down just far enough to free his cock. You hear him fumble with a wrapper for a moment before rolling a condom down over his length. Yet even then he strokes it a few times, up and down against the swell of your back.

“Bleeding Christ, Gaz-” You snap, twisting just a bit to try and look at his half-lidded smirk, eyes cloudy with lust. “Get on with it.”

He only laughs, a little wicked, a little daring in the face of your impatience wearing thinner than his.

“Since you asked nicely, darling.” He supplies before scooting you forward, helping you lift a leg until your boot plants on the table, spreading yourself as he lines up the head of his cock with your ass. Yet then his voice dips low, a little more serious as he offers “Deep breath.”

You do as instructed, and with a little whine and a press, the flushed head of his cock manages to pop inside the ring of your asshole. He gives you a moment to adjust, kneading gentle circles into your hip as encouragement before pressing a little further, a little deeper, his voice a long, low, muffled groan against your bare shoulder.

“Y-yeah, that’s it.” He pants, hauling you back against him so he can angle himself just right. You can feel the pulse of him inside you, warm and slick as he presses further into you. “F-fuck I’m not gonna last long with you wrapped around my cock like this.”

“Describe it to me, Kyle.” Price purrs over the radio, and Kyle’s sweaty forehead drops against your nape as you shudder and gasp under him.

“Tight.” Kyle strains, fingers now digging into the meat of your thigh, fit to bruise. “Hot, tight, f-feels good.”

Yet then he braces his chin over your shoulder, letting his fingers wander to your front and grasp lightly at your neck to hold your head upright.

“You good?” He asks gently, so different than the mocking, teasing tenor of him just moments ago. No, this is your Kyle. Sweet, indulgent, adoring and focused entirely on you and nothing else. You nod against him, biting back the small amount of discomfort before he achingly rolls his hips into you, a slow, drawn-out motion that allows you to adjust to his length buried inside you. There’s a little whine of something, caught between pain and pleasure that you don’t choke down in time, and before Gaz can react you hear Price’s voice pressing up into your ear, Kyle’s radio close to your face.

“Give her something to distract her.” Price suggests, and wordlessly Kyle’s hand falls to the spread folds of you, his slick thumb rolling, searching as you buck your hips with the slightest amount of pressure that spikes electricity sharp in your veins.

“There it is.” He huffs smugly as his thumb presses down on your clit and you jerk reflexively at the bright, searing spark of pleasure there, clenching down on him and forcing a cracked little moan to breathe across your nape. He presses a kiss there, tender and sweet, before he begins to grind the pad of his finger in neat little circles, finally giving you the friction you so desperately desire.

It feels good.

Gaz has a certain mastery with his fingers that comes with his adoration of weapons. He caresses you the way he would a prized rifle, traces his fingers along the joint of your thighs, feels the kickback of you as you moan and writhe on his cock. His forefinger presses down featherlight on the trigger and you feel yourself ready to release on his hand. Yet he keeps you at bay, refuses to take the shot.

Instead, he ruts into the swell of your ass, uses one hand curled around your hip to fuck you forwards into the other, fingers delving between your folds and collecting arousal between the pads. His nose buries against your nape, where he chants an endless litany of yearnings that sets fire to the underside of your skin. The slick, wet, coiling pressure of your desire spills across his hand, drips wet down the inside of your thighs as the hilt of his hips presses deeper every thrust. You open up for him, sweet and gentle, until at last you feel his pelvis lay flat against the curve of your ass.

You can’t stop making noise, too gone to care about some base patrolman out after dark ensuring no recruits are skulking around the training area. Your voice drops heavy and long from your chest, rising into high little keens with every passing graze of Gaz’s fingers on your clit.

Unexpectedly, Gaz groans loudly into your ear, his hand on your hips clenching down with bruising intensity as his voice asks: “Enjoying yourself, Sir?”

You blink glassy eyes forward, not sure how you didn’t hear it until now, the lewd shlick shlick shlick barely audible over the radio as Price tries to time his thrusts with Gaz. You buck forward into Gaz’s hand at the reminder you’re being watched, that Price is enjoying this just as much as you are, at Kyle burying himself inside you while you rock your hips forward onto his hand in search of release.

“Affirmative.” Price grunts, and you can hear the gritted arousal in his voice as he strokes himself to the sight of you broken apart on Gaz’s cock. Gaz rolls himself with a sensuous mastery of rhythm, his front plastered to your back with every deep, slow, unyielding thrust into you. Every rock forward has him pressing his fingers down on your clit, drawing you back with every retreat, keeping your orgasm at bay as you grip at him blindly, trying to seek purchase against the unfurling warmth in your core.

“The sight of you both.” Price growls over the radio, and you can’t even begin to imagine yourself. Bare, legs spread, the glisten of your arousal dripping between your thighs, head thrown back and lip swollen from your teething. Behind you Gaz pants in low, ragged exhales that trickle down your spine, brow scrunched in pleasure and concentration. There’s a thin sheen of sweat that covers you both, has you glowing in the moonlight like nocturnal, wild animals.

It’s ruinous, Gaz plays you like a fiddle, breathes in your desire like it’s his own. It rises in you like the crest of a wave, but every time you think your climax will break he pulls his fingers away just in time, sending you hurtling back down into nothingness. You whimper your protest, trying to find the breath between words to plead with him.

“Kyle, Kyle please. I just- I’m so close.” You beg, voice cracking high in your throat.

“Not yet.” He grunts into you, and picks up his pace with little warning, chasing his release to match yours.

“That’s it, Kyle.” Price drawls over the radio. “Get our girl nice and ready for what comes next.”

You buck forward reflexively at the spike of pleasure that thought summons in you, the reminder that after this there’s still more. The day, despite its low hanging darkness, is far from over. The wild chase that began at dawn doesn’t end with sunset. No, it’s only at the midnight hour that you’re finally released, set free into the gentle embrace of their arms.

Besides, Price hasn’t had his way with you yet.

“P-Price.” You whimper in a plea as Kyle’s fingers retreat again, and the pressure boiling inside you flattens into a low simmer once more. Kyle’s forehead presses into your shoulder, and for a moment he adjusts his grip on you, pausing before he resumes his pace faster, little shallow thrusts that have you choking on every cracked inhale. “Price-”

“Pay attention to your sergeant, love.” He reminds you, but his breathing harsh too, as you can hear the wet slide of his fist over his cock on the radio.

“I-I can’t.” You try, grinding yourself down on Kyle’s fingers as they touch you once more, for only a few meager moments as your breath rises-

And your climax is taken away again with no end guaranteed.

“Please.” You sob with a watery gasp, but Gaz is too lost to notice your pleas, his cock dragging with precise little punches of his hips as he groans a shuddering gasp into your back.

“Fuck this was a good idea.” He snaps unexpectedly, and you feel him twitch inside you, a little grunt swallowed as he tries to contain himself. “Can’t wait to have you again after this, doll. Watch everyone else have their way with you-”

His words are interrupted by Price, his own want echoing sharply over the radio with a crackling, forced exhale.

“The things we have planned for you, darling.” He tells you wickedly, and you force yourself to breathe, mind running wild with imagination of what they’ll do to you, how they’ll fracture you down and down and down until there’s nothing left except wordless gasps of pleasure and the slick feeling of your release onto their waiting hands.

“Getting close, cap.” Gaz announces quietly, his hand anchoring to your front clenching and releasing, trying to hold himself back until his captain gives the order.

There’s a few moments of silence that have your breath hitch in your chest, wondering if Price is even listening, if he’s considering or just trying to chase his own release. Then-

“Go on sergeant, fill her up.”

“Yes, Sir.” Kyle enunciates, and gives a series of rapid, brutal thrusts before his hips stutter against you, his cock twitching inside you with his imminent release. You hear Price grunt a feral, broken sound, and it makes the rising pressure of your orgasm flare higher inside you at the thought of his own pleasure spilling across his closed fist at the sight of you both.

“Please please please-” You choke, trying to rock onto his hand, trying to chase your own orgasm with fervent desperation, rendered to nothing more than a blind instinct to find the end of yourself against his touch.

Gaz presses his hips flush with yours with a loud, groaning sigh as his orgasm at last washes over him. He offers a few final, parting thrusts, gentle rolls of his hips forwards as he presses down on your clit wrong- intentionally staving off your climax.

“Fuck-” You snarl at him, waspish, trying to close your hips, to press back, forward, something to find your release. “Gaz, Price, fuck. Just let me-”

“No.”

You feel the world shatter around you as Price’s voice cuts through the fog, blinking your hazy eyes open to look to the rise where you think he is, hoping he can see the confusion and devastation on your expression. Before you can protest Gaz is withdrawing his fingers from you completely, gently steadying you as he extracts himself. Whatever words you have next are interrupted with a little whine of discomfort from the motion, but Gaz only shushes you gently, laying his hand flat against the underside of your thighs as he lowers it back to the ground.

“No-” You try, feeling your pleasure begin to simmer into nothingness, desperation clawing at your throat. You grasp blindly at Gaz for a moment before snaking a hand down to your clit to try and finish what he started.

Gaz’s hand only smacks yours away with a chiding little ‘tsk’ and you sob in dismay, clench your thighs and rock forward against nothing in a frenzied bid for release.

“Sorry love, captain’s orders.” Gaz tells you, and at least there’s some sympathy there, just not enough to summon back your imminent climax.

“You asshole-” You bite at him, spinning on your heel to face him. Gaz is ready for it, and he presses you back so your bare ass hits the edge of the table, forcing you to lean back. Your eyes dart down to where he hangs between his hips, his cum collecting in the rubber sealed over him.

“Well, yours really.” He snarks back, and you frown severely up at him, trying once more to reach down to yourself in protest. Gaz snatches your wrists before you can, grins down at you with a dark mischief you’d forgotten he possessed.

“Best secure her hands.” Price suggests idly, and you want to snap at him too, at the way his tone is so unbothered by your ruined orgasm. Without another word Gaz reaches down to his belt and produces a set of zip-ties. With practiced alacrity he spins you, forces your hands behind your back and secures them, far away from your pulsing core. A curse bites on your tongue, and you allow it to slip through before you can stop it. Kyle looks bemused at your voice, but it’s Price’s voice that speaks up next.

“That’s no way to speak to your superiors, soldier.”

You pause, muscles going rigid at the displeasure in Price’s voice, the stern, heavy rasp of him over the radio. It’s the same tone he uses when you’ve done something wrong, and it shudders shamefully through you as you realize you’ve made a fatal error in judgment.

You still have to face Price.

“Time to bring in our captive, sergeant.” The captain announces abruptly, suddenly all business again, brushing aside his orgasm from only moments ago. It whiplashes through you, the way he can just turn on his heel like that, have you whimpering for him one moment and then issuing orders the next.

“Wh-wha-” You try, failing to find the axis on which to balance as Gaz goes about getting you dressed once more, taking off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders, pulling your pants on one leg at a time but stuffing your panties in his pocket with a devilish smile. You shoot him a glare over your shoulder, face warm and skin itching with unsatisfied need and annoyance. His eyes merely twinkle at you, delight and lust dancing clear across his gaze.

“Let’s go, pretty girl.” He tells you darkly, reaching for some strange, soft material in his back pocket and stretching towards you. “I think our captain has some questions for you.”

Darkness covers your sight.

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gothgengargirl · 11 months

Text

The Works

You came to the new salon mostly on a whim. It was a Sunday, so it’s not like you had anything special in mind for the next day. Just work. Boring, dreary, work. But you thought that feeling pretty might help the work week go a little more smoothly. Give your colleagues something else to talk about besides meetings and progress updates. You wanted to feel seen for once.

For such a nice place, it was a pleasant surprise that you were able to get a walk-in appointment. Fern’s Grove, it was called. Cute name. The ceilings were high, and the place felt remarkably open and airy for being just another building in a strip mall. A fountain bubbled away cheerfully, a variety of exotic plants growing alongside it. The air was even perfumed, floral and berry-like, but in a way you couldn’t quite place. And the woman at the counter, who set your bag in a drawer and got you settled into a astonishingly comfortable chair, was gorgeous. Everyone who worked here was gorgeous. If this was how they took care of themselves, you felt like you were in good hands.

Your cosmetologist came up to you just as you were getting settled. She was just as beautiful as everyone else, maybe more so, with her dramatic cat eye makeup, purple hair and generous curves. She handed you a laminated list of your options, and you could hear her whistling cheerfully in the background as she got her instruments together and you looked over your choices. Hair cut, hair color, hair extensions. Face wash, moisturizing treatments, full makeup. Permanent makeup? That sounded intriguing. Manicure, pedicure, they even offered waxing services (presumably those were in another room). And one thing at the bottom stuck out to you, drawing your attention like a light in the darkness.

The Works.

“I’ll take The Works, please,” you said, almost instinctively. You wanted to see what this place could do.

“Sure about that, doll?” Her voice was sweet like honey, with an edge of something in it. Condescension? Anticipation? Both?

“I’m sure.”

“Okay, then, The Works, coming right up. Lift your arms.”

You did so instinctively. You were always good at following directions. And you thought you knew what was going to happen. She would put an apron on you to protect your clothes, you would talk about what cut and color you wanted for the hair, maybe get your shoes off and your feet soaking for the pedicure.

That’s not what happened.

Cables descended from that high, airy ceiling, and wrapped themselves around your wrists. You tried, briefly, to pull away, but you were held in place. Like a puppet on her strings. Clamps emerged from the chair to do the same to your ankles. You were stuck.

A momentary wave of panic was replaced by a curious fear, as you could feel something seeping from your new restraints. Soaking into the skin of your wrists and ankles. It felt GOOD. Like you were being polished from the inside, like all of the tension in your body was replaced with pleasure. And as you sank back briefly, She placed something over your head. A visor. You tried to close your eyes, but the flashing colors shone through your eyelids, and you opened them out of curiosity. And once they were open, you never wanted to close them again.

At first the messages were simply soothing. Telling you to relax, to sink, to accept all of the new feelings in your body. And there were new feelings. You couldn’t see anything but the swirling colors, couldn’t hear anything but the whispered suggestions from that set of headphones that must have come on just after the visor. But you felt good. Hands nimbly massaged your scalp. The waves of whatever it was from your restraints spread all the way through your arms and legs, making them feel limp and loose and silky smooth and perfectly plastic.

Plastic?

Perfect. Plastic. Puppet.

Pretty. Programmed. Plaything.

This was what the suggestions in your head were saying now. And you kind of liked the sound of it. On some level, you knew that you had work in the morning. You were a Busy Woman With Important Things To Do. But you always hated it. There was another way now? And at least for this afternoon, you could enjoy being a

Perfect

Pretty

Plaything

...

Time passed. You couldn’t tell how long. Minutes? Hours? Days? Time felt less and less meaningful, paying attention to the sensations running through your body. It was almost like an orgasm, but orgasms came and went much faster than this. This was a slow build, leading to a great flowing tide of ecstasy. You didn’t want it to stop. You never wanted to stop being a programmed plastic puppet.

But then, as suddenly as it started, it ended. The visor and the headphones were pulled off. The restraints at your arms and legs snapped open, your arms dropping into your lap. Your hands moved automatically, one of them grasping a breast, the other rubbing at your crotch shamelessly.

As your eyes focused again, you were amazed with what you saw in the mirror. She… you… was different. Your clothes didn’t fit the same way—blouse swollen and buttons open, skirt disheveled and riding up over thicker thighs. Your mouth was hanging open, lips larger than they were before, and your tongue was hanging out. It was pierced! A blue gemstone sitting in your pretty pink mouth, its color matching your new long nails, your thick eye shadow. Your gleaming metallic hair. And the place on your neck that didn’t even look like flesh anymore. It was seemingly embedded in your skin, blue circuits tracing out from a thick black band.

A Collar.

You didn’t even look human anymore, did you? You looked like…

A Doll.

“What do you think, hun?” said the voice behind you. The voice you now instinctively knew as Owner.

“I don’t think. I just obey.” Automatic.

“Good girl. Stop touching yourself.”

You did, immediately. Arms limp at your sides. Awaiting further instructions.

“What are you?”

“I’m just a doll. An empty-headed plaything.”

“Excellent! And what do you want me to do next?”

“Please…” these words felt like they were escaping from your soul. They were your soul. All you had left was this one thought.

“Please play with me”.

You saw Owner’s luscious mouth open into a wide toothy grin as you said that, watching her and you in the mirror. And then you didn’t think anything else. Not for a long while. Dolls don’t think, they just obey.

Good Doll.

#this story literally came to me in a dream #i was half asleep and held my arms up #and thought hey i can work with this #dollification #transformation #brainwashing #hypnosis #robotization #femcorp #dollify yourself #some of the verbiage is borrowed from hypno files i enjoy #ask nice and i can send you some links #💙💙💙#💙💚💜

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enbesbians · 5 months

Note

hi bby fern <3 i’m here to request some cockwarming with abby + her ravenously eating pussy ♡🎀💕 ilysm !

hi there bee, i can definitely do that.

sorry if this is kind of bland… im working in the midst of a writers block and i couldn’t let this idea up… ive been thinking about it nonstop since you’ve brought it to my attention.

in the quiet of the night, every so often she would stop to admire at the dark marks she’d create at the inner of your thighs, heart shaped in the ring of her lips— now latching herself on your throbbing clit just to feel it’s sticky flesh flutter against the softness of her lips as they’d pop themselves off. abby did this for a while, infatuated with the sounds you were releasing every time she got too close to your aching cunt. "such a pretty fucking pussy…" she breathed on it. "mine, all fucking mine you hear?” she chuckled, emphasizing each letter amidst her short licks, long ones, from underneath your folds all the way back to your clit. doing everything to make you feel good and keep you moaning, saying, "fuck, abby! don’t stop."— oh god, she loved it when you said that, she also loved it when you pressed her face deep in between your legs, make her eat you— she pulled away to spit directly at your hole, it sliding down just to be absorbed by the sheets.

"you taste so good," she repeated for the umpteenth time, pushing one finger inside, tongue circling around your cunt, gathering as much spit as she could, feeling it slide down your folds, making more of a mess than she had intended. abby was too greedy, wanting you to feel any ounce of pleasure by slipping two fingers in. your legs spread all the way open as the sinful sounds of her fingers plunging inside of your pussy mixed with the desperation in your moans and the sucks of your clit.

"i love your pussy" she practically moaned out, mouth so full, you could barely understand. her chest heaving as you twitched against her mouth, which only urged her spread you open with her digilent digits, pushing her tongue deeper into you. she sucked your pussy like you were her only life source. she let the movement of her tongue swell and flatten as she slipped herself inside your opening, replacing her fingers, and locked her jaw as she cradled your clit at the opening of her tightening lips. you’d feel yourself falling from the abyss, the bottom half of your body being lifted mindlessly by pleasure. you’ve always loved the tormented and glory of abby’s tongue, it flicking and fluttering and sucking and fucking you like no one has ever had. she treated your pussy like it was art, indulging it like top of the line cuisine— tasting it’s juices, drinking it, smothering herself in it. she’d spit again and again, making the wetness of your pussy sloppy, running down your thighs and running all over her cheeks and nose.

it didn’t take much time for her to get excited from the taste of you, the way her nose buried itself deep in the additive scent you exuded which ultimately made her stop and level the silicone she had wrapped within her harness and bury herself in your folds. she slipped in so nicely, you already creating a ring of cream around her as her hips started to jut itself into you.

no matter how much you came, she kept going, your body now limp at the fact that she let herself go feral, her strong arms wrapping around your body, squeezing you close in her strength, trembling through the orgasm she granted you. she’d go back, slurping the left over cream and cum you left against her silicone and your slit, just to fuck you again to make you weak and cum dumb for her.

after some time, she finally let up with you and her now at a rest. the weight of her arm pressed firmly at your waist. she pulled you in, the thick of her fingers pressing deeper into your damp flesh, allowing you to make one with the warmth of her chest. she watched you, with growing pupils oozing with endearment as they bounce from your eyes to your lips. she loved looking you like this. she couldn’t stop herself from smiling at how cute you looked after she’d fuck you. you looked so lost, trying to settle back into reality as your high subsided itself.

at a tilt, she lifted your chin, swiping her tongue across the bottom of your lip, humming in satisfaction at the way your face formed it’s glow— the beauty of your orgasm never fails to amaze abby. just from studying it alone, she’d fuck you again. the pitiful plea to keep going, the pathetic blank stare once you’ve reach your high— all she wanted was to take you deeper into that. she could frame it, needing to capture this moment on camera; just to admire the quickening breaths, the heat of your skin burning her own, and the beads of sweat forming down the line of your back. "mmm so you're enjoying it baby aren't you? you like when i stay inside?” she leaned over, slurring the words whilst momentarily canceling the distance between you both to place her lips on your agape ones.

“ye…yess…” you reply back, clenching around her silicone as you weakly pucker your lips to return a faint kiss.

"my pretty angel, what is that… four times and i can still feel you clench around me…” abby whispered against your mouth with a wide smirk on her own, hand snaking down the length of your back. "you like it how i stretch this pussy, don’t you baby? feels good when i fuck you… when i taste you. you like when i lick that pretty clit of yours or even use my fingers to fuck you… i bet it feels good when i just let my cock rest there, let this pretty pussy hug me so tight~" she sing songed lowly, continuing the feathering touches of her fingers running down the spine of your back. “this pussy is made for me… no matter what i do… it talks to me…”

there’s something in this that felt oddly intimate about this. the way she ripped her hips deeply inside your cunt just seconds before— body buried deep in the softness of your mattress only to be catching your breath and having your loving girlfriend hold you, whispering her love for the way your wrapped around her. it felt so dirty but erotic.

you loved it when she talked as if her strap was a part of her, you always feared that pleasure only ran one way, but she made you feel as if she could feel it— whenever you sucked it, allowing her to fuck the depths of your hallowing throat, or bounced against her hips, snapping her hips up into you, or even enjoy cockwarming as you are right now, it made you melt— your hips rolling down further onto her silicone as your tired fingers hold tightly onto the cloth of her shirt. “you fill me up so good… i don’t ever want you to get out… i don’t want to feel empty.” you sighed, your high still plummeting through your body, resting and tingling at your clit.

it’s fair to say abby is addicted to all the melodic and sonorous eruptions of pleasure emitting from you, far as much as she was to your heavenly aroma, natural taste, and your eyes she’d catch in any lustful act. she was in love with anything and everything that involved you— she pressed her cock in your walls, counteracting your hips just to hear your tiny gasp. she could feel the jerk of the toy from how you twitched against it, hands now caressing the sides of your face, “baby… enduring it, rest…”

leaning towards your neck, she started kissing it’s flesh, and ridges of her teeth nipping at the skin with each suck as you felt yourself drifting into a comforting slumber.

#lesbian #sapphic #wlw #abby tlou #abby anderson #tlou #abby x y/n #abby anderson the last of us #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson smut #abby smut #abby x you #abby x reader #abby x masc!reader #abby the last of us

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shintin · 6 months

Text

Forbidden Flames

↳ Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

One-shot

Summary: Satoru Gojo receives a letter, inviting him to a secluded cottage in the forest. Is it a trap by curse users or a haunting memory trying to scratch his wounds?

Or a story about how You and Satoru Gojo fucked after years.

Word count: +11 k.

Genre: explicit smut, romance, angst (Jujutsu Kaisen au).

Warnings/Tags: +18, NSFW, reader-insert, no Y/N, post-breakup, soft Satoru Gojo, curse user reader, no death, too much fluff and kissing, cunnilingus, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex (c’mon! we all want this), multiple orgasms, hair pulling, tear licking, emotional trauma, emotional sex, no manga spoilers.

Notes: Hey there! I wrote this because Gege Akutami left an emotional mark on me. So, you know...

You can read the "Disclaimers" at the end.

Song Recommendation: Forbidden Flames Playlist

You can read my fics on AO3. If you have any questions, don’t be shy and ASK.

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As the afternoon sun cast long shadows through the dense foliage, a mysterious man with stark white hair and a black blindfold stepped into the heart of the desolate wilderness. Satoru Gojo. The air hung heavy with the earthy scent of wet soil mingling with the musty aroma of decaying leaves, a reminder of the rainstorm that had visited the night before.

Every step he took got lost between the giggles and hisses of harmless curses hiding behind the trees with fear. The ground beneath his feet was carpeted with a mosaic of fallen leaves, their vibrant red, orange, and gold colors now muted and lifeless, as if drained of all vitality. Some of them, with still a breath to take, crunched beneath his weight, the sound of a heartrending dirge that reverberated through the desolation.

Tall, gnarled trees stood sentinel on either side, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers as if yearning to trap the unwary. Their towering forms were shrouded in darkness, their essence reduced to withered remnants. They whispered mournful laments in the wind, their voices carrying tales of forgotten sorrows.

The forest, once flourishing and thriving, now seemed like a tragic tableau frozen in time. The canopy above formed a suffocating barrier that only got disturbed by the man's ethereal presence. Wild ferns brushed against his legs, leaving behind a trace of dew upon his black trousers. The moist ground yielded beneath his every step as if reluctant to release its grip from his boots' footprints.

As he pressed further into the jungle, the darkness deepened, the path twisting and turning like a labyrinth of despair. The shadows grew longer, stretching out like grasping tendrils as if eager to ensnare his soul. The silence became oppressive, broken only by the occasional painful cry of a distant creature.

The cottage he had received its address stood as a solitary figure amidst the gloomy jungle, a crumbling monument to forgotten dreams. Its dilapidated walls whispered of lost hopes and shattered promises, its windows veiled with white curtains.

With his hands casually tucked into his pockets, he watched the scene before him, a twisted smile playing upon his lips. He thought it was a perfect place, a trap waiting to spring him. But who would be foolhardy enough to challenge the strongest of all times?

But wait!

He couldn't feel any cursed energy! His six eyes were dumb. There was only one who could blind their watchful gaze.

So, when Satoru Gojo approached the house, his heart quickened after a long time, anticipation and anxiety coursing through his veins. The stage was set, the elements conspiring to test his resolve. Would he emerge from this shadowed encounter unscathed, or would the jungle claim yet another victim, lost to the depths of its sorrow-laden clutches?

Satoru's focus fixated on the doorknob, a slight gulp revealing his hesitation. Taking a deep breath, he turned and pushed open the door. The scent of something sweet enveloped his nostrils, a reminiscent embrace that momentarily distracted his senses. However, as his eyes met the sight that awaited him, an unexpected revelation struck him with a force that resurfaced long-forgotten memories.

The inside resembled an aged hideout, with wooden walls and colorful chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting warm, dappled patterns on the worn tatami floor. In the center of the room, a round table took its place, adorned with a vase of delicate forget-me-not flowers. Flanking the table were two chairs. And then, in the small kitchen stood the person who had left a void in his heart.

"You're late," your voice rang out in a cheerful tone, beckoning him forward. "Come inside. It's chilly out." With your back facing the door, you stood at the counter, appearing preoccupied with unwrapping something.

Caught in a maelstrom of emotions, Satoru's thoughts fragmented like scattered puzzle pieces, their intended purpose obscured by the inner turmoil. His hand held the doorknob tightly, trapped in a state of ambiguity, unable to release its grip.

Was this a mirage? How could it be that when you seemed precisely the way he had traced the outline of your body in the air while lying in bed, unable to sleep?

Yes, of course, there were nights when the desire to run his fingers through your hair filled his dreams. It was inevitable; your scent permeated everything, even riding on the breeze. There were days fatigue misled him, mistaking weariness for the embrace, he craved, only to discover the hollowness within his very bones. Your body was no longer curled around him, no comfort, and in your absence, each day left him icy, with lips turning blue and hands yearning for the warmth of your touch. He felt adrift in a blizzard, seeking the faint flicker of a fire you had extinguished.

What the fuck is wrong with you, Satoru? Think! Is this a manipulation technique?

And then, as if compelled by an unseen power, you turned your head, causing his heart to skip a beat—countless beats. You were undeniably real.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Seeing you was akin to being hit in the knee with a bullet. Satoru's legs nearly gave way, his heart raced, and his hands turned clammy, almost causing him to collapse. He had never felt this urge to tear off his blindfold before, as your departure had happened so abruptly that he didn't have a chance to see you. Although he had committed every detail of you to memory, but this…this… witnessing it in person was an entirely different experience.

He stepped back, feeling the heaviness of the past, necessitating some distance. The harsh truths loomed, threatening to engulf him as he wrestled with the profound effect of your presence. Yet, he couldn't tear his gaze away from you, his mind struggling to comprehend the unfolding situation. The reality was so surreal, making it difficult for him to grasp that it was really occurring.

"Why are you just standing there?" you asked, holding a pack of his beloved Kikufuku mochis in your hands. A radiant smile graced your face, illuminating the damp room with its brightness.

He couldn't give two fucks about mochis when your face had that effect on him, always causing him to lose track of where he was, who he was, and what he might say or do. And that familiar smile, it killed him a little. His gaze remained there, lingering for too long, his concealed eyes giving away his thoughts. "Why do you have that look on your face?" you asked, tilting your head with curiosity and stepping closer to him.

As you stood before him, the closeness amplified the wave of emotions within him. Joy and disbelief raced through his veins. The fragrance that surrounded you, so hauntingly acquainted, sparked a rush of nostalgia.

Satoru Gojo was born with a specific purpose, a set of perfect eyes, and the weight of his lineage on his shoulders. He was reserved and calculated. When he mastered the Limitless technique, he concluded that infinite solitude was the only way to survive. Because how he could describe the experience of seeing everything, for when you see everything, you see nothing. An excess of color turns into pure black, an infinite void.

Yes, he was born with those six eyes. People never let him forget. But to you, his eyes were simply eyes. He recalled the first time you teased him about them and how his heart caught in his chest because he had never seen someone as vibrant and colorful as you.

It wasn't exactly love at first sight, but it was something like that. The first time he saw you, he felt it. An ache. Like a little electric burn. He felt his life changed.

Gradually, his loneliness began to dissipate. He found a place for himself in this chaotic world. With you, he could laugh, cry, joke around, and even be a brat. It was something no one could genuinely grasp—the feeling of finally being alive as a person. Before you, he felt he hadn't truly existed, merely scattered atoms in an indifferent universe following a predetermined path. But you changed everything. You dismantled and rebuilt him anew. You molded him, nurtured him, and despite him being the strongest, you kept him safe.

Without a noble title or material wealth, you were everything that went against the expectations of the Clan Elders. Yet, you stood faithfully by his side, precisely where he believed you belonged. Or at least, that's what he presumed.

Then, on that fateful day, the day he desperately wished was nothing more than a dreadful nightmare, reality unfolded before him. How could it be real? He stood there, confronted by the lifeless bodies of two Higher Ups and their protectors, with you covered in their blood. It was inconceivable. He couldn't accept that you were responsible for such a gruesome scene. Yet, you showed no remorse. You firmly believed it was the only solution, fed up with their destructive actions that brought ruin upon sorcerers deemed insignificant. You had accepted the notion that a problem without a remedy should be eradicated like an unwelcome weed.

On that day, he considered shaking your shoulders and demanding that you deny it all. He even contemplated going against everyone because what was the fucking point of wielding such power if he couldn't safeguard the woman he loved? The thought of quitting and escaping with you crossed his mind, too. He was willing to sacrifice everything: power, wealth, status, even his own life. However, you didn't desire any of those things.

His friend, Suguru Geto, once posed a question: Was he Satoru Gojo because he was the strongest, or was he the strongest because he was Satoru Gojo? At that time, he had no answer. A 17-year-old couldn't possibly find a response to such a profound question. However, when you entered his life, everything changed. Being the strongest lost its significance. He was just Satoru Gojo, and he was who he was because you loved him. His existence held meaning because you touched his life. He saw because he needed to gaze upon you. He spoke because he longed to hear your voice.

And then, similar to his best friend, after causing a bloodbath, you also walked out of his life. Yet, this time, it wasn't solely loneliness that engulfed him. It felt like one of his lungs had been taken away, and he heavied without you by his side through each passing moment. He became nothing once more. There was a hole in his life where you used to fit perfectly, and no matter what he did to try and fill it, nothing worked.

It was a strange anguish, a pain he never anticipated or conceived of. It consumed him from within, setting him ablaze with a profound emptiness. Then, defying the assumption that someone as formidable as him could experience sorrow, he was burdened with the task of erasing you. It was as if you were deemed nothing more than a blemish, a dishonor.

"What... what look?" he struggled to say, his voice tinged with a desperate yearning. Regret lingered in his tone as his words fell short. With a touch of vulnerability, he shut his eyes beneath the comforting confines of his blindfold, seeking refuge in the veil of darkness. Taking a deep breath, he consciously filled his lungs, using them as an anchor amidst the swirling storm of sensations enveloping him.

"That look," you remarked, your voice carrying a mischievous tone that floated in the atmosphere. "It's as if you don't trust me," you added teasingly. A few playful strands of hair escaped their intended position and delicately framed your face, casting a bewitching allure. An irresistible urge welled within him, compelling him to extend his hand and tuck those strands behind your ear—stupid muscle memory. However, he restrained himself, his hand suspended mid-air, resolute in resisting the magnetic pull of his desires.

"Why did you invite me here?" Satoru voiced, his grip on the doorknob loosening as the impact of reality settled upon him. The initial shock transformed into a lucid understanding. He wasn't oblivious. He knew that you were aware of his assignment to eliminate you. So, why? Was it because you recognized your unstoppable nature? Was it because you had realized that the blackhole existed within you, devouring everything you once held dear unless someone intervened?

"You could have refused to come, yet here you are," you whimsically remarked, a devilish glint in your eyes as you punctuated your words with a wink. You strolled over to the weathered table and set the pocket upon its aged surface.

"Cut it out!" Satoru snapped, his frustration mounting. "You know, I had no idea it was you!" His heart thumped in his chest, urging his feet to move forward, even as his mind screamed at him to flee. A sense of unease gripped him, acknowledging the futility of engaging in a battle he felt ill-prepared to win.

You turned towards him, a hint of a smile gracing your lips as your hands stayed concealed behind your back. Leaning against the chair, you arched an eyebrow, your eyes locked on him. "I have a feeling you knew it was me as soon as you arrived at the house," you declared, a jovial tone lacing your words. "After all, I'm the only one capable of concealing my cursed energy from you."

"We both know that I shouldn't be here. I—" Satoru's sentence dissolved, left unfinished, as your hand reached out, bridging the gap between you with a gentle touch. Infinity never worked with you. Even the very essence of the cursed energy recognized that you posed no threat to him. Furthermore, he would gladly provide you with any justification to touch him.

Lost in his reverie, Satoru suddenly became acutely aware of your presence. The magnitude of his longing and the depth of his yearning surged within him. In that instant, he recognized the immense emptiness you had left and how much he had missed you. Emotions swirled together, blending past and present, uncertainty and desire, in a delicate dance that would shape your fates.

"Why are you here, then?" you inquired, and his eyes met yours, reflecting the same yearning that dwelled in his heart. "Tell me, did you come in to kill me?" With a deliberate movement, you folded his fingers, molding them into the shape he would use to unleash his hollow purple. Bringing his hand close to your heart, you held it there. Despite the gravity of the situation, a soft smile adorned your lips.

He couldn't do this.

Taken aback by your unexpected gesture, Satoru swiftly withdrew his hand from your grasp. Anger and heartbreak swirled within him, entwining in a tumultuous storm. The realization hit him like a relentless wave, crashing against the shores of his consciousness. How had you drifted so far apart? When had the divergence between your paths become so profound that he failed to notice? The weight of your choice, to embrace the life of a curse user, to tread a road stained with blood, bore down upon him with a heavy burden. The pain on his face mirrored the fracture within his heart, a sense of loss mingling with a flicker of betrayal.

He wished he could say something. He wished he could start yelling, expressing all the thoughts and desires he had harbored since then—whether shouting, pouring out his heart, or expressing frustration. However, he adhered to the predetermined script you anticipated because he loved you unconditionally, unable to deny you anything.

"I didn't think so," you murmured, closing the gap between you, pressing your lips against his in a way that effortlessly eroded his resistance.

You tilted his face down, your hand caught somewhere behind his neck and the base of his jaw, and you kissed him softly and slowly, heat filling his blood with dangerous speed.

One of his hands naturally found its way to the back of your waist, holding you with a gentle yet possessive grasp, while the other securely clasped your arm, pulling you closer.

He felt incredible against you, your bodies fitting perfectly. Nothing ever came easier than kissing you. Every thought and worry wicked away, replaced by the feel of his mouth against your skin, his hand claiming your body.

In that moment, his eyes, his legacy, his clan's name, and the orders given about you faded away. This was his true purpose.

As your tongues entwined, a surge of electricity coursed through his veins, his body responding to the intoxicating enchantment of your touch. Your fingers traced the outline of his blindfold while others clung to his uniform as if he were your sole fulcrum in a world spinning out of control. Your back arched, and he embraced you tighter, his grip firm yet tender, his long fingers leaving an indelible mark upon your skin.

Breathless, as if you had just completed a marathon, you reluctantly pulled back from the heated exchange. Drawing him nearer, he yielded willingly, allowing you to guide him wherever you desired because wherever you led was where he believed to be his destination.

"Take this off," you beseeched, desperation and sorrow permeating your words as your forefinger lifted his blindfold and let it fall to the floor. His tousled hair cascaded softly over his forehead, unable to hide the azure eyes that had once captivated your heart.

In his eyes, tragedy and beauty could be seen, a stoicism that wouldn't be shaken, and childlike joy that couldn't help but flow.

He swallowed, and you shifted your hand to his ear, lightly grazing his earlobe with your pinkie before tracing down his jawline. There was no rejection, yet no clear confirmation either. Your hand brushed against his undercut as you continued.

"There you are," you whispered, your voice laden with kindness. Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes, a solitary droplet making its way down your cheek as you gently cradled his face in your hands. He looked down at you, counting each tear on your lovely cheeks.

He clasped your hand, kissing your palm before guiding it to rest upon his heart. It was the same foolish heart, steadfastly beating for you, never having faltered. Through teary eyes, you looked at him, and he remained struck by the sheer beauty that not even your tears could diminish.

As your bottom lip quivered beneath his touch, quickly, with a light sweep of his hand, he wiped away the tears that stained your stunning eyes. You missed him too, didn't you? Was it painful for you, too? Silly girl! You couldn't maintain your carefully constructed facades for more than ten minutes when it came to him.

The realization washed over him, dispelling any remaining doubts.

Without a second thought, he effortlessly lifted you, your legs encircling his waist while your hands secured around his neck. Engrossed in a fervent kiss, both of you surrendered to the moment as he clasped your back firmly, pulling you closer to himself, relishing the flavor of your lips.

Letting go wasn't an option when every fiber of his being had missed you.

Determined and resolute, he carried you out to a room he presumed to be the bedroom, even though it didn't matter whether there was a bed or a simple mattress; what mattered was the way your touch kindled a blazing fire within him, and he had no intention of bearing that flame alone.

Keeping you securely nestled in his arms, he forcefully kicked open the door and lowered you onto the welcoming comfort of the bed. The urgency to discard his black jacket left no room for delay. At the same time, your nimble hands deftly undid the buckle of your pants, but before you could remove them entirely, his hands moved with an instinctual hunger, swiftly stripping you of the garment and casting it aside as if propelled by an untamed fervor. The passion between you burned fiercely, filling the room with an all-encompassing energy that eclipsed any other thoughts or worries.

With a quick movement, he discarded his black t-shirt, revealing the well-defined curves of his chest that shimmered with a touch of sweat. His desire was tangible, his lust unmistakable as he straddled between your parted legs, his hands grasping your nape.

The taste of his lips met yours, initiating a sequence of fervent kisses that persisted without pause, each delving deeper than the last. The world around you lost its significance as your breaths synchronized in rhythm, the heat between your bodies escalating.

In the meantime, your hands moved swiftly, deftly unbuttoning your shirt.

As his lips briefly separated from yours, he uttered a whispered confession. "I hate how bad I want you," he admitted, his voice carrying a raw sincerity. However, before you could reply, his attention shifted to your neck, where his teeth gently grazed your sensitive flesh, leaving behind tracks of tantalizing nibbles and passionate kisses.

You couldn't help but release a gasp as pleasure and a twinge of pain electrified your senses, sending delightful shivers coursing down your spine. In the throes of passion, your hand curled into a fistful of his hair, a silent request for more. Call it masochist, but he loved it when you did this. He tenderly pulled at your hair in response, tilting your head back ever so slightly, baring more of your vulnerable neck to his hungry mouth.

Then, you did what came naturally to you. With a voice brimming with longing and ecstasy, you spoke his name, "Satoru," the sound slipping from your lips like a hushed prayer.

His actions came to an abrupt pause. His lips separated from your skin, and his grasp on your hair loosened as if a sudden realization had hit him like a splash of icy water. It was ironic how you still possessed this power over him, a power that could both thrill and unsettle him.

The sound of his name on your lips had become something he treasured, and damn it, he had missed hearing it again. Just like every fucking tiny thing he had missed about you.

With a sudden movement, he withdrew his head from the crook of your neck and brought his forehead close to yours. His hands found solace in brushing back strands of your hair with comforting strokes.

He shut his eyes, and in a whisper, his voice carried a hint of fragility, a rawness that tugged at your heartstrings. "Say it again," he pleaded, his voice breaking under the pressure of unexpressed sentiments. It was as if that simple word held immense significance, a lifeline to his heart that he desperately craved.

Without hesitation, you took a steadying breath, the name forming on your lips.

"Satoru."

"S-Say it kinder."

"Satoru."

"Say it slower."

"Satoru."

"Say it gentler."

"Satoru."

"Say it louder."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you wanna tell me you miss me."

"Satoru…"

"Say it as if you're annoyed that I eat so many sweets."

"Satoru!"

"Is this why you made the trip to Sendai just to get me those mochis?"

…

"Say it."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you ever cared, spared a single thought for me."

"SATORU."

"Say it as if when you lied in bed, you remembered something I once said."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if it hurt you too when someone said my name with yours."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if every time a door opened, you too expected me to walk out of it, that every time you cooked, you hummed my favorite songs."

"S-Satoru…"

"Say it as if you need me."

"Satoru."

"Say it again."

"Satoru."

"Again."

"…Satoru."

"Say it as if you want to tell me something important."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you want me to know you won't stay."

"Toru."

"No. Not like this."

"Satoru?"

"Please."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you want me to know you're gonna run away again."

"Satoru…"

"Huh. Better. Now say it as if you wanna tell that you slept badly without me, that you only dreamed of me, and in the morning, you woke up exhausted without having any desire to live."

"Satoru."

"You don't have a line, do you? No remorse. No regret. Not even a single thought for the man you left behind like a walking ghost. And you won't ever stop."

"Satoru."

"Once you were gone, they gathered all your belongings as evidence. See this hair tie on my wrist?" He lifted his hand. "This and your sweatshirt, which no longer carries your scent, are the only things I have left. Say it as if you still have that shirt of mine."

…

"Say it!"

"Sa-to-ru."

"Did you know that I actually thought if I messed myself up, went all self-destructive, and threw a massive tantrum, you'd come back? I mean, why should I bother taking care of myself? That was supposed to be your job, right?"

"Sa…toru."

"Oh, by the way, I completely wrecked that bench on the hill where you used to sit. And then I went ahead and destroyed the whole damn place, then just sat right there amidst the wreckage. I mean, why should I even give a damn when you stopped caring about me? Say it as if you get where I'm coming from."

"Satoru…"

"Yet you know what's funny? Ask me if I still love you like the first day?"

"Satoru?"

"It can't be just me, right? You can't be done with me. Tell me you love me."

…

"Okay. It's—"

"Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru…"

Everything he thought he knew flew right out the window. He had noticed the tremor in your breath and the shake in your voice, but the desperate murmurs of his name caused his eyes to flutter open. Your face was marked with the faint traces of tears, glistening in the light.

You blinked, revealing a spectrum of sadness and beauty unlike anything he'd seen before. The ability to convey so much with just a glance caught him entirely off guard.

Without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed his lips against the curve of your cheeks, softly caressing them. Nuzzling his nose against your skin, he lovingly kissed away the salty tears, his tongue delicately brushing your face with a soothing touch. Each tender movement provided a comforting solace during your emotional moment.

As he lovingly attended to your tears, you reached behind your back and unclasped your bra. He paused, eyes widening in surprise. However, before any words could escape, you leaned in and kissed him. In that single gesture, you conveyed your desires, and he, in turn, found his answer within the depths of that passionate kiss.

As soon as his palms glided over your smooth skin, delicately capturing your erect nipple between his fingers, the bra was tossed somewhere amidst the bedding.

"Lie back," Satoru instructed. He then crawled onto you, your bare chests meeting. He supported himself with his arms on either side of your head to ensure he didn't crush you under his weight.

He positioned himself atop you, overwhelmed by the yearning that had built up in your absence. The thirst to have you beneath him had grown insurmountable. He had craved the sight of your body begging him to take you, the undeniable desire radiating from you.

He locked eyes with you, keeping you in his gaze as he absorbed every aspect of your beauty. The polished planes of your face shimmered with fresh tears, adding a new layer to the bliss. Your eyes were rimmed with redness, solely for him, and this sight rendered him speechless.

Because what if he accidentally stumbled upon the wrong words, and the magic vanished, snatching you away once more, leaving him with nothing but a pumpkin carriage and a single pair of shoes?

He didn't want his arms to be deprived of your warmth. Your touch. Your lips. God, your lips. Your mouth on his neck. Your body wrapped around his. He couldn't bear losing you again, and the realization was like a pendulum the size of the moon. It wouldn't stop slamming into him.

Blinking his white lashes, he swallowed back the fear building in his throat.

What an irony!

The strongest wasn't fearless.

With his knee between your thighs and his body pressing closer, he realized he was paying attention to nothing but the dandelions blowing wishes in his lungs.

"When we were together, I became you," he stated. "You became the reflection I saw in the mirror, and I liked it more. So, I stopped being myself. It was fine because I had you. But when you left, I lost myself along with you."

"Satoru," you called, your voice soft, so soft. He wasn't unfamiliar with the touch of women, but yours were gentler, yet deadlier than them all. "I'm sorry for bringing us to this point." You drew his form closer. The resonating beats of your heart were audible, pulsing deeply within your chest. "Will you ever forgive me?"

Your words unleashed a tumult of feelings within him. Goddammit. He wasn't lost before he met you, but he found himself after having you, only to get lost more after losing you.

Satoru's tears stung as they fell backward down his throat, burning as they went. "Kiss me, and I'll forget everything," he uttered.

And you complied. You kissed him as if swimming through rivers of honey, as if being dipped in pure gold, like diving into an ocean of bliss, and he didn't realize you two were drowning because he was too caught up in the current to notice. Nothing held significance anymore—neither rules, nor the room, nor even the entire fucking Jujutsu society.

All that mattered was this.

This.

This very moment. These lips. This delicate body pressed against his, and these warm hands always discovering new ways to hold his heart.

Oh, My!

He wanted so much more of you. He wanted every part of you. And he kissed you back. Like a mild breeze. Like cherry blossoms. Like a blue spring.

Again.

Satoru drew away. It remained a secret, but piecing himself back together hurt just as much as falling apart. It felt like an ache that needed to be soothed.

You were the cure, so his finger lightly grazed the corner of your mouth, tracing its shape, curves, and subtle crevices. As he kissed the corner of your eyebrow, he whispered your name. His lips brushed over the shell of your ear, causing a slight squirm in your body. He planted a kiss on your neck, just beneath your earlobe, and you tilted your head, inviting him in. Perhaps you resisted the urge to plead for more, for a faster pace.

You used to love this, remember?

His lips moved down the expanse of your neck, delicately tracing the sensitive skin of your collarbones. Not content to be passive, your hands ran down his back, roaming over his broad shoulders, pressing into his back dimples, and clutching his hips. With a handful of his hair, you pulled him closer, leaving small kisses on his neck, arms, and chest.

It was incredible. Being with you, touching you, having you like this. The adrenaline rush was so powerful and euphoric that it made everything feel within reach.

He muttered your name, his lips mouthing the letters, barely speaking.

He pressed his lips against your upper lip.

He ran his tongue along your lower lip.

He planted kisses beneath your chin, on the tip of your nose, along your forehead, temples, and cheeks across your jawline. Then he moved to your neck, behind your ears, and the space between your breasts. Delicately, he nibbled on your sensitive nipples, leaving a trail of kisses all the way down to your belly button until his entire form moved down your figure, disappearing as he shifted downward, and suddenly, his chest was hovering above your hips.

As his lips descended towards the hem of your underwear, he lifted his head right before crossing that boundary, locking eyes with you. His gaze carried a mix of intense reverence and a silent question.

You met his gaze, the unspoken understanding passing between you. Your nod conveyed an affirmation, a wordless permission to continue. With your approval, he lowered his head once again. Before you knew it, he skillfully used his teeth to remove that small piece of fabric while the captivating scent drove him wild with desire.

Having removed your panties, his lips continued exploring, leaving heated kisses and lingering caresses from your toes to your thighs. Firmly holding your calves, he parted your legs, creating just enough space for his head to fit between them.

Your thighs were lifted, obscuring him from your sight. All you could see was the top of his head, the curve of his shoulders, and the unsteady rise and fall of his back as he breathed. Eventually, even that view vanished as his lips closed around your clit, causing your head to fall back and muffled moans to escape your lips.

Satoru's large hands trailed down and up your exposed upper thighs and ribs, tightly gripping your hips to keep you in place. He delighted in how you squirmed each time his hair brushed against your groin, until his tongue slipped into your hole, and the taste of you made fireworks explode in the back of his head.

With his right hand pressed against your stomach, his tongue danced and teased, evoking ecstatic cries from your lips. His mouth explored the known territories you had never witnessed, yet he remembered them intimately.

While fully engrossed in eating you, he suddenly and intentionally slipped his middle finger inside, and his mouth fervently sought to suck the soul out of your essence as if seeking retribution for all the times he had jerked off thinking about you creaming around his shaft. That's why he left you on the precipice of climax, working his way up your body. Satoru was never cruel enough to deny you the release you craved, so his fingers remained ready.

With an eagerness to witness the pleasure etched across your face, he slowly ascended your body, his touch kindling a burning anticipation within you. Continuing his exploration, his adept fingers navigated their way to your most intimate region, gently pressing against the delicate entrance.

"Let me know if it hurts, alright?" he whispered, his nose caressing the skin of your stomach, placing sporadic kisses around your breasts and collarbones to alleviate any tension. His disheveled hair and moist lips were evidence of the indulgence in your sweet taste.

"Take it easy— ahhh!"

He wore a satisfied smile as two of his large fingers effortlessly slid into your slit. Your nails dug into the sheets, whimpers escaping your lips as his hand rhythmically moved up and down within your tight walls.

Your mouth opened in a soundless moan, and he peppered you with kisses all around. Tears glistened in your eyes, and tiny strands of hair clung to your sweaty forehead. When his thumb rubbed, and the fingers hit all the right spots, your throat wailed in frustration.

You firmly grasped his free arm and tugged him towards you, bringing him closer until he was on top of you. You might have turned into a cold-blooded curse user, left dead bodies behind, or broken his heart apart, but you were still the same girl beneath him. The girl who would laugh with joy and steal his treats. The girl who would fiercely fight by his side and protect him. The girl who would easily surrender and moan in his ear.

He pressed his lips against yours, a reminder of the residual sweetness on his tongue. Just like in the old days, a soft moan escaped your lips as soon as you felt your own taste. If this gesture could convince you to stay with him, why not revel in it? He willingly opened his lips, inviting you to delve deeper, your tongues intertwining and brushing against his teeth.

The stinging bitterness of the past was long gone. He had forgotten everything. Although there was something he knew he shouldn't forget, he couldn't recall why or what it was. With his hard length suffering in his boxers and his digits thrusting backward and forward, paying attention to anything else was hard.

Seeing your desperation for his touch proved to be his downfall. He could die from this, he decided. From wanting you, from the pleasure of being with you.

He wore a smile as you locked eyes and reciprocated with your smile. He pressed his forehead against yours, his skin flushed with heat. With his other hand, he held your head steady while your hands clutched his neck, your palms gliding over the area just above his neckline, and your fingertips tenaciously pressing against his undercut.

"Sato..." you managed to utter, your voice quivering with pleasure as the orgasm washed over you, consuming your senses. Waves of euphoria rippled across your body, inducing uncontrollable tremors. Amidst your release, a single tear broke free, tracing a glistening path down your cheek, much like the cascade of emotions that flowed within you.

While he remained atop you, his voice reached your ears, his lips near your earlobe. "Can you sit up?" he whispered, burying his face in the curve of your neck, allowing your ragged breaths to brush against his shoulder.

Still struggling to catch your breath, you managed to mumble, "Yeah, but..." However, before you could complete your sentence, the bedding beneath you shifted as Satoru pulled you into his arms, clutching you tight.

He exhaled and looked at you, but this time, there were stories in his eyes, thoughts, whispers, and feelings of things he had never told you. He looked like he was hanging on his sanity by a fraying thread—you.

He touched your flushed cheeks as if uncertain of your tangible presence. His four fingers caressed the side of your face with tenderness before sliding behind your neck, caught in that in-between spot below your ear, and his thumb brushed the apple of your cheek, then grazing your bottom lip.

He pondered the countless things your lips had done. They had touched, kissed, and pressed against sensitive areas of his skin. They had spoken lies and made promises, and the words they had formed, the shapes and sounds they had shaped, he yearned for them all.

Satoru inched closer, cradling you like you were made of precious crystals. Holding you and looking at his own hands as if he couldn't believe you were real and truly there.

"I'm right here, baby. Look at me," you whispered, grasping his hands and kissing them.

All six of his eyes obeyed and stared at you. Gone was the curse user targeting Higher Ups. This woman before him had never done anything wrong. You were perfect and kind, untouched by the horrors of death.

He took hold of your hands and pressed your palms against his face, reclaiming the tears you had bestowed upon him. With an eternity of love, he whispered your name in the softest of whispers.

What if this was a dream?

He shook, shuddered, splintered into teardrops, and you embraced him like no one had before. Overwhelmed by the intensity, he struggled to contain himself, but seeing you cling to him as you might never let go stirred something within him. It was a heady sensation, knowing that you were there, caring for him, desiring him, needing him in this way. It made him believe that this was indeed real.

Gently, you stroked his silvery locks of hair and placed a kiss on his forehead. Gradually, your arms became the arms around his neck; your lips became the lips pressed against his, your body the warmth he felt. Funny how the moment he felt your touch, it burned a hole right through his head and pulled all his thoughts out.

He wasn't even breathing, but he was alive, and he was kissing you. Deeply, desperately. His hands fervently caressed the small of your back as he lifted you onto his lap, and instinctively, your legs wrapped around his hips.

Then, it was your turn to reciprocate. You planted kisses all over him—his cheeks, eyelids, chin, the tip of his nose, and the space between his eyebrows. You trailed along his forehead and traced his jawline, covering every inch of his face. These kisses conveyed more than words ever could.

And you took your time.

As your mouth moved down his neck, he let out a gasp. It was a moment to relish. Your tongue continued to worship the hills and valleys of his well-defined arms, tracing the graceful curves of his collarbones. Inhaling the intoxicating scent of his skin, you savored his taste. Your hands explored his abs, tracing along his navel and the delicate trails of hair beneath.

He broke apart with your small licks here and there, breathing hard, and stared at you dumbfounded. His mind remained hazy, unable to fully comprehend how your fingers toyed with the waistband of his boxer briefs.

Tilting your head to a side, you pressed your lips against his again, seeking him with a burning need, a new kind of desperation. Your other hand threaded in his hair, your lips so soft, so urgent against his, like fire and cinnamon exploding in his mouth.

Satoru nibbled your bottom lip in a flash before pulling back slightly. You were flooding his body with so much heat and desire. You parted your lips to sigh in his mouth, and that slight sound of pleasure drove him to the edge of madness.

Just as he was about to bring his mouth to your nipples, your hand suddenly slipped into his underwear and encircled his erectness pressing against your groin.

Oh.

Well.

He clenched his teeth, suppressing a groan. Oh God! He had fucking missed you holding his member in your palm. But you didn't stop at that. He gasped as you began to rub the tip with your thumb. His body ached everywhere as he tasted the colors and sounds that existed nowhere else. Your forehead rested against his chin as you continued to stroke his hardness up and down beneath his boxers. You were untamed, cruel, yet remarkably gentle.

"Take it off, Satoru," you whispered in his ear, your breath ragged. "I want you in me. Deep. Right. Now. Please."

He was beyond the reach of rational thoughts. Beyond words, beyond comprehension. The world was beyond understanding because nothing could ever compare with this. Nothing could ever capture the way he was feeling right now. He was left with only this very moment: You on his lap, your warmth against his hands, and your lustful eyes fixed upon him, making him absolutely insane.

Satoru held onto your waist with a firm grip, lifting you slightly, and in the blink of an eye, his briefs glided down his long legs until their whereabouts became irrelevant in the heat of the moment.

The wetness between your thighs was no longer a hidden secret, just as his hardness was revealed when you surrounded each other everywhere.

He watched as you reached down and guided his erection against your slippery entrance, making a few strokes to ensure the perfect alignment. His racing pulse could probably be felt in your palm and soon inside you.

Using both hands, he gripped your hips and pulled you downward, drawing you closer to him. A gasp escaped your lips as he entered you, always surprised about his size. He intended to allow you time to adjust, but you fervently clung to his neck, hitching your legs around his waist, urging him to penetrate you completely. A scream escaped your lips as you bit into his shoulder blade, but he remained composed, relishing the sensation of stretching you. He cherished the feeling of your inner walls squeezing him and the weight of your body against his balls. To be honest, he would stay like this forever.

Feeling your readiness, his hold tightened, and he started moving your body up and down. You cried out as you nestled your cheek into the curve of his neck, and he felt like dying and somehow being brought back to life in the exact moment, in the same breath.

Fuck! You were full of him.

He raised your thighs, stifling a groan that threatened to rip his throat as your lips met his. It left him bewildered, pondering why he hadn't perished, burst into flames, or snapped in half.

The room was consumed by silence, punctuated only by the sound of your heavy breaths. Your chests pressed against each other, colliding with the rhythm of your pulses.

As he sensed your arms tightening around him, he reciprocated with heightened strength, lifting and thrusting you with an intensity that transcended the bounds of restraint. Each movement struck the place he knew too well.

His teeth captured your bottom lip, eliciting a momentary jolt of pleasure. Your nails pressed into his shoulder as his fingers ran through your hair, pulling you nearer, immersing you in the fervent abyss of his mouth. The taste of you was a captivating fusion of sweetness and passion, an intoxicating blend that left both of you craving for more.

He kept trying to say your name, but he found himself unable even to catch his breath, let alone speak a single word.

The pace increased slightly; each thrust was hard, deliberate, wringing gasps, whimpers, and long, rolling moans from you.

Your eyes tingled with tears, falling fast down and traveling quietly down your cheeks. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs two parentheses in your mouth, touching your tongue and the saliva within. It was as if he had discovered an oasis in the vast expanse of a desert, gazing at you with eyes ablaze like fire reflected in water.

"I love you," he whispered over and over, his voice fragile and uneven. His lips covered yours in a tender kiss. He kissed you and tasted your tears, the lasting essence of pleasure in your mouth. He kissed you and kissed you until time toppled over, and your heads spun into a blissful oblivion.

Your head rested against his, and as you delicately nipped at his earlobe, he felt stripped down to his very core, just as he had unraveled you from within. Your sweet little tongue was frantic when you whispered, "I'm yours to love."

Something inside him melted. Hearing your words, he held still for moments, sucking in the air because he felt almost dizzy with satisfaction, running his hands over your thighs.

You. You belonged to him. You didn't erase the pain you had caused. You didn't fix everything you'd broken, but that wasn't what he needed anyway. All he needed was you, and with you, everything would be alright.

He firmly grasped your buttocks, burying his face against your shoulder as he sped up. He was shattered to pieces, but with you, he got put back together differently, better, and more himself than he ever could have been. Gritting his teeth, he succumbed to the impending climax. His hands glided along your back as you shuddered, your inner walls pulsating around him so hard that he couldn't hold back his release. With a growl, he thrust wildly, once, twice, until everything around you both turned to a world of vibrant colors and radiant light, where the sun shone, oceans sparkled, and Sakura trees bloomed.

Both of you were lying on a pillow, breathless and sweaty. Satoru's face was buried in the crook of your neck.

Your hand had delicately weaved its way into his hair, fingers stroking the silky strands as you both sought to ground yourself in the aftermath of your orgasms.

You rested your cheek against his head, your voice carrying a hint of breathlessness as you began to speak. "How is Shoko doing?

"She's probably smoking even more now," he murmured, his lips grazing against your shoulder as he pulled you closer. Despite the physical closeness, a deep ache echoed within him, yearning for an even deeper connection that felt just beyond his grasp. The desire to merge both body and soul, to be completely intertwined with you, was tangible in his touch.

His arms tightened around you as if attempting to bridge an unseen gap that couldn't be seen, but he could feel it. Each hug and touch was an attempt to mend the distance that pained him. The depth of his need reverberated through his being. It was visible in the depths of his eyes. It sucked to be this close yet feel so far from someone. But he didn't want to worry. As long as you were together, he believed nothing terrible could happen.

"Why probably so?" you asked, your curiosity piqued as you turned your head towards him. Your lips touched his soft, silky white hair. "Is it because of the numerous missions you're taking?"

"You seem to know every detail of my life," he remarked, turning his head towards you, the closeness so intimate that your noses nearly touched. His hand found its way to your arm, his finger tracing a path down its length, lost in contemplation.

"I've always kept tabs on you. I'm not even ashamed of it," you declared, your attention fixed on his ocean-blue eyes.

He let out a shaky sigh. "There's no longer a reason for me to stay in Tokyo like I used to," he whispered, his voice hinting at wistfulness. The words floated in the air, pregnant with unspoken meanings. As he locked eyes with you, his gaze transformed into a sea of emotions, reflecting a profound depth of feelings that transcended mere words.

"What about your students?"

"They're doing well even without me," Satoru said, his voice filled with fondness and melancholy. As his hand gracefully slid into your hair, he tucked back the strands that obscured your face, revealing the beauty of your features.

His thumb stroked your cheek in a soothing gesture. "Megumi came close to expanding his domain," Satoru continued, his voice filled with a hint of excitement. "Yuji would be thrilled to—"

"No, Satoru!" you interjected, your voice resolute. Your firm interruption halted his sentence as your face displayed a frown, your eyebrows furrowing with determination. "The answer is no!"

Satoru's hand dropped weakly onto the sheets, his fingers losing their previous touch. When his gaze met yours, a deep sadness flooded his eyes, turning the serene ocean within them into a turbulent storm.

He struggled to find the right words to make his case but couldn't resist trying to reason with you. "Come back with me. I have enough power and privilege to protect you—"

"I don't want your protection!" you exclaimed, your voice carrying a sharp edge that cut through his being. The words resounded with a harshness reminiscent of the day you decided to leave, which had left an indelible mark on both of you. It was a day that Satoru had always blamed himself for, haunted by the belief that he had failed to notice you drifting away.

His eyes, filled with sorrow, locked onto yours, silently begging for understanding as he summoned the bravery to express his deepest desires. "Don't you want a life with me?" he questioned, his voice brimming with the dreams and aspirations he had envisioned for both of you. "What about living in a house with blue shutters, windows overlooking the ocean, and—"

"How are you still such a wide-eyed, dreamy little boy, Satoru?" you remarked, your voice tinged with tenderness and sadness. As you spoke, your hand extended, interlocking your fingers with his. "Stop living in a fantasy world," you urged. The words pleaded for him to accept reality and let go of dreams no longer aligned with his chosen path. "Even if I had the chance to go back, I wouldn't want to," you continued. "The Jujutsu society is a broken bone that won't set right, and no matter how much you try to mend it, it won't work. I started hunting Higher Ups because I have a purpose. I can't be by your side."

As you raised your head, a glimmer of compassion and understanding shimmered in your eyes. The pain etched on Satoru's face was evident to you. In a gentle tone, you encouraged him, saying, "We've made different choices. Don't judge me because I never questioned why you didn't follow me. Our approaches may differ, but we share the same dream of creating a better world. So, I don't regret leaving, but if there's anything I regret, it's not cherishing every moment I had with you. But I'm doing it right this time. I'm memorizing every detail, so I have something to hold onto."

Your words bounced around in the fog of his head, blurring his senses, misting his eyes, and muddling his logic. In his bones, there was just ice. His entire being wanted to vomit. Reality slapped him in the face, punched him in the jaw, and dumped him into the ocean.

Until today, he thought he had fully come to terms with everything. He believed he had adapted to living with your absence, like a disabled person learning to avoid putting weight on his injured leg. However, deep down, he knew he was living on eggshells, always wondering when something would break, when everything would crumble.

But with your answer, stacks of sorrow grew inside him, settling on his bones as if a cable had twisted around his neck, a worm crawling across his stomach. It was the night, midnight, and the twilight of indecision. Too many pains to bear.

He realized how foolish he had been to believe he could simply blend in and lead an ordinary life.

Satoru.

Satoru Gojo.

Satoru Gojo, The Strongest.

The mere thought of it filled him with mortification.

He shook his head, coughing as his lungs were tormented, heaving strange, horrible gasps until his whole body spasmed into submission. His head was spinning, thoughts knocking into one another. With clenched fists, he fought against the misery, forcing it back down. Not again. Not again. Not again.

"Satoru?" you called out to him, and a thousand pieces of feeling stabbed you in the heart. Realizing how deeply he loved you kept hitting him in the face, the skull, and the spine. He ran a hand across his face and through his hair, displaying signs of wanting to scream, to break something, as if he was on the verge of losing his sanity.

You hugged him, bridging the gap between your bodies and leaning your cheek against his rock-hard chest. Your hands caressed his stomach as your lips left random pecks here and there.

"It's not just your shirt that I have," you expressed. "I also have our shared blanket from our room and a collection of photographs I'm too afraid to look at. I fear that if I see them, I'll go right back to you and beg your forgiveness."

You dropped a kiss on his chin. Then, on the curve of his shoulder and his shoulder blades. Five kisses down his throat, each softer than the last. You kissed his cheeks, hands, and eyelids for every moment of loneliness he had ever endured.

You continued, "My body hasn't realized we are no longer together. It calls out for you at night, unaccustomed to not having you tightly enveloping me like a second layer of skin."

He closed his eyes and breathed heavily, trying to gain control of himself. "Why are you putting me through this?" he asked, his hand caught in his hair. "Why are you scratching my wounds?"

"Because I want to remake you again, Satoru. You should get broken apart and rebuild in a way that won't cause you pain anymore." You kissed the hand covering his mouth, not holding back. Keeping your head there, you leaned against his heart.

"It's not as straightforward as a simple yes or no," you said, your voice cracking as you spoke. "Let's just enjoy this moment together..."

A sudden searing heat flashed behind his eyes, and his heart leaped at your response. His hand trembled, and his eyes were willing and wanting but filled with sadness.

He shifted his gaze towards you, his eyes open, jaw clenched tightly, and muscles tense. Breathing heavily, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. The ache in his chest had grown more assertive, more painful.

You lifted your head and reached up to stroke his cheek. "Love is the most twisted curse," you murmured as you tilted his chin toward your mouth. He blinked rapidly. Words were whispered upon his lips that no one had ever spelled out for him. "And we are the most cursed of all, aren't we?" you told him, watching the movement in his throat and his effort to keep it together. It didn't take you long to kiss him again. Tenderly.

Unable to find the right words, he relied on the language of touch, pressing his lips against yours. A sigh escaped into your shared kiss, and you responded by kissing him even more passionately, almost desperately, as if trying to pass over your breaths to him. The taste of salt lingered on your tongues. The wet drops falling on your cheeks made his flesh burn. Unsure of whose tears they were, he continued to cling to you, even if it was almost for the final time.

The saddest world in this whole wide world was "almost." You almost came back to him. He almost had you. You two almost made it.

You woke up with a smile, feeling a pleasant warmth enveloping your skin, remnants of the memories from the previous night. The room was filled with a fresh ambiance, hinted at by the open window that welcomed a gentle breeze. The scent of damp earth filled the air, evidence of the rain that had visited during the night.

Letting out a sigh, you brushed your face against the pillow. Your hand instinctively reached out to where Satoru was supposed to be, but a pang of emptiness washed over you. He wasn't there, and your eyes flew open, a sourness clouding their once-serene gaze. Something felt wrong.

Suddenly, sitting up, a sense of panic pulsed through your veins. The realization dawned upon you—Satoru had left the bed, and his absence spoke volumes. Your glance darted around the room, searching for any signs of his presence, but his clothes were nowhere to be seen.

An agonizing grip took hold of your heart. Conflicting emotions wrestled inside you. You had voiced your decision to part ways, to not be by his side, yet the depth of your desire for him remained steadfast. The pain and the desperate desire for his warmth was a stark reminder that not wanting to be with him didn't mean you were prepared to let go of him completely.

The bitter yet undeniable truth surfaced: as much as you and Satoru were meant to be, fate had not deemed you to last.

You could still feel the lasting presence of Satoru's cursed energy, an invisible thread you could identify even blind. Simply by scent, you would recognize it. It was a power that transcends physical senses, one that would recognize it in death, at the end of the world.

You swiftly snatched your robe and hastened out of the room. And there he was, Satoru, fully dressed, his blindfold tightly secured, sitting still in a chair, facing the untouched mochis. The hair tie was also on the table, indicating that he had removed it from his wrist. You couldn't determine whether it hurt you deeply to see him letting go of a part of you or noticing that he had left his beloved treats untouched.

He wasn't looking at you, so you had time to observe things you hadn't noticed yesterday. He had visibly lost weight. His hair showed signs of splitting and thinning, probably due to stress. Nightmares didn't let him sleep. His uniform appeared wrinkled, and his breaths were unsteady. You knew it wasn't your place to worry about him anymore, but you couldn't help it. Taking care of him had become a habit. He appeared weary, displaying the same profound exhaustion you experienced, filling you with fear.

His shoulders quivered up and down, and you could tell he was crying even though he was silent as a corpse. Your heart quickened as you approached him. With trembling hands, you reached for his blindfold, a desperate attempt because, goddammit, you fucking loved his eyes.

"What are you—" you started to inquire, your voice fading as you recognized that your touch couldn't reach him. He had activated his Infinity. Manually. Deliberately. A wave of profound sadness washed over you, tears welling up in your eyes, yet you swallowed them back, resolved to keep your composure. Your hand hung suspended, mere inches away from him, a symbol of the unbridgeable gap that had grown between you.

Then, in a sudden movement, Satoru stood before you, donning a black jacket that draped his figure. His voice emerged raspy, filled with a raw intensity that conveyed the turmoil within his heart.

"I can't handle this anymore. I can't continue being whatever I am to you," he admitted, his words heavy with a sense of resignation. The understanding that the current situation was no longer viable had taken hold of him. "If you want things to remain this way, I can't ignore the fact that we are enemies at the end of the day." He subtly avoided meeting your gaze, averting his eyes from your messy hair and the persistent sadness in your eyes.

"Can you honestly believe that?" you questioned, your voice brimming with incredulity. You took a step forward, narrowing the physical gap between you. It was essential for him to grasp the magnitude of your anguish and directly witness the toll your choice inflicted upon your heart.

Satoru took a step back, his brows furrowing beneath the blindfold that veiled his eyes. "It doesn't matter what I believe," he declared.

Despite the barrier that prevented physical touch, you closed your eyes, driven by the overwhelming desire to bridge the divide. Ignoring the protective shield of his Infinity, you leaned in, your lips seeking his in a desperate act of defiance. Tears streamed down your closed eyes as he relinquished the barrier that kept you apart. You pressed your lush mouth against his. It never took him long to respond, to part his lips. He kissed you back, holding your head steady with his hand while his other embraced you tightly. He had your heart, and you loved him quite horribly, too. This fact always smacked you over the head so hard you felt dizzy.

You held each other tightly, his arms enveloping you as his fingers intertwined with your hair. In that stolen moment, you caught a glimpse of the life you longed for—a life filled with love. Having this every day was within reach, but the harsh reality of the jujutsu world loomed, casting a shadow over your fragile dreams. The awareness that he would be exploited until his final breath burdened you deeply. Unable to witness his suffering, you knew you couldn't change your decisions. You had to reset this Jujutsu World. For him. For his students. For the happiness you owed yourself.

As your lips reluctantly separated, a bittersweet trace of saliva remained between you. Satoru gripped your shoulders, and as you glanced up, you noticed his blindfold was damp, indicating the tears he had shed.

You lowered your head. "I wish you had never crossed paths with me," you murmured, keeping your gaze fixed on the ground until he reached out and lifted your chin.

"I wouldn't take that chance. Not in a million infinities. Because there was love, even if it didn't change anything, even if it made the pain worse, love was there," he said, staring at your mouth. "I'll love you in this life. I'll love you in death and in whatever lies after. And likely even beyond that," he whispered. The words did something to you. They burned something inside of you. You swallowed hard. A fire consumed your mind. "No matter what, I'll always love you," he declared, and pain filled your veins. You could feel it in your blood.

"Satoru," you whispered. Your eyes fogged up, but you blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears away. You couldn't let a second of this be blurry. You couldn't afford to allow any of this to slip away. His absence felt like a missing limb, and his longing for you was a bullet in the head. How could he still love you? How could he find relief in your touch?

"But if we meet again," he said, his thumb brushing against your earlobe. "Just kill me. Because I'll be forced to kill you, and it's the same thing." As if the longer he held you, the more he would want you, he let go of you.

The enormity of his duty and the unyielding constraints of the jujutsu world, forcing him to make an unbearable choice, hit you like a cold gust of wind, leaving you feeling isolated and abandoned. The chill of that moment seeped into your bones, and you couldn't help but wonder if he had felt this same frigid loneliness when you had left him behind.

Satoru walked towards the door, each step carrying the finality of his decision that settled upon the room. Pausing at the threshold, a silent plea lingered in his words. "So, please, I beg you to stay away from me." With those words, he severed the last thread that had linked you, leaving you with a deep sense of loss.

The door closed behind him, leaving you in an empty and heavy space with unspoken regret. You were alone again, bereft without him, half dead without him. You opened your mouth and screamed. You screamed and screamed until your voice cracked beneath the pressure. Until you feared your throat would shred from the force. You wanted to crawl outside of your body so desperately so that you could escape this feeling.

No one ever warned you how men with such pretty eyes, who smelled like vanilla, tasted like rain, and talked like silver, were the reason behind tear-soaked pillows, half-finished poems, and so many sad dreams.

One last shout ripped out of your throat, this one so full of pain that brought you to your knees. You crumbled. The raw sound tapered off, fading into a hoarse, staccato cry. You sucked in a deep breath, filling your lungs with oxygen you didn't want, but you were too lost in your grief to scream like you wanted to.

It seemed like Satoru Gojo's story had peaked, and anything that followed wouldn't hold the same significance to him. Because for him, there was before you, and there was during you. For some reason, he never thought there would be an after you. But there was, and he was in it. He would be in it forever.

Moving forward, he silently implored his bones to remain firm, to support him for the remainder of the day and beyond. He ventured through the forest, his steps disturbing the mud and leaves as his footprints gradually faded away until there was nothing but the empty silence of a long, lonely dusk.

Tag list: @istanuwow @anime-lover1234 @rentaldarling @enchantedforest-network

Disclaimers:

This creation draws significant inspiration from the incredible artistry of @animaybi (TikTok) and features quotes from the captivating writings of @starlightonthewaves (TikTok). Both of these talented artists deserve immense praise for their remarkable contributions.

Art is created by me.

Are you cursing me for writing this? :D

444 notes · View notes

keikikait · 3 months

Text

ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ (ɢᴏᴊᴏ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

this is part 2 of my previous fic, which you can find here

for my other gojo smut, click here!

pairing: gojo x f!reader (not au, gojo is 29, reader is early-mid 20’s)

word count: 2.5k

summary: you’re home from your teacher retreat to nikko, ready for the new term. what you’re not ready for? gojo to come home to you.

warnings: (FOR THIS PART) SMUT - 18+ ONLY! MDNI, dom!gojo and sub!reader, protected sex (pill, not mentioned but its there) degrading (he uses the word slut), hair pulling, nipple play, spitplay (bye….), light edging, finger/thumb sucking (don’t look at me), use of the words [cock, cunt, and tits], slight oral (f receiving), a bit of angst & a bit of mean gojo, nickname use [baby, pretty girl, doll], no use of y/n

a note: i know i said this would be out next week but it was my day off so i wrote it all today. this is less angst, more smut, but i can’t help myself so there is some angst. also, im sorry i made gojo such an asshole, i promise that he will get better! part 3 will be out soon my loves.

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

Your eyes are already open when your alarm goes off.

You didn’t sleep at all. There was no point, even after you finished crying your head hurt too much to sleep, even with some painkillers. You laid there, wide awake all night thinking about Gojo. Did he think of you, too? You turn the alarm off and slide out of bed, your slipper-covered feet shuffling as you make your way around your apartment.

You brush your teeth and look in the mirror. Your eyes are puffy and swollen, mascara smeared down your cheeks. You pop some spoons in the freezer to cool as you clean yourself up and get dressed. Your phone sits untouched on the bedside table, still plugged in.

You sit on the side of your bed, pressing the now cold spoons against your swollen eyes. You take deep breaths, trying to relax. You had every right to be upset, after all. Gojo has no reason to string you along, whispering sweet nothings in your ear at night about how you’re his girl, his doll, his everything. But that’s exactly what that was. Nothing. Maybe, you think, this is some kind of karma. Some sort of punishment for your arrogance, for thinking you could have what everyone else wants, Gojo, and here—at last—it was.

You put on some de-puffing undereye patches that you keep in the fridge and clean your entire apartment spotless to distract yourself, music blasting from the phone in your back pocket. You finally throw out that dead fern you got as a gift from the school board when you first started, and you finally clean out your fridge of the now moldy condiments you tried once on a whim. You’re washing dishes when the front door opens and, suddenly, Gojo steps inside. He had opted for his dark blue circular sunglasses today, an odd choice for the winter but you didn’t mind it. “Hi,” you say, surprised, pulling off the bright marigold gloves and setting them on the side of the sink to dry. For a second, you think about the absolute state of your eyes. The swelling and puffiness had gone down, and even though he had never seen you cry, you think about the fact that even if he noticed your eyes he wouldn’t care enough to ask questions.

“Hey,” is all Gojo says in response. You wait to see if he says anything else, or if he is going to try to explain himself, but he doesn’t, and eventually moves across your apartment to head to the bathroom. You hesitate before you make your way after him, passing his duffel bag on the floor of your closet, which was unzipped and filled with enough clothes that it was clear that he was going to stay for a while.

You feel pathetic admitting it to yourself but having Gojo there — not just in your apartment, but in your room — feels nice. He doesn’t speak to you yet, but his very presence steadies and refocuses you. As grateful as you are that he came back to you, you are also a little disappointed in yourself, by how dependent you are, how weak. Who were you without him?

Eventually, he faces you, peering at you over the top of his glasses. “Hey, pretty girl.”

You swallow hard, willing yourself to be strong, to finally confront him about all of the false promises and the date with Himiko, but you can’t. Not yet. “Hi, Gojo.”

He smiles, reaching you with just one step and collecting you in his arms, wrapping them tightly around your hips. He leans down and kisses you, for the first time in almost nine days, and you feel yourself giving up, giving all power to him.

After a few seconds, he pulls away, smirking. “I missed you. I’m sorry that I didn’t come home last night…I got carried away.”

You’ve noticed over the past eleven months (yes, you kept track) of your situationship that he uses that term a lot; carried away. He uses it when he gets a little too handsy during the free periods at work and when he stares at you a bit too long during staff meetings. He uses it when he forgets to call or text you and when it seems like you’re the last thing on his mind. Maybe you are.

You smile, shrugging. “Don’t worry about it, baby. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

He grins, gently running his hands up your back, lightly scratching his nails against you, making you shiver. “Of course. I always come back home to you.” He bends at the knees and picks you up, carrying you the short distance to your bed before laying you down and climbing on top of you. Excitement fills your body as he leans down and starts placing soft kisses along your neck. You arch into him, whining and tugging on his sleeves, and he chuckles. “Relax, doll. Quit acting so desperate. You’re not in charge here, remember?”

You feel drool pool in your mouth and you quickly swallow it. “I’m sorry, Gojo, it’s just that —”

He interrupts you, sliding his thumb into your mouth to shut you up. “I know, baby, I know. You went eight whole days without my touch and now you’re acting like a desperate little slut,” You nod, hoping he won’t tease you this time. He smirks at the dumb look on your face before saying, “Open.” You do, opening your mouth wide and sticking your tongue out a little. He pulls his thumb away and draws back briefly before spitting into your open mouth. You swallow it without his command. You know what he likes.

He grins, kissing your lips once more before kissing down your chin and neck, slowly sliding off your t-shirt. You whine and squirm under him, and after he pulls your shirt off he clamps his hand over your mouth. “Shut up. If you keep whining, I won’t fuck you at all. Is that what you want?” You shake your head vigorously, that’s the last thing you want. He removes his hand before continuing, “Good. Don’t speak unless I tell you to,” You nod, relaxing into your sheets as he kisses down your chest. He pushes your bra up over your tits, groaning as he squeezes them in his hands. “Fuck. I missed my girls.” You would normally scold him for objectifying you, but at this moment you didn’t care. You wanted his hands on you, and you wanted his dick inside of you as soon as possible.

He takes the sunglasses off and brings one of your nipples to his mouth, lightly brushing his lips against it to tease you. He sticks his tongue out and drags it along your nipple in circles, loving the way your thighs fall open and the little sounds you make. He finally, finally sucks your nipple into his mouth, pinching the other one hard just to feel you squirm. He rolls your bare nipple between his fingers while he lightly nibbles on the one in his mouth. Your head is spinning, and all you can do is tug on his hair as he teases you. He lets go of your nipple with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting it to his lips. He picks it up on his finger and rubs it on your face just to humiliate you.

He kisses down your torso, tugging down your pyjama bottoms and tossing them onto the floor. He kisses your thighs as he pushes them up and against your chest so you’re nice and spread out for him, just as he likes. He notices the wet spot on your plain blue cotton underwear and smirks, rubbing at it with his thumb. “Someone’s eager, aren’t they?”

You take it you can respond to him now. “Fuck, Gojo, please! Please stop teasing me, I already went eight days without you.” The whine in your voice makes him feel so big, so powerful. He barely touches you and you’re already crumbling at his feet. Maybe he should keep you there.

He makes that condescending tsk tsk tsk sound that normally annoys you, but now you can’t help it and you whine and squirm even more. “You’re so desperate, baby. You can’t even handle a little teasing?” He presses his thumb right against your clit, the wet spot spreads even more. “I guess you do have a point, though. I haven’t made you cum since we left for Nikko.” He kisses right above the hem of your underwear before pulling it down, the blue fabric now dangling around your ankle. He moans, pushing your legs back even further and spreading your cunt.

He spits directly onto your pink little hole, watching as it mixes with your juices. In this moment, you’re his. You’re his everything, his girl, his doll. In this moment you actually mean something to him, when you’re spread out and begging for his attention. He runs his pointer finger down your slit, collecting some spit before dragging it back up to your clit and lightly circling it.

You almost cum on the spot. Days of pent-up horniness and teasing and you’re as sensitive as ever. You bite your lip, looking over at him with nothing but love and affection in your gaze. “Please, Gojo. Please don’t tease me. I don’t know if I can handle it.”

He gets comfortable, moving your thighs over his shoulders as he lays down on the bed. “You’ll take what I give you. Don’t disappoint me.” He circles your clit with his finger one last time before leaning down and sucking it into his mouth. You arch your back, your hands finding solace in his hair as you writhe and moan. He moans at your taste, gripping your hips hard as he gets lost in your cute little cunt. You grind against his face, and he lets you, loving the feeling of your clit against his tongue. He teases your hole with his fingers, sliding his thumb in as he swirls his tongue around your clit in circles. You clench up tight, mumbling praises along with I’m gonna cum! Please let me cum! before he pulls away completely. He laughs at the noise you make, and at the way your face contorts and tears well in your eyes. He slaps the inside of your thigh before standing up and unbuttoning his pants. “Oh, come on. Be a good girl for me, okay?”

You move up on the bed, your back supported by your pillows as he climbs over you. You’ve seen his dick a lot, more times than you can count, but the sheer size of it always surprises you. Thick and long, slightly curved to the left, with a pretty pink tip to match. His balls are big, too, full of cum and practically begging to be in your mouth, which waters as soon as you see it.

Gojo looms over you, pushing you onto the bed as he slides in between your legs and gets comfortable. He rubs his tip against you, getting it nice and wet so you don’t struggle with the size as he fucks you, at least not too much. In a moment of pure intimacy, he reaches his hand up and rubs his thumb against your cheek, looking at you with an almost adoring gaze. You go to say something to him but all words escape your throat as he pushes his cock into you. You both moan in unison as he slides in and out slowly.

“God,” he groans, leaning down on his elbows and getting right in your face. “I missed you so much, baby. I know I’m such a dick to you, I just can’t help it, you look so cute when you’re angry…fuck, you feel so good.” He isn’t vocal in bed very often, and your heart swells as you get to watch him come undone and make such pretty noises as he does.

In the heat of the moment, you forgive him. You know you’ll probably regret it, but you can’t stay mad at him when he’s looking at you like you’re the only woman in the world for him. Your smile is cut short by your moan as you manage to say, “It’s okay, Gojo. Please just stay here. Stay here with me.”

Gojo nods, propping himself up on one flat palm as his hips pick up speed. Normally he loves foreplay, he can tease you and edge you for hours, but the time spent without you in his arms and without you wrapped around his cock was too much to bare for him. He knows he fucked up, but he can’t take it back. He’s Satoru Gojo, and he has a reputation he needs to uphold. He’s all run, and you’re all fight, and that’s part of the reason why he feels so drawn to you.

He looks at you, moving to his elbows and reaching up to grab your face and pull you into a kiss. He pulls away and presses his forehead against yours, biting his lip as his hips move even faster. He drops back down to his elbows, your chests pressed together as he shakily moans, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, doll, I’m gonna cum.”

You nod, pulling at the hair at the nape of his neck as you cum around him, clenching down on his cock. He buries his face in your neck as he cums after you, cumming inside of you, like he always does. His breathing is ragged as he lays there, his cock twitching inside of you as his cum spills inside. Gojo eventually moves away from your neck, some of his hair matted to his forehead, slick with sweat. You push the hair back and smile at him, kissing his forehead gently. Even if he didn’t love you, you still loved him. And you think you always will.

He pulls out, immediately getting you a towel splashed with some warm water as he cleans you up. He’s gentle with his aftercare, making sure you’re comfortable, and collecting your water bottle from the living room. You pee before getting dressed, laying with him on the bed. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, pressing your face into his chest, and sliding his hand into your hair. He holds you there for a while, your breathing in sync before he leans down and kisses your forehead.

Gojo puts on a cooking show to watch on your TV, setting the remote aside as he holds you close. He strokes your hair, and your mind starts to drift, and you wonder if he cares about you in the same way you care about him. Are you not good enough for him? Is there something wrong with you? Are you not what he wants? Are you not what he needs? You wake up every morning, hopeful for what’s to come with him, but you spend most of your time thinking about what you’ve already had and what he’s already said to you. You’re missing all these memories—maybe they were never even yours.

Nothing hurts like he does.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

part 3 is here

#keikiwrites #jjk smut #gojo smut #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #dom!gojo #sub!reader #f!reader #✿: gojo!

382 notes · View notes

jiminscockr1ng · 2 months

Text

✩｡°𝄞🚨D-TOWN BABY 𝄞✨°｡✩

╝ •part one | part two ╔

╰₊𓂂➢ pairing: gang affiliated!yoongi x fem!reader

╰₊𓂂➢ genre: hood au, bother’s best friend au, smut, angst

╰₊𓂂➢ warn!ngs: use of the n-word, aave, [mentions of drugs, drug dealing, death, smoking and drinking], negligence due to use of drugs (reader’s mother), reader is heavily black coded, cat-calling, riding, oral (reader receiving), swallowing semen. (let me know if there’s more please!)

╰₊𓂂➢ summary: yoongi is apart of a gang called d-town, the gang your brother just so happens to be apart of.

╰₊𓂂➢ word count: 5,625 words

╰₊𓂂➢ author’s note: the inspiration came from me shouting “D-TOWN NIGGA!” at my sister while watching the Daechwita music video. lmao, i hope y’all enjoy it.

The headlights of your black honda civic shines on the group of men huddled together on the steps of the project building.

Smoking, drinking, talking and laughing loud as hell, and hitting licks.

You huff while turning your car off. Stepping out, your long, fern green skirt flows with the wind. Cleavage hanging out of your bohemian patterned shirt. As you approach the ran down project building you can hear the men on the stairs whistling at you.

You roll your eyes at the gang members who are shouting and cat-calling loud as hell— the whole block could hear.

“Damn Ma, can I get a 360?!” One of them call out. Before you could even flip him off, two familiar voices chime in.

“Chill, nigga.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

They say at the same time. The two voices could easily be distinguished as Trey (your brother) and Yoongi (your brother’s best friend).

Or their street names: Tre D and Agust D. The ‘D’ standing for D-Town. To which you find corny as hell because you all literally live downtown. All these corny ass niggas’ names end with D.

Once you’re right in front of the group of men your brother nods his head at you. That’s just him acknowledging your existence. The two of you have a complicated relationship. It’s only complicated because you don’t like his lifestyle (respectfully) but he won’t stop gang banging.

Nonetheless, you’d still take a bullet for that man. Vice versa.

“Yo, _______.” Yoongi speaks. From the looks of it, you can already tell he’s about to say some stupid shit. He has that sorry ass smirk on his face and keeps glancing around at his little posse. Leaning your weight on to one leg, you simply arch your brow at him.

“You gon’ let me tuck you in?” Your stoic expression remains the same. A few giggles are heard and your brother shakes his head. Trey is more than used to Yoongi making advances at you— he’s been fiend out for damn there 8 years.

Yoongi looks you up and down, adjusting his duffel bag on his shoulder. You smack your teeth and harshly brush past the men blocking your way up the stairs. Prior to entering the building you yell back at the long haired, pale man.

“Tuck your dick!”

SLAM! You slam the door shut, you can hear the distant instigating behind the door as you walk up the stairs to the shared apartment. Mumbling curse words on your way up.

Yoongi’s smirk never leaves, despite the instigation his crew nagged on about. He likes that shit. He loves it. Your hot temper and all of it. He knows that if he wanted to he could shut you right up. But you being mad at him kind of turns him on… so he’ll let you have it.

You’d prefer a nice and quiet, empty pathway to your home when you get off from work. You go through enough stress as it is. Another headache is exactly not what you needed.

Stepping foot into the dark apartment, you set your purse down and walk to your room, ready to get in the shower after a long day. The apartment is fairly big compared to the other units. More than enough space for you and your brother. Although, for the past year it’s really just been you occupying the space.

Trey is never home. He’s out and about being Tre D. He stopped coming home about a little over a year ago. It’s just gang related activities after the other, selling drugs, hanging out with D-Town and fucking random girls. Repeat.

It’s reasonable that you gave up on trying to stop him. He’s a grown man now and you can’t sit around all day to inspect your little brother’s everyday life to make sure he’s doing ‘the right thing’. He’s only 2 years younger than you but you always acted as a mother figure. Taking over that role after your mother got sprung out on crack and left you both.

Working your ass off everyday, feeding him and yourself, trying to make sure he’s doing well in school— all a waste of time. Now look. He’s outside of your shared apartment, probably not even going to come up stairs and is making way more money than you.

You regret the day he met those guys. And you regret even more when he dragged Yoongi along with him.

The thought of Yoongi makes you sigh. You pick up your towel to get in the shower, blasting Lauryn Hill as you lather your brown skin with smell-good soap. You manage to decompress in the shower. Tracking wet footprints to your bedroom as you approach the window, you look outside to see if they’re still there.

Yes. Yes they are. Your brother seems to be leaving and you can’t help but notice someone is missing from the gang.

And almost on queue— as if the devil himself set it up… you hear the front door opening. Letting out a groan, you go and peak out of your bedroom door.

“No need to hide, babygirl. Come on out.” Yoongi calls.

You roll your eyes before slamming your door. But like you figured, the door opens right back up and in comes Yoongi. He silently stands in front of the door after he closes it behind him, observing your figure that is semi-hidden behind the white towel you have on. Yoongi already has a little stiffy just by looking at you.

“Stop calling me babygirl you freak, I’m older than you.” You say, responding to the comment he made. He chuckles, walking over to sit on your bed while you apply lotion on your legs. He drops his duffel bag on the ground next to him.

“Yeah, by like a few months.” Looking down at him, you noticed that he’s man spreading, leaning on his arms that are propped up behind him on the bed. Refraining from gulping, you look away.

You don’t respond to him. Instead, you continue on with your nightly routine, pretending that the fine man is not sitting on your bed ready to pounce on you the second you say go. You can hear shuffling behind you as you fix your locs, putting them in the ponytail.

“_______, I got you something.” He says and you reluctantly turn around. This man really doesn’t learn or care to catch a hint. In his hand is a book. A book that you’ve been searching for everywhere and is sold out.

“How…” is all you can mutter out. Out of all of Yoongi’s highly prestigious and unusual gifts he attempts to give you, this has got to be the best one yet. Best, because you actually wanted it. Not that that Birkin Bag was easy to donate— that was a struggle.

“Uh— I saw you were looking for this shit everywhere on your spam.” You furrow your eyebrows.

“Why the hell are you on my spam page?!”

“So I had drove damn there 2 fucking hours to get this shit.” He says, ignoring the previous question.

You love it. You want to snatch the book out of his long slender fingers, throw your bonnet on and start reading immediately. But—

“I can’t take that Yoongi.” The sentence isn’t something that he hasn’t heard before. You tell him every single time he comes up to your apartment trying to hand you something he bought for you. You never take shit from him and if you do, it gets donated almost immediately.

He scoffs. Honestly looking a little pissed off— fed up to be exact. “What do you mean you can’t take it? Didn’t you hear me, _______?” He stands up, book still in hand. “I drove 2 hours for a fucking book!” He exclaims.

It’s not like you’re meaning to be a bitch. You’d just rather not take anything that was bought with drug money. Even the book you’ve been dying to read for months.

“Listen Yoongi—”

“Agust D.” He corrects.

“I’m not calling you that shit!” A smile cracks onto his face. Just a small one. Because, as mentioned before, he loves that shit. But he’s still fed up.

“I can’t take that. It’ll be donated just like the other gifts you attempt to bribe me with.” You say and he sets the book on the bed, stepping closer to you. “I’m not bribing you _______. I just wanna spoil you, just let me do that.”

“No! I don’t want anything you or my brother buy with your fucking D-Town money. You can keep all of that shit!” You roar while waving your arms around. He sighs, running his fingers through his long black hair, letting it fall back in place. “Money is money, _______.”

“I’m not doing this with you, Yoongi.” Arguing with him back and forth is like arguing with a wall. You two could go on and on about the lifestyle he and Trey are choosing to live.

Yoongi walks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You don’t pull away. Despite how stubborn you are, you’d never deny Yoongi’s touch whenever you feel him. It’s instant stress relief.

“I’m trying, _______.” He calmly says in your ear. The disembodied voice— so husky yet smooth. It sends shivers down your back and all of the hair on your arms stand tall.

“Try harder then.”

“Why are you like this?” You scrunch your face up. “Like what?!” You can feel him shrug his shoulders behind you.

“Like… stubborn and petty.” Offended, you scoff.

“Stubborn and petty like your mama?” It was a quick little insult— a joke! Everyone says it. Plus, you had to think of a come back quick or else you know Yoongi would’ve known that you knew what he said was partially accurate. But when you feel the tight hold Yoongi had around your waist loosen… you knew you fucked up.

“You know my moms’ is dead.” You immediately twist your body around to face him, your towel nearly unraveling. You quickly catch it. “Omg, I did not mean it like that, for real. I was just saying shit!” You ramble on and on about how you don’t think before speaking and how sorry you are.

Then he laughs. Like actually laugh. Not a corny little smirk or the low chuckle he does when he’s around his boys— not even a light smile. He gave you his infamous, gummy smile, shoulder bouncing laugh. He even threw his head back for a second.

You really couldn’t help but smile. You missed that laugh. Having been reunited with it after so long makes you forget everything said and done. Because that’s the Yoongi you know, the Yoongi you grew up with, the Yoongi you loved. You smile at the taller man still looking at you with that cute gummy smile even after the laughter died down.

“Stop apologizing _______, I was just fucking with you.” You scoff but the smile never fades, even when you playfully punch his shoulder. “That’s not funny!” He nods his head in agreement as if he wasn’t just literally laughing his ass off.

“It was just funny seeing you speak like that. First time in mad long you didn’t have that stick that you love so much up your ass.” Looking up at him, you can’t even be mad at what he just said. Not when all the old feelings were suddenly rushing back in. The ones you fought off years ago.

“Yeah,” you switch your focus onto the ground. “It was nice seeing you laugh like that.” His fingers lightly grip your chin to lift your head back up to look him in the eyes. Your heart is doing backflips but in your head there are a million different alarms going off, screaming ‘abort!’.

“You always make me laugh. Whether I’m laughing around you or at home in my bed, laughing about something that you said. You make me…” He trails off making you furrow your eyebrows a bit.

“Make you what?” He sighs, scratching the back of his head, looking out of the window. You shove his shoulder to get his attention again. “Make you what?!” He looks down at his shoes as if the answer was written on them. They weren’t. You checked.

“You make me… hmmph.” He mumbles and you slap your hands on your naked thighs in frustration. You grip his face in your whole hand to get him to stop looking around the room helplessly, like a mother trying to force feed their child.

“What!” You scream.

“Happy!” He reciprocates the volume, eyes going wide when he finally lets the shit flow free. Your hand slowly drops from his face. “Damn— satisfied?” He sassily asks, rolling his eyes. Too in shock to even say anything, you just stand there with your eyebrows high, looking like a dumbass.

“_______,” he starts, earning you attention. So many thoughts sprint through your mind as you stare up into his sharp brown eyes. It’s really hard to believe that after everything, he still found happiness in you. You can’t recall the last time you felt happy in Yoongi’s presence. The man that you once loved. You and Yoongi never dated, never slept together, never really announced any feelings for each other either. The relationship the two of you had was unspoken. You knew the love was there— he did too, and that was enough.

“I need you to know, that I want you.” He says seriously. Your heart drops at the words. No.

No, not now. Why now?

“I want us, _______.” You could melt underneath his gaze. You feel yourself slowly folding. Ready to submit and give into him— give into your heart that’s been begging to be his for 7 years now. “Tell me you want this too.”

Yes, tell him you want this. Want all of him. Because you do… but you can’t. It’s not the same. This is not the same as it was 7 years ago. Yoongi isn’t the same. You can’t do it.

“I can’t— I don’t… want this.” You try to stand strong but you’re weak. Yoongi always did that to you. “You don’t or you can’t— which one is it?” He says, already knowing the answer. He needs to hear it from you though. You sigh, closing your eyes. “Yoongi—”

“No _______ tell me right now why you can’t just let us be happy?” Yoongi’s frustration is valid. But so is yours. You try to walk away from him, to get away, like those alarms that kept going off in your head a few minutes ago told you to do. But Yoongi isn’t having it. He already laid his heart out there, he just wanted you to take it— for it to be yours. So he grabs your arm. “Don’t walk away from me.” You yank your arm back immediately.

“I fucking can’t Yoongi! You want me to stand here, laugh, ‘kee-kee’ in your face. Tell you I want you and that I want this just for you to go back to the streets the next second someone calls you.” You’re out of breath from all of the screaming, no doubt the neighbors were gonna report. But you aren’t done.

“D-Town tells you to jump, you ask how high. I ask you to get your life together, to get off of the streets and I’m left with the same answer. I’m not gonna be one of those bitches that hold you down when you decide to get into some dumb shit and I’m damn sure not gonna be the person people have to get in touch with because their fucking boyfriend died doing some fuck shit.” The undertone of your face is red and your hands are shaking. “It’s bad enough my brother is in to deep. I’m not trying to have to worry about someone else.”

Yoongi’s tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he takes in everything you said. You’ve never been this vulnerable. With anyone. You’ve never said any of this to anyone but you don’t want to keep having the same interactions over and over with him.

“I understand.” Is all he says. And it’s all he has to say. You know he’s not gonna quit the streets until the streets quit him. After all, that’s how it works. But he really did understand and if that’s how you feel he won’t push it.

“Can I just lay with you?” Before you can even protest he raises his hands to clarify. “Just for tonight. Can you please… just do this for me? Let me lay with you.” You sigh, over analyzing the possibility. In the end you conclude it was fine. So you grab your pajamas and change in the bathroom. When you come back in, Yoongi is already laying in the bed. Shirtless and wearing nothing else but the pair of basketball shorts he had in his bag. The book resting on your nightstand.

Your pajamas includes a sage green tank top and a beige pair of cotton shorts. You lie next to him in your bed after cutting the lights off. His body instantly cuddles into yours.

“Yoongi,” you call out. “Your head is on my boobs.” He chuckles into the pair before raising his head to look at you. “You used to always let me lay on your boobs. They’re comfortable.” He says with a faint pout, poking your plushy boobs with his finger, making you flinch.

“Yoo— will you stop poking me!” You say frustratedly. “It tickles.” Yoongi perks up at that. “It tickles, huh?” He sings, continuing to poke you. His fingers pokes at your chest, your sides, your neck. You try to fight him off but your laughter is making you weak. “Stu— stop!” You cry out and he just giggles at your plea. It’s really over once he hovers his body over yours, locking yours in place underneath him.

Your face hurts from laughing so hard, can’t even manage to fight it anymore. The poking eventually stops but the soft giggles and toothy smile on your face doesn’t falter. Yoongi’s eyes sparkle as they bore into yours. He carefully places his hand on your cheek, thumb caressing your lifted cheekbone.

“You’re so pretty, _______.” He observes your features from above and his heart pounds against his chest. The pace aligned with yours. “Sometimes,” he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck. “I forget just how pretty you are. So I come to bother you— just to see you. But when I have you this close… you make me want to leave everything else behind just so I can be with you.”

That’s all you really wanted. For Yoongi to leave all the bullshit alone. Maybe then you two could work.

But you know that all of this is just pillow talk. Yoongi would never do that. Not for you. Not for anyone. “Don’t say things you don’t mean, Yoongi.” You speak mellowly. He lifts his head out of your neck to look at you again. “I can’t tell you how I feel now?” You roll your eyes. “You can but don’t sit here and lead me on to believing in a lie.”

He doesn’t respond. You feel his lips on your cheek. Eyes widening, you look at him in confusion. “What are you—”

“I’m not lying to you, _______.” He kisses your forehead. “Even with everything that happened, no matter what you say to me— I never told you a lie and I don’t plan to.” He leans in to give you another kiss but pauses. His face just an inch away. Your breath hitches at the close proximity, growing nervous when his eyes focus on your lips.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers softly against your lips. Your mind isn’t working. There’s no alarms blaring, no weird gut feeling, just you. Underneath him. Without much thought, you mutter a breathy “yes.”

He leans in, his lips molding perfectly with yours. It’s soft and passionate and you’re worried that you just might have a heart attack the way your heart is pacing. Your fingers travel their way through his long strands of hair as you happily taste the minty flavor of his mouth— covering up the taste of cigarettes. When he pulls away to catch his breath, you immediately pull him back down. Now that you got a taste of him, you don’t want to let it go.

The kiss starts getting heated when Yoongi rolls off of you and pulls you on top of him. His hands roam the surface of your back, letting them slip under your tank top. You bite on his bottom lip once you pull away, letting your soft brown hands travel up his abdomen to his solid chest. Your back arches as you leave open mouth kisses against his chest. He takes the opportunity to cup your ass into his hands, occasionally squeezing the fleshy rump.

You slightly shift your hips up against him to lift up. “Fuck,” Yoongi lets out a shaky breath. “Don’t move like that.” You furrow your brows in confusion but you quickly understand when you feel something poking your thigh. In shock, you shift again. A low groan leaves Yoongi’s mouth and he places his hands on both sides of your waist.

You watch as his eyes squeeze shut, the action and the sound he let slip gave you that tingling feeling in your stomach, that familiar sensation fluttering in between your legs. You do it again. Wanting to hear that sound from him again.

“Seriously, you don’t want this to go further than it already has.” True. You don’t, but you’re a little too lust filled to think straight. And the fact that Yoongi is hard as a rock underneath you has you wet. Grinding your clothed sex onto his bulge.

“Yo, I—”

“Shut up.” You say, placing your hands on his chest to support yourself as you grind against him. The lewd sounds that escape from both of your mouths flood the room. Yoongi’s basketball shorts get bunched up in the process, the repeated action dragging the band down, exposing his boxer briefs underneath.

You lift your hips up to pull the shorts down but Yoongi stops you. He sends you a warning look that reads, ‘don’t do this.’

Regardless, you enthusiastically yank them and his boxer briefs down his thighs, letting his dick stand tall against his lower stomach. “_______, you’re confusing me.” He says while you’re busy scrapping to get the clothing from around his ankles, satisfied when they hit the floor. You turn around, looking down at him once again.

“You’re confused? Hm, I thought you were hard.” Speaking sarcastically, you turn your focus onto Yoongi’s member. You grip his length in your hand, brushing your thumb over his sensitive tip making Yoongi twitch.

“A little bit of both honestly. I mean, mostly hard but— woah woah woah, stop!” Yoongi panics once you put your mouth on his dick. He immediately sits up, his back resting against the head board. “I’m not doing this with you.” He says, to which one of your eyebrows flick up.

“Why not?” You scoff. “You don’t seem to have any problem fucking all these other bitches.” Yoongi lets out an unamused laugh, wiping his hands over his face. “You’re not other bitches. You don’t throw yourself on my dick.”

“I just did!” Technically, you did.

Yoongi scoffs, mumbling something under his breath. “It’s not the same thing. You’re invested in this _______ and you know it.” You turn your head away from him, not wanting to hear the truth. “I don’t need you to have another reason to hate me.” Rolling your eyes—

“I don’t hate you.”

“You’re just saying that.” You shake your head, scooting closer to him. “I’m not. I don’t hate you, Yoongi.” You repeat, your fingers go to his hair and you focus on the way his dark hair fall on your skin before looking at him again. “And right now… I’m horny, so.” You sit in front of him, anticipating his response.

“Okay.” He shrugs.

“Okay, what?” He grabs your waist gently, pulling you closer to him. Your lips lock onto his again and this time, the pace quickens. Yoongi’s hands reach for your tank top to pull it over your chest, you lift your arms as he pulls it off, slinging it across the room. Like clockwork, you drag your shorts down as well, tossing them in the corner without a care in the world.

Yoongi’s hands roam all over your body. Taking in the feel of your body being close to his. He retracts from the kiss to drool over your body. His pale hands over your brown skin, the only source of light coming from the window. “What do you want me to do, _______?” He asks, palming your breast in both hands. You bite your lip as you look down at him touching you.

“Can I ride you?” You ask in a whisper and you could’ve swore you felt Yoongi’s dick twitch on your thigh right after the words fell off your tongue. He felt like doing a backflip. An ability he doesn’t have but that’s how you make him feel. It’s just like you to want to ride him— it being your first time even having sex with each other.

“Fuck yes.” You let out a giggle at Yoongi’s expression before leaning over to open the top drawer of your nightstand. His eyes travel with your every movement. “What are you doing?”

“Grabbing a condom.” You popped out. He purses his lips at that. “Guess I’m not the only one you’ve been wrestling in the sheets with.” Looking back at the man with the condom in your hand, the jealous look on his face makes you want to run over to your phone to take a picture. Instead you laugh.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You say, ripping open the packet. “I bought them because they’re a necessity. I’m not fucking anyone— but i’m glad I did buy them.” Yoongi raises an eyebrow in curiosity. “I’d rather not have the neighborhood’s dick in me raw.”

It’s almost comedic the way his jaw drop. “Neighborhood’s dick is cuh-razy!” Slipping the condom on his length, you let out a giggle. Once you’ve got it on all the way you grip his shoulders, lifting your cunt over it. “It’s okay,” you jokingly reassure. “I’ll make sure to give you a good rating.”

“Oh, you got jokes— oh shit.” His demeanor changes once you rub his tip against your wet slit. “Are you—,” He reaches out to drag a finger through your folds. “You’re mad wet.” He states the obvious and when he pulls his finger away, your arousal drags with it. Without a second thought, he lifts his finger to his mouth, sucking on it to taste you. A low moan leaves his mouth. His eyes never leaving yours.

“You ready or did you change your mind?” You shake your head slowly, feeling more aroused than ever. “I’m ready.”

Once again, you maneuver his length through your folds before aligning it at your entrance. You take a deep breath and Yoongi’s hands rub your back. You slowly lower yourself down his length, feeling the pressure of him stretching you out. Your mouth falls agape when his full length is inside of your cunt.

After a few more rounds you get used to it. Yoongi stares at the action of your pussy swallowing his length. Your pussy is so tight around him, he’s afraid he might cum too fast.

He curse in your ear as you begin to ride him faster. “Fuck— you’ve been holding back on me for all these years.” Yoongi moves his hips, helping thrust into you. Your tits jump along with you as you bounce on his cock. So deep, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass echoes throughout the quiet apartment.

“Ah, Yoongi!” You moan out and Yoongi feels himself growing light headed. “You’re making me go crazy, _______.” He slams into your pussy faster— harder. At this point you weren’t even moving. Yoongi was the one in control of your body.

Especially when he moves you off of him, switching positions to take full control. You lie on your back, abandoned pussy and all. “Yoongi, put it back in.” You beg.

He shushes you before bending down, face in between your legs. His mouth attacks your wet cunt. He flatten his tongue to fully taste your sex. Licking and sucking all of you. His mouth sucks on your clit making you scream out in pleasure while his three fingers abuse your hole. “Yoongi, fuck that feels so good.” He slightly smirks up at you.

“Tell me whose pussy this is.” He says lowly. You could’ve came right then and there just from how sexy he said it. All dominant and territorial. The way he looks— his long dark hair sticking to his face and neck.

“Yuh— oh my god!” You moan out as your legs begin to shake at the overwhelming stimulation of his mouth and fingers.

“Tell me.” He demanded a bit louder.

“Yours Yoongi! It all yours, mm.” His fingers moves faster and you grip the sheets for moral support. “F- Fuck me Yoongi. I want your dick inside me.” It doesn’t take long before he obeys. He lifts up, just before you could orgasm and slides his hard dick inside of you. With Yoongi in control now, the pace is much faster. He lifts one of your legs up, putting it over his shoulder for better access.

Going deeper inside of you, hitting all of the right spots. You pull him down towards your body, your nails digging into his back, creating little crescent moon shaped marks. Chest to chest, Yoongi penetrates your pussy as the two of you share a feverish kiss.

“I’m gonna cum, Yoongi.” You say against his lips, out of breath. He rapidly nods his head. “Cum, mm.” His thrusts slow down, instead he makes sure to go deeper, hitting your spot repeatedly, making your legs shake around him. “Cum for me, _______.”

A few thrusts later and you cream on his dick. He pulls out, slips off the condom and starts stroking his dick. You place your hands over his, moving your mouth towards his tip. When the long drags of warm semen pour out you catch every drop of it. Mouth wide open, tongue out— you swallow his cum. Licking the tip afterwards for good measure.

Yoongi’s heavy breathing fills the room as he collapses on the bed. You get up to throw the used condom out and to collect your pajamas off the floor, walking with a bit of a limp. You toss Yoongi his basketball shorts before cleaning yourself up in the bathroom and changing.

When you come back, you find Yoongi already in his basketball shorts lying on the bed still. “Not gonna dip?” You ask, trying to sound nonchalant. You don’t want him to go but you don’t need him to know that. You were just awfully vulnerable and something similar to regret is already creeping up on you.

“Naw, why would I?” You shrug before laying in bed next to him. Not even being able to position yourself, he makes sure he cuddles into you, your face close as hell to his. “So how was the neighborhood’s dick?” He jokingly asks, laughing after. You lightly punch his chest.

“I’m not finna play with you Yoongi.” Yoongi serves you a feigned pout. “Awe, you regretting it already?” You don’t say anything because you really don’t know if you are. You don’t regret the sex because— fuck that was amazing. Best dick you ever had and you really will give him a good rating. However, the things that were said could’ve stayed unsaid. You shared too much vulnerability and that’s not something you’re comfortable with. The last thing you need is Yoongi to throw any of that shit back up in your face.

“I don’t regret it.” You conclude. His arms wrap around your waist tighter, grabbing one of your legs to wrap it around him. “But it won’t happen again. This was a one time thing.”

“But you swallowed my cum.” He pouts again and for some reason you don’t think it’s feigned this time. So you lightly smack his lips. Too much of a distraction.

“Because I didn’t want to get my covers dirty, you freak.” He dramatically raises his eyebrows. “So now I’m back to being a freak.” You sigh because it seems like he’s purposely not paying attention to what you’re actually trying to say.

“Yoongi.” You say seriously making him nod his head. “Okay, I got it. it was a one time thing.” Despite his display of understanding, you can’t help but hear the underlying disappointment in his voice.

You lay in his arms for hours. Neither of you fall asleep, replaying the previous events in your head. You debate with yourself whether or not you’re being in denial, too petty, stubborn, unreasonable. Whether or not you should give Yoongi a chance. Because right now you feel safe. Right now, everything is okay while your head rests against his beating chest. Right now…

“AGUST D GET YO’ ASS DOWN HERE NIGGA!”

You jump. You and Yoongi both lift up— your face of shock is a bit different from his. He knows what it is and you think you do too. That’s why you’re shook as fuck. The shouting and calling through the window doesn’t stop. And when Yoongi arms unravels from your waist, your heart sinks.

“What is that?” You ask.

And when that same, familiar, sorry ass, corny ass smirk that you hate so damn badly form onto Yoongi’s face… you knew.

“That’s D-TOWN BABY.”

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urcursebreaker · 1 month

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burning body waiting. (ellie williams x fem!reader)

read chapters one, two, and three here.

warnings: 18+ content, canon-typical violence, gore, angst, graphic smut, scissoring, fingering, use of marijuana. | word count: 11.7k.

chapter 4: match in the dark

❝ the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it. ❞ — richard siken.

. . .

The stories always say that love is something you fall into.

For you, it's always been a bludgeoning, throttling force, bone-shattering and breath-robbing; sudden and violent and jarring.

So why does this feel not like a punch to the gut but a slow and tortuous ailment of your health? An intrusion of sickness and vein-pulsing agony?

Instead of pummeling you with a lethal blow, your feelings for Ellie crept and slunk through your bones, a terminal parasite, malignant and festering inside. Until it was a sure thing. A cancer. Until your veins were blackened with heady need. Until there was a dark, frothing plague teeming from your heart, hammering to a consistent tune.

Ellie, Ellie, Ellie.

Or maybe you don't love her.

Maybe it's some third sinister thing. Living in the cracks of cruelty that stretch between friend and lover.

Last night, after baring witness to Ellie's breakdown, the sound of her wailing, heaving sobs followed you into a tenuous sleep.

You dreamt of a young girl, a smattering of freckles garnishing her sun-kissed face and arms, familiar, mossy blue eyes brimming with unshed tears. She clutched a watch in her fist, it's face splintered, cracks like lightening fracturing across the broken surface. She lurched it into the rapid waters of the river she stood before, her eyebrows pinched in earnest, chest heaving.

"Why are you so sad?" You had asked the girl, your voice a whisper in the wind, not fully belonging to you.

The girl only released a long, heavy breath and pivoted away, marching down an unmanicured path of ferns and overgrowth. She grew taller and leaner as she strode away, until the figure that dissipated through the line of trees was one you have slept beside.

And now you are woken up in that damn 7/11 to that same girl firmly shaking you.

Except now she's older— and a new scar marred her lip. A new slit cleaved her brow. And a new, harsh edge of ferocity contoured her face— still so young, in a world that would never allow her to be.

She had to shake you a few times before you came to, snapping awake in a bleated panic, lurching up. She was huddled over you, a finger to her lips, a solemn alarm flaring in her pale eyes. The overhead vines careening from the high rafters billowed gently with the breeze; the serenity of it deceiving to what prowled the weeds.

"To the left," she mouths meticulously, and you nod, carefully slipping out of your sleeping bag, heart drumming ceaselessly.

She unsheathes her switchblade and slinks away, her eyes trained on the glassless wall as she stations behind a counter, distractedly gesturing for you to follow.

You slowly retrieve your shotgun from the littered floor and pocket a shiv you crafted the night prior, shooting brisk glances over your shoulder as you inch to Ellie's side. A faint whistle rises from the swaying grass.

Fuck. More Seraphites.

They must be tracking you, if they're spreading this far into Seattle. They tend to lurk on the outskirts, basing along the edges of the city so they can terminate anyone who attempts to get inside.

You never heard of them abandoning posts before. Killing over a dozen of them must have earned you their vengeance.

Ellie must have a similar thought, for when you reach her side, she whispers, "I should have gone to their base and killed every last one of them." Her face was grim and hard with fury, jaw barred, as she glared over the counter in the general direction of the whistle.

You follow her gaze and your muscles tense. The piercing afternoon sun glints off the metal tip of an arrow— aimed directly at you.

"Get down!" You shout jitterly, just as the potent snap of the bows tension unleashing splits through the silence of the day. You shove Ellie down and duck over her right as it spears loudly through the chipping wall behind you, where her head had been precarious seconds before.

She looks up at you with wide eyes, her knuckles gleaming white against the shine of her blade. Her momentary shock morphs into a scowl that manifests on her face.

She shrugs her shotgun off her shoulder and aims it for the weeds— blasting through the first outline of a human that she sees without a second thought. Thickets of seared, chunky blood burst through the air, followed by a series of sharp, undulating whistles. Your ears ring boisterously from the gunshot.

You sense movement to your right and crawl past Ellie— who clips another Seraphite, her body rocking with the force of the shot— to investigate. Fortunately, your backs are covered by two withstanding, cavernless walls, leaving only the hole to the right and the sizeable gap overhead.

Ellie seems to have the other wall covered.

You use a rusting shelf as a barricade, crouching, shiv in hand, the blade biting through the cloth you wound around the bottom. You turn it over in your hands, tongue prodding your lip, casting furtive looks above you every couple seconds to ensure nobody inflicted an unexpected aerial attack.

Arrows rain down, piercing the walls, clattering off the concrete. Gunshots boom thunderously, reverberating through the vacant city, paired with the guttural screams of those they met. You chance a peek at Ellie to find her completely unscathed, propped on one knee, squinting through the thick scope of her rifle. She must've swiftly exchanged weapons while you were looking away; always efficient.

You swivel back around and feel the tiny hairs on the nape of your neck raise at the shaved head poking through the whirling canary, only about ten feet away. You hold your breath and flush your back with the shelf, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

He slithers into the room, bow drawn, frame veiled by a cloak seeped with rain water. Brutal, discomfiting burn scars eclipse half of his face, as if he were lowered, sideways, into a pit of roaring flames.

Back at the Front, everyone always refers to the Seraphite's as Scars. It's starting to make sense why; you had never seen one this close before.

He puckers his lips to whistle, and you deign that as your opportunity, before he summons another Scar. You spring out from behind the shelf and drill your blade through the side of his neck, tearing through tendons. "Gotcha!" you breathe sardonically.

His large body crumples in your arms. You lower him to the floor with a dull, sappy thud, blood instantly pooling across the concrete, lapping at the tips of your boots.

An insistent whistle echoes closely from the weeds he emerged from, and you mutter a curse, hoisting up your gun and loading it with bloodied fingers. You're about to shoot the nearing figure when a brutish man descends from the crater in the ceiling— landing on top of you.

"Fuck!" Your scream of raw surprise rips through your throat as you plummet under his weight, your arm twisted unnaturally and agonizingly beneath his body.

He yanks you back by your hair, peeling your body off the ground with ease, and you wrestle with his unyielding grip, grunting as you squirm and peer at him over your shoulder. His eyes are crazed, a deep, rigid scar splitting his cheek, fatal determination overtaking his face.

You think fast, hastily fumbling for the blade in his companions sputtering throat, writhing under his formidable hold, your breathing sparse as he crushes you. "Feel Her love," the man growls in an accented drawl, his pick-axe reered back, poised to strike.

You successfully dislodge your blade just in time.

You arch your arm back as forcefully as you can from the obstructive angle, nicking him in the chest— just enough for him to stagger back and graze his digits over the superficial wound— and for you to crawl out from underneath him.

You only make it up to your knees before the handle of his pick-axe is caging your throat, crushing your windpipes, a hoarse whine wheezing from your lips. He hauls you back, and you flail for the bar compressing your neck, feet aimlessly lashing and kicking the floor. "El—"

Dots swim and flood your vision. Your flickering pulse rattles droningly in your skull. You can't breathe. You're dying. You're going to die. You're going to—

"Don't you fucking touch her!" Ellie bellows.

Suddenly, the pick-axe falls from your throat, clattering with a resounding echo to the floor, and you drop right along with it. Through the haze of your disjointed vision you see the previous keeper of your fate— Ellie's switchblade protruding from his head, before he slams lifelessly to the floor.

You rake in breaths hungrily, the sudden, painful burst of oxygen blazing like fire through your lungs. You claw listlessly at your throat, as if that will stop the blistering burn, or vanquish the coppery tang of blood rendering your tongue.

Ellie then shoots his already deceased body twice— his immobile carcass lurching, jolting with the swift bullets— and doesn't spare the dead Scar a second glance before shooting the one approaching in the weeds with masterful precision.

He thumps to the ground with a muffled groan of anguish, and his departure is followed by a wave of dense, apprehensive silence.

Ellie lingers in that taut, defensive stance for a moment, her shoulders tense, face lined with concentration as she sweeps her gaze over the sprawling field. Eyes skittering over the towering buildings in a speedy examination.

And then her eyes fall to you, alarm leeching the color from her sharp face. She quickly lowers her gun and bunches her stiff shoulders. "Are you alright?" She demands brusquely.

You nod skittishly, chest heaving with your rapid, hungry breaths. "Fine," you croak out, voice hoarse and gravelly, scraping out of your raw throat.

She nods absently, slinging her gun over her shoulder and bending down to fist the knife puncturing the man's head. She gives it a forceful, ruthless tug, his upper body heaving off the blood-blemished ground. A harrowing crimson cascades down his skull, glistening over her fingers. She yanks it out of him with a second, ardent jerk, and he slumps onto the floor, his own gore splattering repellently through the air. She surveys the blood and bits of cartilage on her blade before calmly wiping it off on her pants.

You scarcely register the disturbing scene of the Seraphite's you downed together.

Ellie's callousness must be wearing off on you. The dark pond of sudsy blood gathering around your feet ignites only a faint ripple of disgust in you; and a hint of knee-buckling relief, that you had someone so unapologetically cutthroat at your defense.

She offers you a steady hand and you take it. She hauls you to your feet, and you waver, your grip unabashed and bruise inciting. "Are you okay?" You ask attentively, a tremor underlying your tinny voice as you eye her top to bottom.

On the exterior, she's untouched by harm, and the relief that floods you is instantaneous.

"I am if you are," she says with a dim smile, surveying you for injury in turn. "We should get the fuck out of here, though. You sure you're good?"

"I'm fine," you offer a meek, hopefully reassuring smile back, unhanding her. You clear your throat and discard your broken, useless shiv on the floor, your breathing evening out. "Lead the way, my noble Knight," you tease with a shaky grin.

She rolls her eyes with affection and mimics a flourishing bow. "Yes, my Queen," she snorts, before pivoting away, heedlessly overstepping the dead body of your attacker and trudging for the opening she'd been guarding, her backpack already slung over her shoulder.

Your scratchy, cackling laugh scorches your throat, but you stifle the dizzying pain, her responding laugh, breathy and chittering, making the hurt worth it.

It was the sweetest thing you have ever heard. So light and natural and opposing to the violence she had wielded mere minutes ago to protect you.

As you trail after her, trusting her direction without question, you think you'd let her be as mean to you as she needed to be if you could hear her laugh like that again.

Which may be the scariest thing of all.

• • •

ELLIE

Her resolve was dissipating through her fingers. Now particles, everything she fought for was reduced to inconceivable dust, streaking through the wind, escaping her clutches.

She had destroyed versions of herself, tapered off past selves, trimmed and manufactured herself into this precarious thing that she was now.

A shell, filled by a need to take back all that had been stolen; a vessel for her grief and anger. She felt like she lived and breathed the horror that clung to her insides, fermented and congealed, taloned rage clawing it's way out of her with every step she took closer and closer to reclaiming the vengeance she was owed; the debt that was due.

But now the calamity in her mind has quieted. Her pain felt distant and hushed; it watched and whispered. She was never truly liberated from it. Only when she's with you does she feel that boulder lift, that bone-crushing mass of misery eased off her soul. But it's hearty weight lingers phantomly, etching itself into her bones.

She glances at you through the waning firelight, your thoughtful expression dim in the flickering amber glow. Your eyebrows are skewered, lips pursed, eyes indulgently roving over the pages of the tattered book splayed across your lap.

She had no idea how you found the room to store useless objects. From your brothers stuffed childhood bear, a chunky, faded hot-pink cassette player, to a couple weathered, worm-eaten books, you seemed to carry only your indulgences.

When she was fourteen, her backpack was similar. It overflowed with graphic novels and worthless trinkets. Joel had everything they needed, carrying double his weight in supplies. Despite everything she'd seen, despite everything he did, he gave her a simple life. One she could not envision herself pursuing ever again, without him there to urge her on.

She wonders if your brother was that guiding light for you, too, a match in the dark, as Joel had been for her.

She looks at you, and she wonders if you have ever truly been alone.

You perform with a buoyancy and easiness she cannot replicate. Either you have never known suffering at all, a portrait of innocence under a brush of death; or you knew it too well, with an intimacy that left you unblinking and acclimated to its sharp edges. When it tried to cut through you, it's relentless knifing was fruitless, it's slashes meeting metal, sliding off the shine of your armor.

Do you even know it's there? That even though you are not brutal and unforgiving— as she herself had become— remaining steady and balanced under the ruthless beat of the worlds bitter drum was a shield in itself?

She both admires and envies your ability to let it all roll off your back as it's hurled at you.

"What?" You drawl at her notably indiscreet examination, amusement seeping into your tone like liquid gold, eyes unstraying from the pages— though she can see, even from the distance that separates you, that your eyes are bright and swimming with it.

For months now, she has locked her feelings down, imprisoned them behind walls of adamant, impenetrable steel. Had deliberately tailored a mask that would keep them from slipping through.

And then there's you. Feeling unabashedly and unapologetically and, unknowingly letting her know she can do it, too. That you see the wounds that gauge her soul and do not flinch at the sight of blood. That you see the hurt that shines in her eyes and do not pity the tortured girl, but embrace the wrath of the killer that torture had birthed.

Being understood was once something she ached for. But now that someone is starting to understand her, to see through the defenses she constructed, she is afraid. She is terrified of being seen, of being known.

Almost as much as she fears being alone.

She is facing that fear day by day, and it is just as fucking scary as she anticipated.

She was cripplingly alone, and she felt the aftershocks of it belting through her. She's a lost, untethered soul, searching for its other end, though the thread had severed and all that remained was remnants of fragmented, disjointed memories, and rippling regrets that would never be ironed out.

She has nothing to return to; no home, no person. Instead, she keeps coming back to that hollowness inside, where the grief is stored, and fed to the flames of rage that blaze there. It is the only consistency she knows now. Even you are not a promised thing. Not when you had a brother somewhere out there waiting for you.

And not when she had a list of lives to end.

You are not enough to mend the gaping hole inside of her; you will never match the shape of that gauge. No one will. No one can replace the things he taught her, gave her.

But at least now... when she lays her head to rest, there's a beaming voice, illuminating the shadow-shrouded void of her mind. Beckoning her toward the light.

And it's yours.

She fights the darkness. Wrestles out of its restraints— the guilt and sorrow that anchors her down— and runs to that voice, desperate for the sun.

But the darkness always seems to win in the end.

"Ellie?"

Your soft, tentative voice lulls her out of her clouded thoughts, and she averts her gaze from the fire to look at you. She blinks the dark specks away and discerns your earnest face. Your attention is honed in on her now, the book dog-eared and closed in your lap, head tilted inquisitively. "Where'd you go?" You ask quietly, your voice a whisper under the crackling embers.

She feels her head shaking before she even forms a response. "Nothing. Nowhere," she insists, blinking rapidly, stroking a spectral scar on her forehead. "I'm just tired. How's your book?" She urges casually, craning her head back and resting it on the tree stump of the sprawling oak behind her, studying you.

A big, unadulterated grin contorts your face. Your cheeks dimple, smiling teeth luminous in the firelight. Her heart skips a beat at the mirth glimmering in your eyes. "So good. It's my favorite. I've read it six times," you chuckle at the look of disbelief that slips through the cracks of her facade and continue, "My mom used to read it to my brother and I a lot when we were kids."

She nods, plucking the grime out of her fingernails, swiping her tongue over her teeth. She glances down at her hand to conceal the warmth rising to her cheeks at the sight of your infectious smile. There is no other way to describe it; it is debilitating, impossible not to mirror.

"What's it about?" She murmurs, ducking her head, her emerging smile evident in her tone. She hopes the shadows eclipse her face from your view.

"Oh, it's just a collection of fables," you sigh contently, wistfully, reclining back, clutching the fraying book endearingly to your chest. You sway your knees back and forth, feet planted to the ground, peering up at the star-speckled sky before tilting your head to face her. "Do you like to read at all?"

Ellie yawns gingerly, extending her legs out in front of her, staring down at her muddy, threadbare Converse. "I used to read comics. There was this series I collected... Savage Starlight?" She winces as she pronounces the humiliating name.

Your responding gasp is so sudden, an animal audibly skitters through the weeds. You lurch up in astonishment, wisps of staticky hair fanning around your shocked face. "Wait, really? My brother loved those!"

Ellie laughs, and you visibly loosen at the sound. She pretends not to notice. Just as she pretends not to feel the warmth budding and blooming in her chest, a sprout of something gentle taking root in her heart.

"Yes," she huffs out, rewarding you a vague smile. You were the only thing that made her feel like she could smile anymore. "I read them all. Probably more than 6 times, actually. So. I got you beat."

"Pfft," you bat a hand of dismissal, rolling your eyes playfully, laying back down— resting your head on a smooth, upturned rock, leisurely prying your book back open. "Does looking at pictures even count as reading?"

"Comics have words!" Ellie protests defensively, straightening.

Your boisterous laugh echoes through the dense forestry, booming out of you, as you drop the book and cradle your stomach, rolling over with the force of your guttural laughter. "You are so easy to rile up!" You cackle tearily, wiping your eyes.

Ellie snickers. "You're an ass," she chides, laughter bubbling in her chest, threatening to escape her sealed lips. She threads her fingers through her unruly hair, sweeping the russet strands out of her face. You jeeringly stick your tongue out at her, and she flips you off, earning her another one of your exuberant laughs.

"Read your book," she scolds with a raspy chuckle of her own, pointing at the now discarded fables. She rummages through her backpack, the sound of your stifled giggling following her as she fishes out her journal.

She waits a couple minutes, until you're helplessly engrossed with your novel, your brows once again pinched in concentration, before thumbing through her journal, flipping to that tarnished, browning page. Her eyes flicker over the names she memorized distastefully, that familiar anger burning bright.

Abby

Nora

Owen

Mel

Jordan

Manny

Whitney

She absently ghosts her fingers over that taunting, four-lettered name. Abby. Her throat swells with grief, searing-hot anger boiling in her stomach. The condemning red marks slashing through the names of those she already killed grant her only momentary satisfaction. It's not enough to quell the hatred the unmarked name at the top sparks within.

Nora she killed weeks ago. She let the spores smother her lungs, debilitate her of breath, ring her dry of any vitality and will to resist her tragic fate. Then she took a pipe to her head. Over and over. Just as Abby had done to Joel. Just as she would do to her.

Then she killed Nick, and Jordan, after the Wolves tailed and captured her. They beat and chained her to a counter, as if a pair of copper-rusted handcuffs would restrain her— would save them from her blinding wrath. The scar she brandished him with was rigid and pink and poorly stitched, dismantling his otherwise smooth cheek. She told him that stopping her from extracting her revenge would be futile.

Then she broke free and stabbed him persistently, with ferocious, vehement arches of her arm, until his blood had coated her face in fine beadlets and puddled in heaps that sapped her feet to the floor.

And, most recently, she killed Whitney. At the hospital, where she took you to bed and tasted every glorious inch of you, high with adrenaline, pulsating with want.

She told you she took out a few infected.

But it was only Whitney there, alone, guarding the sewage system, swaying to the boisterous music that reverberated through the concrete-walled boiler room. She slit her throat and kicked her into the murky, sludgy water. Then shot her twice just to insure that she did not inexplicably survive.

After the night you shared, a part of her was horrified of you unveiling the deplorable, merciless acts she committed. She did not know if she could face you. She slaughtered a person in cold blood and touched you with the stained hands that did it.

She left, just in case you found that bleeding body floating in the basement, and turned terrified, accusatory eyes on her. She did not know if she could bear your disdain. Or worse— you being disgusted by the harrowing life she has dedicated herself to.

Because she could not change.

She has a purpose, now.

To take everything from those fuckers. Leave them with nothing as they did her.

She's going to take and take and take. The life of Abby's friends, crushed and squandered beneath her foot. The solid foundation of security they built, ripped apart at the seams, until walls topple and plans expire— until all the Wolves are scurrying through the wastelands, tails tucked, howling for mercy.

She abandoned the safe, armed walls of Jackson for this mission. Nothing could jeopardize it; not even her captivation with you.

Fortunately, you never found Whitney's body.

She should've been relieved. But when she stumbled upon you again, in that blossoming valley, there was spite there, and for a completely different reason. One she never considered; that you were truly scathed by her abandonment. She thought you would be better off without her; better rid of the sucking parasite leeching the good out of you with each moment she spent in your presence.

"Hey, Ellie?"

She snaps the journal closed briskly, sucking in a sharp breath. She thought you had fallen asleep; you had not shifted or spoken for an impressive duration of time. Especially for you.

"Yeah," she responds groggily, scratching her head, slipping the journal back into her bag, the list temporarily forgotten. She glances up to find you gone.

She staggers straight to her feet, calling your name, her tone dripping with apprehension. "Where are you?"

"Shh," you instruct quaintly from the shadows, whispering meticulously, "Over here."

She peers through the darkness encompassing the camp you'd assembled together, trailing your voice, conveyed through the cloying, nectary wind. The warming spring breeze fetters her hair.

She deciphers your figure in the tall, swaying canary, your stature hunched and diligent. "Come here," you whisper urgently, loudly, beckoning her over fervently. She reaches for her gun but freezes when you make a noise of disapproval.

Instead, she follows your voice, curiosity and concern weighing the scale in equal measure. "What is it?" She rasps quietly, cresting your side. Your eyes are trained intently on a small, shapeless shadow, lithely prowling the weeds.

"Come here, kitty," you drawl sweetly, clucking your tongue, drumming your thigh. The small creature pauses its strides, slowly lowering itself to the ground, giving an impassive lick of its paws.

"It's a cat," you mutter to Ellie, as if she had not already gathered that.

She refrains from rolling her eyes. "I can see that. Why were you even over here to begin with?"

You pointedly disregard her, taking a heedful step forward, crouching to be level with your new feline friend. "Come here, sweet thing. Come on. It's okay," you lull in a reassuring tone, patting the ground insistently. The cat only stares at you.

You sigh, arms draped defeatedly over your knees, frowning. "Okay. Never mind. Go back, please, I think you're scaring it."

"What?" Ellie snaps, and the cat startles, bracing it's paws in the dirt, back arched. "No way. Animals love me."

"Kay, well, it was coming to me before you came over here, stepping on every single branch you could find." You argue flippantly, shooting her a glare.

"It's your fault, you're the one who called me over here, dick!" Ellie defends airily, waving her hands.

You clap a hand over your mouth to conceal your automatic chuckle. Your rumbling shoulders and escaping snorts give you away. "Okay, okay, fine," you chortle breathily, shaking your head. "God, that look on your face never gets old."

She groans out a husky laugh, falling back a few paces, propping a mocking, insulted hand over her heart. "You are evil."

You flash her a sinister, lippy smile, mischief twinkling in your eyes, before averting your focus back to the cat, who had inched closer while you argued.

"Yes, that's it. Come here, baby," you click your tongue in a series of encouraging noises, and the cat— ears perked, nose sniveling— prances over to you, as if you waved a heaping bag of treats.

You tenderly, dubiously scoop the cat into your arms. Though acutely tense, it allows you to hold it, claws hesitantly retracting from your sleeve, piercing green eyes slitted and alert. "She's hurt," you inform, scratching it's matted, furry back. You slowly ascend to your feet and nod back toward the camp, following Ellie as she begins to trudge back. "I saw her limp by and followed her over here. Do you have some more gauze?"

"For the cat?" Ellie drawls incredulously, shooting you a look over her shoulder, stepping over a cluster of unearthed roots.

"Uh, yes? She's small, it won't take much." You assert, hiking the cat up as it starts to thrash and mewl anxiously. "Please?"

She wanted to tell you no, but she found that it was impossible to form the word— especially when you were gazing at her with sheer hope, head tilted pleadingly. "Fine."

"Woohoo!" You exclaim triumphantly to the cat, softly stroking between its luminous eyes with your thumb, easing its trepidation. It whimpers, pink nose prodding your jaw, pawing at the latticed hem of your tank top. "She said thanks, El-Bell!"

"How do you know it's a she?" Ellie asks as you enter the fire-illuminated clearing, the light casting ominous, flickering shadows over the deep, towering pine trees.

You shrug, hoisting the cat by its underarms, promptly spinning it around and baring its tattered, grimy belly to Ellie. "Yeah. You were right. Girl." She concedes with a grimace.

Ellie resumes her original position as you perch cross-legged across from her, planting the knotted cat in your lap. She's coated in a sweep of sleek, midnight black fur, so sumptuous it reflects the moon's sapphire glow. Her green eyes are unnaturally bright against her dark coat, penetrating through Ellie as she unpacks her gauze.

"I'm getting it," she mumbles to it warily, and it pivots away from her with unnecessary drama, curling it's tail.

"Don't be rude," you reprimand the cat, who ignores your scolding and persistently licks her splintered paw.

"Here you go," Ellie says, tossing you the gauze and medical tape. "You better hope your little friend doesn't get hurt again. I don't have enough supplies to fix her boo-boos."

She swears the cat fucking glares at her, before curiously, reluctantly sniffing at the gauze.

You must have seen it, too, for you giggle smugly. "What was that about animals loving you?"

"Shut up," Ellie grumbles, leaning back, hiking her knees to her chest. Exhaustion weighs heavy on her eyelids. She surveys you, bleary-eyed, as you scoop the cat into your arms and gingerly pry the wound, a pained shriek tearing from it's tiny body.

"Shh, it's okay," you comfort genially, petting her back as you fumble with the gauze, lightly encasing her wounded paw. "See? Almost done, already."

The cat relaxes in your gentle grasp, allowing you to seal the bandage around her paw. Ellie herself is nearly lulled to sleep by the pacification in your tone— the soft, honeyed melody of consolation rolling off your tongue.

"All done," you state quietly, pressing a forbearing kiss to her nicked ear, delicately peeling her out of your lap and placing her on the ground. "Be free, little one."

The cat lingers, staring at you nearly contemplatively. She blinks slowly, languidly, before swiveling away and skittering through the craning grass, disappearing through the trees.

You watch her go with a bleak, placid smile, the wind whipping your hair. Then you turn to Ellie. "You sleep, I'll keep watch."

She opens her mouth to refute, but you slice her a cutting, silencing look. "You're actively falling asleep as we speak. I'm good. You rest. I want to read some more, anyway," you insist blithely, dusting off your pants and walking back to your previous spot.

Ellie merely mumbles a response, her head already drooping. She falls into a brisk, fitful slumber, so tenuous that the snap of a twig could send her lurching. For once, she does not dream. Visions of terror did not cleave her conscious or beat her breathless. She saw only the flicker of light through her eyelids, and the quiet fragility of her own mind.

Until a faint meow has her bursting out of her slouch, eyes darting frantically around the clearing.

The black cat has her uninjured paw primly resting on Ellie's thigh, peering up at her expectantly with eery, incandescent eyes. Upon her attention, she nimbly removes her paw and demandingly rubs her head against her leg instead, another tinny meow ringing out of her.

"She's back. And I think she wants to lay with you," you explain humorously over the pages of your book— now nearly finished.

"Oh?" She replies in bewilderment, as the cat spins and pads her feet a couple of times before nestling into her side, resting her head on her dark paws.

"Can I come lay with you?" You murmur sleepily, casting fleeting, cautious looks at her as you stow your book away. As if already bracing for the sting of her rejection.

Ellie's heart throbs perniciously in her throat; she swallows in trepidation, sweat gathering on her palms. "Yeah. Yeah, of course," she forces out, wiping them on her jeans, straightening. Even after viewing your body after dark and eating your pussy, you make her nervous as fuck.

Even more so now that she knows how good you taste. And how perfect you are. Now she's burdened the knowledge that she cradles something precious in her hands, and she could unintentionally destroy it.

"I added some wood to the fire," you announce wearily, words punctuated by tiny, bursting yawns, as you adjust your oversized corduroy jacket around your shoulders and clamber over to her, a sheepish smile transforming your fatigue-dulled face.

"Come here," Ellie finds herself muttering, mimicking your exhaustion, spreading her legs and gesturing to the grass-cushioned ground beneath her. The cat still pressed into her, undeterred by her shifting.

You crawl delicately into the space between her legs, smiling through the yawn splitting your face, drawing a yawn out of Ellie, too. "Want me to keep watch again? You need to sleep some more," you say, reclining back against her chest and comfortably situating yourself, humming richly in unsuppressed delight.

Ellie wraps her arms around your shoulders, steering you back into her embrace, resting her chin on your mussed head. The affection should not come so naturally; she should not instinctively reach for you. It's not good.

Not fucking good at all.

"No," she whispers navally into your ear, eyeing the blazing fire through the tendrils of your unbound hair, that gleam with the dwindling light. "You sleep. You didn't sleep at all last night."

You tense fragmentarily in her grasp, muscles tightening under her arms. You hesitate, before craning your head back to face her, eyes searching. "You didn't either..." you whisper heedfully, lifting a hand and resting it on her forearm, stroking soothingly.

She had suspected you heard her cries last night. Instead of the confirmation making her feel ashamed, she felt... free. You saw the depths of her despair turn inside out and you did not cower at the hideous, wretched pain she unleashed.

"I never do," she replies baldly, swaying you gently, mouth hovering near the crest of your ear. Your thumbs tenderly caress the scars garnishing her arm, your eyes fluttering blissfully, your body sinking into her warmth. "Just sleep."

The lack of resistance proves just how desperately you needed it. You are whisked into a precipitated, fragile sleep, your breathing light and measured, your frame tucked up and slumped into her chest.

Her mind wanders only briefly to the violence lurking in its dark crevices, as she watches dense tendrils of smoke arise from the tamed fire, whirling and cascading toward the abrasive, glistening night sky, polluting her view of the stars.

She fantasizes of a smoldering house; a massive fire roaring from its pits, erupting in rippling flames that smolder the caving ceiling and dissolve the weak floorboards. She imagines the sear of blistering skin and the melting screams of anguish, of those who had incinerated her heart. She envisions all the relics and archives of her past being licked up by the fire and consumed by the glaring, ravenous heat.

Then she glances down at you, your blank, unconscious face illuminated by the flickering, dim orange glow. Something inside her softens, and she knows, grievously, that she has become malleable and pliant under your molding hands.

She stares at the slumbering, unbothered cat before returning her gaze back to you.

All of her hatred seems an afterthought to what she had right in front of her.

• • •

YOU

Blood pools on the fractured pavement. Firefly laps at it ravenously, her whiskers tinged crimson. "That's disgusting," you scowl disapprovingly, snatching her off the ground. She hisses in protest, clawing aimlessly at your sleeve, eyes crazed with hunger. You tap her bloodied nose reproachfully. "Bad."

She nips at your finger and you relent with a hearty sigh, placing her back on the ground. She skitters behind the rotting carcass of a clicker, it's head blown off in odious, blossoming cordyceps, pulsating dimly in a puddle of venomous blood. It's the first of hundreds.

You lift your head and examine the carnage that laid, revoltingly and obscenely, before your squinting eyes. Dozens upon dozens of butchered infected— cleaved into indistinguishable bits, sputtering blood, gushing decayed organs and crumpled flesh— piled in the lush street.

"What the fuck happened here?" Ellie drawls with a surprising amount of disgust, eyebrows furrowed as she ascended from her crouch, kneading a clump of clotted blood between her fingers.

You gulp down the thick lump of trepidation bulging in your throat, fretfully shaking the tremor out of your hands. "Don't know. It's gnarly, though," you respond, fighting the wobble out of your tone.

Truthfully, you recognize this distinctive gore.

After your parents tore each other to bits, Zander adopted a newfound disdain for infected. Before, he humanized the restless, ungovernable creatures— sympathized with their fucked up fate, to be killed and morphed into a monster.

But after the accident, he hated them. He found impressively disturbing ways to terminate them. Eventually he founded a signature method; to slice them into pieces as your parents had done, unbidden and under the influence of the infections debilitating madness.

This was him. You know, in the deepest caverns of your soul where your joint grief was stored, that this was his doing.

Not to mention the ragged Z carved into the blistered, yellowing flesh of one of the dead runners. You kick it's gnarled, unseemly body over to hide the exhibiting brand from Ellie, curling your lip with rehearsed repulsion. "Gross," you whisper, though internally, relief swarms your nerves, cacooning your apprehension in a warm blanket.

He is alive.

And the mark signifies that he is leaving signs for you to find.

"I'm just mad they beat me to it," Ellie complains under her breath, glowering at the expanse of cadavers cloaking the broken road. She tips your chin up, extracting your lingering gaze from the reeking bodies. "You good?"

You brush her off with a forced, invigorated smile. "Yep!" you chirp, nodding robustly, side-stepping a clicker. "At least we don't have to deal with all of them. Whoever did it, we should thank. Saved us some ammo," you craft your words meticulously as not to unearth your burrowed truth.

Ellie studies you a moment before dropping her hand. "True," she eventually yields, eyes wandering to Firefly, who was attacking a cord of muscle that protruded from the gaping stomach of a dead clicker, gnawing at the tough tissue. "Get your batshit cat. We're losing daylight."

"She's a perfectly normal cat," you retort, though your rebuttal is contradicted by the face you make. You grimace as she swats at a springing cordycep, growling ferociously. "Firefly! Stop that!" You shout, snapping your fingers.

Her ears twitch, head lurching up, green eyes wide. She is deathly still. You snap again, and she darts after Ellie skittishly, following her lead.

You chance another look at the wreckage, toying with the gold wedding band dangling from your throat. It was your mother's. Zander wore your fathers matching one around his neck. You usually kept yours stowed in the pits of your backpack, but you needed that touch of home.

Ellie had lifted your hair and gently latched it around you without questions asked, a hint of understanding in her eyes. You were grateful for her silence in that moment. Usually it unnerved you when she didn't speak. But in that moment it felt like a gift as opposed to a punishment.

"Where are we heading?" You question plainly, tucking the wedding band under your shirt, the memories a wild, unleashed zoo animal, tranquilized and thrown back into its enclosure. The ring is damp with your incessant, sweaty fidgeting.

"There's a place up ahead I like to go. Thought we could rest there for the night," she replies vaguely, glancing furtively at you, then the cat, her lip curling. "I still can't believe you named that thing Firefly."

"It's a cute name," you grumble back, sweeping your sweat-glistening hair off your neck and fanning the hot skin. "You could've come up with something too, you know."

This morning, you had awoken in Ellie's arms, jovial and recharged. For the first time in months, you had an uninterrupted, rejuvenating sleep, one that added a spring to your step and an effortlessness to your trekking. The cat was curled snugly in your lap, her affectionate purrs vibrating against your legs.

Ellie was stiff-necked and ill-tempered for the better half of the day, massaging the tension out of her shoulders and grumbling her responses.

"What should we name her?" You had asked, sprawled on your back, hefting the cat into the air as if she were a wailing baby in desperate need of motion and entertainment.

"Dramatic?" Ellie had quipped dully, and you rolled your eyes skyward.

"What about... oh!" You jerked upright in excitement, still cradling the cat in your arms. "Firefly."

An indecipherable emotion passed over her, tension lining the contours of her face. A hint of contempt glimmered in her eyes, and it felt like she was glaring down her nose at you, judging you like God weigh's pupils of sin, even as she sat at your eye-level. "Don't tell me you believe in that Firefly bullshit, too?"

Her reaction both intrigued and befuddled you. You possessed minimal knowledge on the Fireflies beyond the basics— that they were a reformed militia group that was majorly massacred by a man, who resulted in the death of Abby's father— and that she recruited a few friends to go after said man.

And someone was hunting them down for his murder. You had lost Nora and Jordan to the spiteful hands of his avenger; which is the only bright side to being excluded and shunned from Abby's circle— you were not involved in the man's murder, meaning you will not be involved in whatever vengeance they earned themselves.

Every now and then, back at the base, they get a few former Fireflie's filing in to join the Wolve's. Isaac— the focal overseer and governor of the WLF— was wary of stragglers that claimed past allegiances to the Fireflies, but welcomed them anyway, if they guaranteed to defend the base and protect his established citizens, as you and Zander pledged to do.

"No. Not at all. All of those stupid groups are bullshit," you agreed ardently, shaking your head in aversion, stroking Firefly's tummy. "I meant the actual insect, fireflie's. I just think they are so pretty at night. And I swear I could see the moon reflecting off her. Just seemed fitting."

Ellie had paused the sharpening of her blade. She analyzed you in the dewy, clouded sunlight, combating the interest off her face. But it flashed too late for her to conceal; her eyes lit up. "What other groups do you know about?" She asked carefully.

You shrugged, feigning indifference. "Like the Seraphites," you hummed, finger-combing Firefly's shiny black coat. "And I've seen another group around here. But I think they were just travelers."

Ellie said nothing, resuming her survey of her switchblade. She polished it with a tattered cloth and studied it, and that was that, the subject abandoned.

Now, Ellie snorts, peeling back a looming, overgrown branch to allow you passage. "Nah. That's your cat." She says as you saunter by, even as the cat pads after her, nose tipped to the air, breathing in the sent of damp soil, heady rot and the faint, sweet traces of a budding spring.

You trudge along the rocky, uneven path, bricks and shattered molasses-brown beer bottles specking the dirt, holding hope tight to your chest.

After stumbling upon Zander's mess, all the worry you harbored for your brother had ebbed away. He's alive. You hope the others are, too.

Even if you are not amicable with a large number of his group, a couple of them treated you fairly. Whitney was the closest thing to a friend you had there; she always tracked you down in the mess hall and shared her lunch. She even alternated her watch-shifts with Manny to join you on yours when she could, and shared her access card to the armory to practice shooting with you.

When you had first arrived, you scarcely knew how to use anything beyond a hand-gun. She trained you on a variety of firearms when your free time corresponded; you owe the new capabilities that kept you alive on this expedition to Whitney. She was the only one who never made you feel bad about it. She simply demonstrated for you without comment or judgement.

You hope whoever was sent to retrieve you— if anyone at all— was safe. Though, considering that Isaac didn't even send out a search party for Owen when he went missing, you doubt that he would gamble the life of his prized soldiers just to find a meaningless girl who was bullied and deluded out of his faction.

Clearly it did not stop Zander from looking for you, if the mutilated bodies of those infected were any indication. It could not be a coincidence. You know it was him. You just know it.

A strange part of you just hopes he doesn't find you yet. You have an intuitive, twisting suspicion churning in your gut, that this tenuous thing between you and Ellie will snap if anyone, or anything disrupts it.

You have a feeling that in finding him, you'll lose her. And you don't know what that means. You don't know where you're supposed to go from here; but you know that you can't just let her go.

With that, you saunter up to Ellie and flash her a winning, mindless smile, slithering your hand snugly into her back pocket. She tugs you flush into her side with a finger curled in your belt loop, and you stumble into her with a stunned laugh, Firelfy at your heels. You wish things could stay this easy.

You look at her and find strength beyond what had been forced upon you— a strength to fight for a better future.

• • •

Tangled, warm white Christmas lights dimly illuminate the abandoned teen-girls bedroom. Peeling posters are plastered to the walls, fraying with age and weathered by earth's course battering. A threadbare beanbag chair collected dust in the corner, the once vibrant purple now grimy and muted with time. Cobwebs edge the corners of the room in a luminous sprawl, their thick tendrils sparkling under the light.

You could see why Ellie found comfort in this place.

A black rack of CD's lined the desk, where the residue of ripped and prodded band stickers marred the refined oak. A thick coating of dust blanketed the surface. Your eyes flicker from the impressive album collection to the hot-pink poster board taped haphazardly to the closet with leopard print duct tape. Emboldened words scrawled in bright marker and glitter gel pens jut out in bubbled letters— MAISIE'S SUMMER BUCKET LIST 2003!

You avert your attention back to the desk, and the stack of mussed, tattered sketchbooks. The black covers are stained with charcoal and splotches of solidified paint, pages scattered. You rummage through one idly, thumbing through the doodles that range from gleaming sunrises to descriptive depictions of infected in a variety of stages, flowers blooming from their skulls instead of cordyceps.

You hum, grazing your pinkie over the elaborate drawings. "Have you seen these? They're..." you trail off in bewilderment when you glance up at what had captured Ellie's attention.

The dead body of a fallen solider.

Ripped camo dangled in tattered strips from the skeletal frame slumped against the unhinged door. It's jaw was missing, baring decaying teeth. Flies rattled in its hollow skull and buzzed busily about its frame. Ellie crouches and examines the chain enveloping it's neck. "They were a firefly," she informs you bleakly from over her shoulder, smoothing a thumb over the raised design etched into the pendant.

She rips it off it's neck sharply, and an involuntary screech bursts out of you when the head rolls off the body with a sickening crunch, thudding to the floor, sending up a cloud of dust. Ellie watched it fall with disinterest, holding the necklace up to you. "We should put it on your cat," she says, glaring pointedly at Firefly, who nestled herself into the bean bag and chewed on something dead she scoured, tail waving lethargically.

"Go ahead. I'd wait until she's done eating, though, or else she might maul you."

She releases a long-suffering sigh but ascends from her crouch, jingling the pendant tauntingly in your face, eyebrows raised. You laugh as she pursues Firefly with rightful caution. Her deliberate movements do not stop the cat from freezing and glowering at her, dark fur elevating.

"It's okay," Ellie drawls with no conviction. "Relax, dude."

Firefly makes to dart away, but Ellie swiftly wrestles her into her arms, holding her firm, as she hisses and screams in protest, squirming. "Come here, little devil," she grunts out harshly, sloppily clipping the pendant around her neck. Firefly swats violently, nicking her with a razor-sharp claw.

Ellie relinquishes her grip and Firefly wastes no time scrambling away, scurrying under the half-dilapidated bed. Her brilliant green eyes flare with menace from the shadows, narrowed at her.

"The shit I do for you," Ellie clicks her tongue and brandishes the furious scratch that superficially sliced her arm.

You ignore the jest. "Should we get rid of... of..." you stutter, gesturing at the body apprehensively, shifting from foot to foot. "That?"

Ellie nods, and you follow her to where it's rotting. She carelessly scoops up the skull and chucks it out of the gaping hole in the wall, before bracing her hands on the remnants of its body, leveling you with a look. You scramble to aid her, mustering a confirming nod back.

With joint effort, you shove it over the edge of the building. You peer over the jutted lip of the bedroom; numerous stories stretched between you and the pavement. Mist gathers in a dense, ominous cloud, shielding your view of the ground below. The bones clatter and deconstruct until they're engulfed by the haze. You were so far up, you couldn't hear them break against the earth.

You glance at Ellie to find her already observing you.

"What?"

She simply shrugs and rises, dusting the loitering essence of death off her hands, changing the topic with a fluidity that came with her consistent avoidance. "We can either try to fix that bed or sleep on the floor. Take your pick."

"I don't think Firefly would appreciate it if we took away her hiding spot," you quip, and it was settled.

The day was not yet done, but you set up camp regardless. Both of you maneuver in a pleasant silence as you unbundle your sleeping bags and roll them over the stained, carpeted floor. Ellie positions hers a whopping ten feet away from yours, the distance nearly offensive. "What are you doing?" You ask in disbelief, pausing your bed-making to gawk at her, open-mouthed.

"What?" She snaps in alarm, glancing around, looking for tangible evidence of her misdeed.

You point at her bed roll incredulously. "Why are you so far from me?"

She tenses and flicks her gaze away, her bag sliding off her shoulder and to the floor with a hefty thud. "I didn't want to assume you'd want to sleep by me."

You blink fervently. "Ellie."

She watches uncertainly as you punctuate her name and drag her sleeping bag next to yours, until they're close to overlapping. "You literally had your tongue inside of me. Stop being weird all of a sudden."

She visibly reddens, a vicious blush blotching her cheeks. You open your mouth to continue, adrenaline coursing through your veins, when she charges at you and cups a silencing hand over your mouth, a pained smirk tugging at her lips. "Just stop!" She hisses, her lips a wobbling line as she resists a grin of her own.

You chuckle and stumble back, licking her palm. She blanches and releases you, wiping her spit-damp hand on her jeans, her sudden movement sending you plummeting to the floor. You drag her down with you, your breathy laughs mingling as you collapse in a tangle of limbs onto the sea of slippery blankets.

You both burst into another fit of laughter when Firefly growls at all the commotion. She pads out into the foyer, swaying her tail with sass.

"Do you ever shut up?" Ellie mutters lowly, laughter clinging onto every lulled syllable, as she props herself on an elbow and gazes down at you, running a finger over your bottom lip.

You smile, and she traces the shape of it.

"Do you want me to?" You whisper humorously, and her thumb joins her finger in its exploration of the curves of your face, stroking your cheek with an unlikely tenderness that had the power to undo you.

"Never," she mumbles back, applying a chaste, shapeless kiss to the corner of your mouth. It's not enough. She deigns to pull away but you sling an arm over the back of her neck and hold her in place, lips seeking hers with repressed fervor.

She groans into your mouth, the decadent sound rumbling through you, alighting a glimmering need within. You increase the speed and intensity of the kiss— her noises an invitation for more— and propel yourself up with a hand plastered unsteadily to the floor, combing your fingers through her hair with the other.

Her hand rests on your throat, the pressure existent but not imposing, as she guides you into a languorous dance with your tongues. You buck your hips up to sate the craving for pressure and she slips a hand down to your waist, guiding you up and into her.

"I want you for real this time," she blurts breathlessly, words blasting into your tingling, swollen lips. Her eyes are teeming with earnest, pupils so dilated with lechery, they reflect you, doe-eyed and wanting. "No interruptions. I don't fucking care what it is... I'm not going to stop." She utters the words with quivering determination, fumbling with the button of your jeans.

You desperately nod your assent, arching up to assist her in removing your jeans. She brushes fluttery kisses to your exposed midriff where your tank top had ridden up, hurriedly tugging your jeans down, until they pooled at your ankles. She shucks them over your cowboy boots and hurls them to the side.

Your heart hammers with anticipation, core throbbing at the sight of her absolutely unraveled with yearning. Ever since that night in the hospital, you've wanted more. Needed more. You were just as fucked up by your need for her. It consumed you, ate you from the inside out, until all that was left was a thirst that could not be quenched without her hands on you.

"Fuck me, Ellie," you demand hoarsely, winding your hands up her thighs and shakily unbuttoning her jeans as she looms over you. She arches back and unabashedly shreds off her shirt as you hike down her jeans, unveiling small, supple breasts and hard, tantalizing nipples.

You kiss up her pelvis, across her toned, bruised abdomen and to her sternum, licking a slow stripe over one of her nipples and swirling it on your way up, eyes trained on hers lasciviously. You nip and suckle at a spot on her neck and she cranes her head back, hiccuping a sharp cry. She pants and lulls her head as you kiss and nibble the bared column of her throat, her hands roaming up the front of your body, palming your tits through your shirt.

She lifts herself off of you momentarily to kick off her jeans over her Converse, discarding them quickly, before she's back on top of you.

She's framed by the dying daylight penetrating the gaping hole behind her, her eyes flickering over you hungrily. She glides her hands under the hem of your tank top and yanks it over your head, tousling your hair, rejected with all the other articles of scattered clothing.

She pries your legs apart forcefully, and you squeak, as she pulls you closer to her. "How do you want it?" She croons gravelly, voice rich with heady desire, eyes honed in on your face with predatory focus. As if she could take every hint of pleasure you show and have it for herself. She straddles your pelvis and slowly, faintly swipes her pussy over yours, your clit throbbing at the contact. "Like this?"

She cradles your leg in her arm and drags her pussy across yours again, this time with more force. You bite your lip to suppress a whimper at the delicious sensation. "Or do you want me to really fuck you?" She thrusts against you hard for emphasis and you choke back a stunned moan, jerking.

"Yes," you breathe carnally, hair fanning around your head, mouth agape— all subtly gone with the wind that billowed through the room and cooled your slick skin.

"Yes, what? Use your words," she demands, hand encasing your throat, rocking into you with that same jarring force, another moan escaping you.

"Fuck me," you pant, nearly drooling, the husk of her words a fuel to the kindling that was her pussy moving against yours, "Please just fuck me. I need you, Ellie."

She smirks haughtily, wicked satisfaction gleaming in her blue eyes. "That's my girl," she praises knowingly, leaning down until her mouth brushes your panties. She sinks her teeth into them and tears them straight off your body, her hand never abandoning its anchoring hold on your throat. The movement was so effortless you could feel yourself dripping, the duality of this woman stupefying you.

How she could go from awkward at your flirting, to claiming your body as if it were a land she possessed and ruled in the matter of minutes.

You whimper unintelligible nonsense, unable to form coherent words to convey your debilitating need. Wanting her feels as natural and essential as breathing. Explaining it is nowhere near as simple.

She removes herself from you just to slide her own panties off, repositioning herself between your legs, holding your leg to her chest. She offers no warning before she grinds her bare, wet pussy into yours, the skin on skin making tingles of pleasure erupt through your core.

It was nearly too much.

You emit a shuddering moan and arch your back as she returns her calloused hand to your throat and slams into you, rolling her hips, your clits rubbing and chafing. "That's it. Fuck," she hisses out, her tattooed arm stark against your thigh as she hoists it to her, using it to drive into you with fierce precision, your pussy's slapping together stickily.

"Oh my fucking god," you mewl dumbly, tits bouncing, as she angles her hips and relentlessly drives her pelvis into yours, her breaths clipped and high-pitched. You undulate your hips and grind up into her, meeting the ferocity of her thrusts, your juices coinciding and glistening on your thighs. "Ellie."

"Fuck, yeah," she pants blissfully, peering down at you. "You feel so good."

She leans over you, slapping a hand next to your head, folding your leg up to your chest, the position allowing for better movement. She grinds into you from the new angle, your clits gliding and throbbing, and you feel yourself ascending higher and higher, toward that peak you nearly met the other night, at the hospital.

She fucks you nearly senseless, your frame wracking with her thrusts. She burrows her face into the crook of your neck, hot breath ghosting your skin, tiny grunts departing her lips. She grazes her teeth over the flesh and you shudder, her hand that was planted to the floor snaking up and finding yours, interlocking your fingers.

"I'm gonna cum," you whimper into her mussed hair, writhing beneath her, choppily grinding up, your muscles tight. You use the hand that's not intertwined with hers to fist her hair and reer her head back, until your faces are level, gazes locked. Both of you are heavy-lidded and pupil-blown, her eyes brimming with that same pleasure that was mounting in you.

"Cum with me," she orders breathily, your noses compressing, and on demand your body convulses and a blinding white light shreds through your vision, an uncontrolled moan belting out of you as she continues to fuck you through your orgasm.

"Fuck," she groans without restraint as your pussy's squelch, a cry leaving her as she reaches her own peak, her eyebrows furrowed, a dimple surfacing between her brow. She breathes into your open mouth, and you claim it as your own, granting her fleeting kisses through the aftermath.

Not a single thought filters through your head. Nothing beyond her drenched pussy, resting dormant upon your slick thigh, and her lips eloping with yours. You don't even know where to begin when it comes to processing the unprecedented feeling that roared throughout your body, or the swelling off your heart.

Neither of you say a word, your harsh, heavy breathing mingled and protruding the silence. Ellie peels herself off of you, her legs shaking as she thuds to the sleeping bag adjacent to you, her damp forehead pressed into your bare shoulder. She peppers a few kisses over it before falling back, expelling a deep, contented sigh.

You angle your head to face her, a dazed grin splitting your face. "What. The. Fuck. You've been holding out on me," you muse dreamily, playfully swatting at her.

She snickers huskily, scratching her head, propping it on an elbow. Her bare chest glistens and heaves with her labored breaths, as she reaches under the broken bed and slips out a shoebox. She dumps the contents out on her abdomen— a packet of finely minced weed, rolling sheets, a mini box of matches and one pre-rolled joint. "You smoke?"

"I have. Don't do it much though," you admit with a sheepish chuckle, watching her. She licks the length of the joint to insure its sealed before slipping it between her lips and lighting a match, bringing it to the tip. She waves out the tiny flame once smoke billows from the end, taking a measured, steady drawl.

She closes her eyes briefly at the sensation before passing it to you. Her lips quirk as you survey it dubiously before holding it hesitantly to your mouth, sucking in. Her smirk morphs into a resounding laugh when you sputter out a choppy haze of smoke, a profound burn blistering your lungs.

"That shits gross," you cough gutturally, passing it back, batting the swirling smoke out of the air. "You keep that stuff here?"

"No," she responds, smirking, inhaling another graceful heap of smoke. Exhaling slowly. You watch her watch the tendrils churn through the otherwise still air. "It was here when I found this place. Whoever lived here before was stashing it," she glances to the summer bucket list, "Maisie was a stone-er." She chides, flicking the ashes off and taking another hit.

She is noticeably put at ease. Her muscles are relaxed, and her smiles form innately and without dictation. As if all her worries have been laid to rest, now that she got to feel you.

It had the opposite affect on you.

The dark, possessive thoughts that have been circulating your mind like vultures preying on rotting roadkill did not flea at the taste of her.

All it did was amplify your morbid longing.

You snuggle into her embrace and rest your head against her drumming sternum, entangling your sweat-glowing legs together, fusing your bodies. She holds the joint to your lips and you take a drag, careful not to invoke another coughing fit, and she takes one after you, blowing precise, opaque O's with the smoke. She gently runs her fingertips up and down the length of your arm, clutching you to her.

"Can we do it again?" You blurt, angling your head up to face her, and she pauses her stroking. She says nothing as her hand winds down your arm, coasts over your hip, and creeps between your legs.

You suck in a breath when two fingers collect the wetness pooling at your entrance and drag your slick to your clit, rubbing delicately, the feather-light application of pressure evoking a whimper out of you. You squirm and rock into her hand, and she chuckles on a weed-laced breath, "Mm. You want me to fuck you again?"

You nod frantically as she works your pussy with her fingers. She sits up suddenly, taking you with her, until your spread in her lap. She holds the joint between her lips as she uses one hand to palm your breast and the other to expertly thumb your clit, smoke coiling from her nostrils. "Needy fucking girl," her approving groan is muffled by the joint, as she inches her fingers down your wet folds, teasing your entrance. "You want my fingers again?"

"Please," you whine, as reeking smoke tickles your earlobe and wafts into your face, the hand that wasn't easing fingers into your cunt slithering down to keep one of your legs spread, curling around your thigh, kneading and caressing, the joint between her massaging fingers.

You reach back to feather your fingers through her hair, riding her hand, breathy gasps escaping your lips. "Mhm. Good girl," she praises gravelly into your ear, curling her digits inside of you, stroking that sweet spot.

You tug helplessly on her hair and crash your head back onto her shoulder, arching desperately as she makes you cum for the second time, this time drenching her rough fingers.

She doesn't stop there. She maneuvers you out of her lap and sprawls you onto the bed roll, your legs spread, pussy gleaming and sated before her devouring eyes. She braces your thighs in her arms, takes a hit, and exhales onto your clenching pussy, the faint gust stimulating your throbbing clit. You moan and attempt to inch away, but she pins you down and eats you stupid, until her chin is dribbling with your juices, her sardonic smile highlighted by the cum glistening on her lips.

After she was done, she unburried herself from your legs and licked the juices off her lips, eyeing you sensually. She acted as if she were about to go right back down, when Firefly began scratching at the door insistently, meowing manically. Both of you redressed, hefting your tops and underwear back on.

You let the cat in and enveloped yourself in the near-translucent, cotton sheets, observing her as she tiptoes in, sniffing the air. She follows the scent to the crumpled joint on the floor, nosing it curiously. Ellie clicks her tongue in reprimand and tosses it over the side of the building before she tries to eat it. The last thing you needed was a high cat.

After discarding the joint, Ellie plops down on the hazardous edge, swinging her legs. She looks at you from over her bruised shoulder. "Come on," she urges, patting the space next to her.

You oblige, the sheet trailing you as you wander over to her. She takes your hand as you gingerly lower yourself beside her, effortfully prying your gaze from the dizzying height.

The mist had cleared with the days dissipating humidity, revealing the enchanting sweep of ocean that spread before you, dark waves emphasizing the curve of the earth. The sun gleams amber like a glass of whiskey caught in the light, painting the clouds a mass of colors, descending toward the seam of sky and sea.

You avert your attention back to Ellie. Her eyes are sealed, brown lashes fluttering with the breeze, tawny hair cascading with the salt-tinged wind. Her freckles are emphasized by the golden, showering glow, gilding her features. You sit on your hands to keep yourself from tracing them.

Firefly inches over, perching next to you, her green eyes mirroring the setting sun. You close your eyes and drop your head onto Ellie's shoulder, wrapping the sheet around her.

There's a prolonged beat.

And then she tilts her head and rests it on yours, hand gripping your thigh proprietarily. You don't even hesitate. You slide your hand over hers and stroke the bruises blossoming on her knuckles, smiling to yourself.

taglist: @elliesexual @jottedinklings @a-little-bit-of-everybody … let me know if you want to be tagged for updates

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liquidstar · 10 months

Text

adventure time was a fun show to watch growing up but like in retrospect they really made the fern plotline as fucked up as possible. and i know the series had a lot of dark stuff bubbling underneath the whole adventure show for kids thing (i mean it literally takes place after a nuclear war) but like seriously what the fuck did they do all that shit to fern for man

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captainfern · 9 months

Note

me, patiently waiting for any marigold updates because i can’t get enough of dbf!price: :3c

(in all seriousness tho i love your work so much you have converted me into a price slut and i am eternally grateful)

(live laugh love barry sloane)

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Marigold pt. 4

dbf!Captain John Price x fem!reader

[“Marigold” by Nirvana]

[18+]

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• summary - price is deployed for over four months. photos and phone calls aren’t enough. when he gets home, you fuck lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 6.5k • warnings - fem!reader, dad’sbestfriend!price, established relationship?, age gap [whatever you want it to be as long as it's legal lmao], exchange of explicit photographs, phone sex, mutual masturbation through the phoneeeee, unprotected piv, oral [f!receiving], fingering, praise, light degradation, a sprinkle of dacryphilia, breeding kink [yk fern be serious when it's in bold], creampies, strong language, fluffy at the end, porn with a bit of plot i guess, um... i think that's it omfg i need to take a breath after typing this

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the longer dbf!price fic i told you all i'd write

*rings little bell* dinner is served whores

Deployment was never easy for Price. Even when he didn't have anyone waiting at home for him, leaving the safety of what was familiar to him was stressful enough. He never showed it, though. He had a taskforce to captain. He couldn't afford to get homesick during missions of life and death.

But now...

Now, things were different.

He had you waiting for him. Sure, you weren't waiting for him in the sanctuary of his home— like he wanted you too— but you were still waiting for him.

So this deployment was especially hard for Price. The night before he left, he popped around to your house to say goodbye to your dad. They talked for a while as you listened in from the top of the stairs. When it was time for Price to leave, he stood at the bottom with his arm resting along the bannister, looking up at you.

"Say bye to Price, honey." Your dad said.

"Bye, Price. Stay safe." You said politely, your dad smiling gently at you.

Price's jaw ticked before he nodded in return. "Thanks."

He wanted nothing more for you to bound down the stairs and launch yourself into his arms. He wanted to hold you tight to him as you whispered in his ear. He wanted to litter your face in kisses and run his hands along your back and arse. He wanted to mutter into your ear, telling you he'll be back to you in no time. Back to you.

Instead, he turned on his heel, your dad offering him a hearty slap on the back as he walked Price onto the front porch. You watched them go, your heart in your throat. Your eyes stung with tears, chest beginning to heave. So, before the emotions could bubble to the surface, you retreated into your bedroom in search of sleep.

You didn't see Price look over his shoulder in search of you.

•º•

Price texted you when he could. Which, to your dismay, was not a lot.

A couple times every week, maybe, if service was good. Most of the time, it was a short burst of conversation. A couple of exchanged words before he was back into the thick of his mission. Even more common, he'd text you a huge paragraph before he went dark for several days, leaving you to reread the heart-warming message over and over again with tears in your vision.

A month passed like this.

During this time, the mission was critical for Price, so you understood why his attention was elsewhere. But, after about six days of anxiously waiting for a text, you got one.

————Hey, sweetheart. How've you been? alright. work sucks as usual. how are you?———— ————Not bad. I miss you. i miss you too. oh my god don't make me cry————

You managed to talk a bit more, before he was gone. With a simple goodbye, and a couple of x's, no more messages came through. You found yourself rereading the conversation over and over again, your stomach knotted with anxiety.

You lay back in bed, snuggling beneath your blankets. It was late, and you had work in the morning, but you doubt you'd be getting much sleep. Your stomach was a swirl of nerves, and sadness continued to simmer in the back of your mind.

You grabbed hold of the neckline of the tee you were wearing, bringing it up to your face and inhaling deeply. It smelt like Price. Your favourite cologne of his, too— all rich and masculine, with a hint of cigar smoke. You whined into the shirt.

You missed him so much.

•º•

Another entire month passed.

Price was on edge, too.

The 141 boys had noticed it. Price was a bit shorter and snappier with them. He smoked an extra cigar each day, too, and would smoke it right to it's last dying embers.

He was still doing his job really well— as soon as they were out on the field, Price let nothing distract him. But, in the solace of a safe house, or other place away from the fighting and shooting, Price's emotions were altered. He found himself checking his phone, despite having absolutely no reception where they were. He spent hours before missions checking, and re-checking the equipment, muttering meticulously to himself.

Gaz tried to ask what had Price so worked up. Price dismissed him, stating it was nothing. Gaz wasn't convinced, but didn't want to get in Price's way. Soap poked fun at his captain, but that didn't last long after a scolding from both Price and Ghost. Ghost would give Price a look when the captain would check his phone for the umpteenth time that morning.

"Something on your mind, captain?" Ghost asked.

Price shook his head. "Nothing, mate."

He was a goddamn liar.

He pulled out his phone again, opening your messages. It had been two weeks since your last conversation. You had been the one to sign off. The time differences were not helpful.

————ok, talk to you later :) stay safe! miss you x

He felt his throat go tight.

Fuck.

He missed you so much.

•º•

Two more months ticked past.

Four months since he'd left.

It was absolute torture for both you and Price.

Luckily, Price and the 141 found themselves hunkering down in an area with reception. Price was ecstatic when he saw those bars appear in the top left corner of his phone screen. Throughout the entire day, he felt as though his phone was burning a hole through his pocket. He was itching to text you. To talk to you.

It was like a shadow, looming over him— the temptation of stepping aside and pulling out his phone so that he could text you.

He wanted to tell you that he was alright, and that he'd be home soon. He and the boys were safe. More importantly, he wanted to know if you were safe— how were you? How was everything at home? At work? What had you been up too? Where have you been recently?

By the time the 141 reached the next safe house for rest, it was late at night. Pitch-black, the taskforce dragged themselves into the house and separated almost immediately, chasing sleep while fending off exhaustion long enough to find a bed or couch. Price found himself across the house, tucked away in one of the rooms as he pulled his phone from his pocket while he kicked off his shoes and prepared to get into bed.

Immediately, his phone screen lit up with numerous text messages from you. He smiled wide, his heart soaring. With a trembling hand, he opened the messages, his heart beating excitedly against his ribcage. The thought of you made his heart race.

————captainnnnn i miss you so much ––––four months is too long i'm going insane ––––i miss you more than anything

Price chewed on his bottom lip, clearing his throat as sadness swelled there. He turned off his phone and blinked into the darkness for a moment, before switching it back on. There was a break in the messages by about an hour, Price noticed.

————fuck price i need you ————open this alone [image] x3

His smile dropped at the most recent text messages, sent just seconds ago. He blinked at the three photos, his mouth dropping open in shock. The shock was quickly replaced by need as his cock hardened in his trousers and he let out a low groan.

You fucking tease.

The first photo was a selfie of you from the waist up— you were wearing his t-shirt, which pooled around you. You were propped up in bed, face shiny with moisturiser, skin dewey with the aftereffects of being fresh out the shower. It was tame, but your nipples showing clearly through the cotton of the shirt made Price's eyebrows quirk in intrigue. A smirk settled on his face, and he spent a good five minutes just looking at your pretty features.

When he swiped to the next photo, he muttered a "fucking hell" out loud. A mirror selfie, with that floor-length mirror you had in your room. You were twisted half away from the camera, with your arse to the mirror and your upper torso towards the side. You wore a tiny fucking thong, the curve of your arse on full display, making Price release a shaky breath. You still wore his shirt, too, but hoisted it up with your free hand, exposing your abdomen and a small sliver of skin from your tits.

Price hands shook as he reluctantly swiped to the next one, his cock painfully hard in his cargos. He quickly unbuckled his belt with his freehand as the last photograph illuminated the screen.

"Christ." Price hissed, dipping his hand into his boxers and pulling his cock out.

You, wearing absolutely fucking nothing, standing in front of your mirror in such a way that Price groaned into the air, tossing his head back. You looked so good, so fucking good. Your bare legs, your hips and thighs, your tummy and waist, your tits. Fuck, you looked so pretty.

He gripped his cock firmly, hissing out a breath, eyes taking in every inch of your body. He quickly spat into his palm, before stroking himself, paying careful attention to the underside of his tip, just like you would.

He groaned lowly, careful not to disturb the rest of the task force across the house. Teeth biting into his bottom lip, he fucked his fist in the darkness, his phone screen illuminating his face in a soft white glow. Your photo on screen, he could imagine the hot suction of your mouth on his cock— the purposeful movements of your tongue along the one prominent vein running up the lefthand side; the cheeky skim of your teeth when you pressed your nose into his hair, tip of his cock at the back of your throat.

"Fuck, pretty girl—" He whispered, dark hooded eyes on his phone, his thumb flicking between each photo.

He could imagine more, too. The tight, wet grip of your cunt around his cock, taking more and more. He choked on a low moan at the thought. Your pretty cunt— always dripping for him, soaking your best underwear as you rode his thigh; the tight heat as you rode his cock, tip slamming into your cervix with soft wet sounds.

Price spat onto the head of his cock again, trying to imagine it was you doing it. The speed of his hand sent wet clicks through the room, paired with deep, hushed grunts and groans. Price had dropped his phone onto the bed next to him, propping it up on the pillow so he could still see your photos. But pleasure was quickly taking over his body, his free hand at his balls as he fucked his fist to the thought of you, you, you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." He whispered, movements desperate.

Swiftly, he grabbed the bottom of his t-shirt and lifted it up, biting it between his teeth to expose his abdomen. Groaning around the fabric, he came up his stomach, white splattering along the soft ridges of muscle. He whispered your name as he stroked himself through it; stroked himself until his hips twitched in overstimulation, and his cock softened in his hand, slick with his release.

He breathed hard, hand sticky.

Thinking in an exhausted post-nut haze, he grabbed his phone and snapped a couple pics of himself. Of his cum splattered up across his abdomen, through his happy trail; and of his cock in his hand, painted white.

He wanted to roll his eyes. He felt like a horny fucking teenager.

Price sent you the pair of photos before he made quick work of hurrying to the bathroom and cleaning himself up without waking anyone. When he returned to his room, his phone was illuminating again with more messages.

————holy fuck price oh my god ————fuck you're so hot i can't

Price couldn't help but smile as he settled into bed.

You started it, sweetheart.———— ————yeah. did you like them? I think the photos I just sent make it obvious.———— ————you wanked to my photos captain?

Price laughed. Of course he did. He had a whole collection on his phone, photos and videos, of you in varying states that he fucked his fist too each night he missed you.

Of course I did, pretty girl. Just look at you.———— ————price... You're so fucking beautiful.———— ————price don't make me horny. i have work 😭

Price smiled softly at your messages, his breathing calming. He felt an overwhelming sense of pride in the way you talked to him; how you texted him and called him; how you still called him Price after all this time. Your Captain Price.

Call me later if you can, sweetheart.———— ————i will. miss you so much I miss you too. Have a great day at work.———— ————i'll try. stay safe, old man x

•º•

A week went by. Just one more week until Price was home free. Four and a half months away was brutal.

His emotions were slowly becoming harder and harder to ignore. He found himself thinking of you constantly. He missed you so much it was making him worry— worry about you, about his boys, about the end of the mission. Fuck, his mind was going a hundred miles an hour, but his main thoughts were all about you.

The week didn't have as much contact with you as he would've liked. He found himself fucking his fist to the file of saved videos he had of you— wet cunt taking his fingers, his cock, your mouth whimpering his name, his rank.

Goddamn it, he felt like a teenager. Constantly horny for the pretty girl who sent him nudes. Wanking to said nudes almost every night. What had gotten into him?

He kept thinking about how there was one week until he was home. That kept him going. One week until he could hold you in his arms, hug you, kiss you, absorb your presence. One week until he could shove his cock, his tongue, his fingers into your tight cunt.

He screwed his eyes shut. What the fuck, Price.

It's like you knew he was thinking about you.

Price jolted when his phone vibrated on the table beside his bed. He leaned over and grabbed it, leaning against the headboard and smiling as he saw your name flash on screen. He answered, trying to keep his excitement to hear your voice at bay.

"Hey, pretty girl." He drawled, and he heard you whine softly through the phone, making his smile stretch tenfold.

"Hi, Price," you whispered, and the sound of your voice alone had Price's stomach erupting in butterflies. You sounded tired, as though you'd just woken up.

"Did you wake up to call me?" Price asked.

"Mm... maybe," you replied. "But it's okay. I wanted to call you."

Price chuckled. "Okay, sweetheart. How've you been?"

"Good... mostly..." You said, words stretching out.

"Mostly?"

"Mhm. I miss you."

"I miss you too." Price whispered his reply, throat growing tight. He cleared his throat to try and dislodge the tight, burning sensation.

"Mm... tell me about your day." You said.

Price did. He talked about the mission, and the things that had been happening these past few months. He explained how this week was closing everything up before he'd be home.

Then, silence followed. Price listened to your breathing, wondering what was going on inside that pretty head of yours. He was about to ask, too, when he heard you release a high-pitched whine. This was followed by the rustling of sheets, and a shaky inhale of breath from you.

"You alright?" Price asked, and your response was a low moan.

Price's cheeks flared red as he listened to the soft sounds filtering through the phone. Then, he pressed his tongue to his bottom lip, smiling as he listened to you.

"You touching yourself, pretty girl?"

"Fuck—" You whispered. "Y-yeah. Miss you so m-much and you sound so g-good."

Price chuckled lowly, at the right baritone that made you whimper. Price continued to smile to himself as he dipped his free hand into his boxers and pulled his hardening cock out, giving it a couple of strokes before he began speaking to you.

"Tell me what you're doing," he whispered as his cock hardened more, your noises music to his ears. "Be a good girl and tell me how you're touching yourself."

You moaned. "Ah... 'm using my fingers."

"Yeah?"

"Y-yeah... two."

Price spat into his hand and gripped his cock, spreading it along his length.

"Imagining they're yours," you breathed. "But... fuck— they're not big enough, Price— fuck— s'not you."

You were almost sobbing now, and Price could hear how wet you were. Loud, slick sounds. Hell, it felt like Price was there.

He listened to the way you fucked your fingers into your cunt, the way you sobbed out for him, breathing erratically.

"You sound so fucking wet, sweetheart," Price muttered, fucking his fist. "Such a perfect cunt. Come on, add another finger."

Price heard you sob out a moan as you added another finger into your aching core. Price imagined your body trembling against your bed, hips shunting forward to try and notch your fingers deeper. But they wouldn't go deeper. They weren't Price's.

"Captain—" You moaned sweetly, and that made Price's cock jerk violently in his hand. He cursed as you fought to spit out a sentence through a moan. "Feels so good."

"Yeah? I bet it does, sweetheart. Good girl, keep fucking that pretty wet cunt with your fingers. That’s a good girl." Price whispered deeply, listening to your sounds.

He was breathing hard, too. Grunting and groaning into the phone, making your cunt clench around your fingers. You released whimpers and whines in response as you tried desperately to chase your release using your fingers, imagining they were your captains.

Ultimately though, it was his words that were sending you closer to release.

"That's it, that's it, such a good girl," Price said. "Fuck that pretty cunt. When— ah, fuck— when I get home, I'm gonna stuff you full, sweetheart. Stuff that pretty cunt with my cock. You want that? You want me to fill you up? O'course you fucking do, my perfect girl."

You bit your lip, moaning. "Price, m'gonna—"

"Cum for me. Cum 'round your fingers like a good girl."

Price listened to your orgasm with his mouth agape, fastening the pace of his hand. He whined your name under his breath, breathing hard, no doubt loud where your phone was pressed to your ear.

"Coming, sweetheart," Price panted, lower stomach tightening. "M'coming—"

He came in hot spurts all over his cock, thighs, hand and upper arm. Residual splatters went up his bare abdomen, too.

He breathed hard into the phone. "I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you when I get home."

He heard you laugh. "What a way to ruin the mood, captain."

•º•

When Price got home, he didn't even bother unpacking. He dumped all of his shit in the hallway, kicking off his boots while pulling up your contact on his phone. He sent you a text, telling you to come over, and your reply was instantaneous.

Come over.———— ————you're home??? Sure am. Don't keep me waiting.———— ————i'm on my way

Excitement built inside him as he smiled down at your message. Never had he ever felt this way about a person before.

He moved around the darkness of his home, turning on the lights and drawing the curtains. He sighed to himself, finally making the effort of taking his bags upstairs and putting them in one of the spare rooms. He'd sort them out tomorrow.

With excitement to see you still heavy in his body, he had a quick shower and scrubbed away the remnants of his deployment. Afterwards, he got dressed, pulling grey sweatpants [lol hehe] over his boxers just as he heard the engine of a car in his driveway. His heart fluttered and, not bothering to put on a shirt, he hurried downstairs.

When he threw open the door, you had a fist raised to knock. You squeaked in surprise when he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you inside, slamming the door shut and locking it, before pinning you against it. He slotted his mouth to yours, and you gasped into the kiss, before wrapping your arms around his bare shoulders.

Price pulled out of the kiss after a long moment, breathing deeply as he rested his forehead against yours.

"Hello to you too," you joked, smiling. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," Price replied. "So much."

You leaned in and kissed him this time, taking the lead. He groaned happily, putting both hands on your waist and pulling your lower half into his. You hummed into the kiss, tongues smoothing together, as he nudged your legs apart with his knee and settled it at your already aching core.

"Remember what I said to you on the phone last week?" Price asked, as you peppered his face in kisses. He fought off a smile.

"That you'd fuck the shit out of me when you get home?"

"Mhm."

"Yeah, I remember," you smiled, nipping his earlobe. "You gonna do it, or no?"

"Cheeky..." He muttered, kissing you one last time before spinning you away from the door. He pushed you away from him with a smack to the arse.

He nodded to the stairs. "You know where I want you."

His words went straight to your core.

With a building ache between your legs, you shakily kicked off your shoes. Then, you bounded up the stairs, wiggling your arse as you went. You giggled when Price groaned, following just a few steps behind.

You practically skipped into his bedroom. You turned around just as he walked in, pulling you closer to him straight away. Hands on your hips, he kissed you hard, his tongue pushing against yours, exploring your mouth. The kiss was full of longing and desperation— all of Price's pent up emotion from four months apart.

Price guided you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed. He lay you down on your back, shifting you so you had your head on his pillows. He followed, crawling over top of you, continuing the kiss. You tugged at his hair with one hand, the other moving to the waistband of his sweatpants. You skimmed a fingernail over the elastic.

Price broke the kiss. He licked his lips, savouring the taste of you.

"Impatient, are we?" He queried as your fingers pulled the waistband of his sweatpants down, exposing his boxers and the imprint of his hard cock.

You cupped his bulge and he grunted.

"It's been four months, Price. Of course I'm fucking impatient." You quipped, squeezing lightly.

He cursed, eyes shutting, hips canting into your touch. After a second, he opened his eyes and battered your hand away from him. He slunk downwards until he rested between your legs. You propped yourself up on your elbows, cocking your head to the side as he took off your trousers and your underwear.

The scene was oddly tender. He placed kisses along the bare skin of your legs as he pulled your trousers and underwear away. He tossed them across the room, resuming the trail of kisses along your thighs and knees. He kissed right past your most sensitive part, and you blew out a breath, as his lips pecked over your hips, navel and tummy while he pushed your shirt up.

You helped him pull your shirt over your head.

"No bra?" Price remarked, hands automatically cupping your tits. "Naughty girl."

He tweaked your nipples, making you whine.

"Price, please..." You begged, voice trailing off as he pinched at your sensitive nipples.

"Hmm? What do you want?"

You felt your face heating up. "Want your mouth on me."

"Yeah? My pretty girl wants my mouth on her?" Price drawled slowly, edging back down your body until he was settled comfortably between your legs. He gripped the plush flesh of your thighs in two large hands, squeezing and groping.

You whined, feeling his breath fan across your dripping core. "Please, sir."

He hummed, content. "You always ask so nicely. Such a good girl for me, sweetheart."

You and Price both moaned when he sealed his mouth over your clit first. He circled the bud with his tongue, your hips bucking, hands fisting the sheets at your sides. The vibrations of his moans made your mouth drop open.

His facial hair tickled your inner thighs as he sucked on your clit. He skimmed his teeth along the top of the sensitive bud, and you cried out, shooting one hand down to grab his hair. He grunted when you tugged. He then dragged his tongue down your folds slowly— so slowly you thought you might have a fucking heart attack at the sensations— before circling your soaking hole.

"Such a needy fucking cunt," Price mused directly into your core. "Always so wet for me."

Price licked into you, making you bite back a scream. Four months without his mouth on you had driven you to the brink of insanity. You gripped his hair, urging him closer as the solid muscle of his tongue moved in and out of your core. The sounds were slurping wet, echoing loudly in your ears. They played amongst a chorus of Price's grunts and groans, and your whines and whimpers, producing an orchestra of sounds.

His beard scratched the sensitive skin. Not that you minded. It only added to the tight coil in your lower tummy that was twisting tighter and tighter, your body shining with sweat.

"Price, I'm so close." You sobbed as he continued to lick into you, his eyes watching your facial expressions change.

Price dragged his tongue in a zig-zag motion up your slit, sucking your clit into his mouth as he watched you squirm. "Ask nicely, sweetheart."

You keened, your climax building so aggressively that your legs trembled in his hold and you felt a thin layer of sweat building on your lower back, still pressed against the soft blankets.

"Please, sir, can I..."

His teeth skated across your clit again, and you moaned loudly.

"Fuck—! Please, sir, p-please, can I cum? Please, please—"

He seemed satisfied with that. He dipped his tongue back into your cunt and stuffed it inside, humming confirmation that you could let go. The hum seemed to punch you straight in the fucking uterus, and you came with a mewling moan. Price lapped it up, pressing your thighs tighter around his head.

He sucked you through your high. While you trembled, he massaged your thighs, tongue moving in and out of you lazily. Just when you were on the verge of overstimulation, Price pulled back. His facial hair glistened with your arousal, sparkling in the semi-darkness.

He tutted at you. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

You hadn't realised tears were streaming down your face.

"Mmmfeltsogood—" You whimpered out in one jumbled word, a couple of tears running over your lips. "Missedyousomuch—"

"My poor girl," Price crawled over you. "My poor, needy girl."

He licked the tears off your lips, before kissing a few off your cheeks. He kissed you deeply once you caught your breath, and you tasted your arousal and the salt from your tears. The arousal on his face smeared onto yours, leaving sticky residue across your chin and cheeks.

"You alright now?" He asked gently, voice soft.

You nodded.

"Good. I'm going to fuck you now, okay?"

Fuck, well okay then.

You nodded again. He chuckled behind a close-lipped smile while he shoved his trousers and boxers down his legs, kicking them onto the floor. You whimpered at the sight of his cock— hard, curving towards his abdomen with a reddened tip leaking ivory beads of pre-cum. A prominent vein ran down the left side, from tip to base, dipping into his pubic hair. His dark happy trail crawled up towards his navel, skimming the base of his abs. You were fucking salivating.

He situated himself between your legs, which you wrapped around his hips as he sat back on his heels. He gripped his cock, hissing as he stared at you. So pretty. All for him.

"Condom?" You joked with a coy smile, watching the copious stream of pre dribbling down his length.

He huffed an amused laugh, leaning over you. Drips of pre landed beside your navel. "As if you don't enjoy me filling this tight cunt."

He wasn't wrong.

He kissed you as he notched his cock at your fluttering entrance, smearing your slick around while his tongue probed against yours.

"I missed you so much," he whispered against your mouth as his head pushed into you. "I missed you so fucking much, sweetheart."

The stretch was still difficult to get used too.

You exhaled a breath, his cock sliding in. "I missed you, too."

Eventually, his cock hit the base of your cervix and you whimpered. He shushed you with another kiss before he moved his face away, eyes darting across your features. He ground his hips into your pelvis, and you whimpered again.

"My girl's so sensitive." He uttered, pulling his cock all the way out. Then he thrust back in, and his brutal pace began— your moans of pleasure his starting gun.

His cock rammed against the plug of your womb repeatedly as your mouth dropped open in a silent scream. He had one hand on your hip, the other beside your head as he fucked you into his bed. Your hands ran up and down his back, feeling the smooth planes of muscle. Your hands moved to his chest, squeezing his pecs. You smiled, fingers scraping through the coarse hair. Your hands continued lower, running over his sternum and abs, rubbing over the top of his happy trail.

He grunted, using one hand to snatch both of your wrists. Before you knew it, your hands were pinned above you. Price used one hand to keep your arms in place before his thrusts grew heavier— fucking his fat cock into your soaking cunt. He was fucking the shit out of you, just like he promised.

"That's my girl, just take it," Price grunted. "Take my cock. That's a good girl, sweetheart. That's a good girl. Let this needy cunt take my cock."

You whimpered, chest heaving, sensitive nipples brushing against his chest. The bed creaked beneath you, headboard tapping the wall. His cock continued to bruise your cervix in a way that had your entire body shivering in pleasure.

"Harder." You moaned.

"Harder?" Price chuckled, but obliged— the weight of his thrusts increasing, slamming into the spot within you that had your back arching. "You want it like this? Want it rough? Fucking hell, sweetheart, such a naughty girl."

You bit your lip, hiding your whimpers.

"Yeah, such a naughty girl," Price muttered, eyes zeroed in on where his cock entered you. "Naughty, naughty girl. Letting your dad's best friend fuck you like this. Letting your dad's mate fuck this tight cunt."

That made you moan really loud. His eyes found your face, a vulpine smile developing over his mouth.

"Yeah, you like that? 'Course you do. Needy fucking slut, aren't you, sweetheart? Just love this cock, don't you?"

His words made your core clench. You mewled, a pathetic little sound. You were one more bit of dirty talk away from coming all over his cock—

"Can feel this cunt squeezing me, pretty girl," Price said. "You wanna cum? Go on, then. Cum 'round my cock. Show me how much of a needy slut you are for this cock, darling."

Fucking hell.

You came.

A lot.

You squirted all over his fucking abdomen, and you felt it. Felt the wet gush, felt the warmth. But, above all, you felt the pleasure— tummy tightening, cunt fluttering, legs trembling. Usually, you'd moan his last name. You always had done— Price is what you'd called him since you could remember. Hell, it's what your dad would call him, too.

But this time was different.

"John—!" You cried, and Price smiled as he continued to fuck you.

"Good girl, good fucking girl, there you go," Price moaned through his smile. "Such a perfect girl."

His brutal pace continued, and you were quick to realise that, holy fuck, your third orgasm was looming, pooling in the base of your tummy.

"John..." You whispered.

"John? Thought that made me sound old?" Price mused, pounding into you. "You like that I'm older, don't you, sweetheart? Guys your age can't fuck you like I can."

You mewled again, barely able to keep your eyes open. You were doing your best to watch him. Watch the way he hovered over you, pinning your arms above your head. The way his hips surged with each thrust, slamming himself inside you. You felt the subtle vibrations of his chest against yours as he grunted and groaned.

Your third orgasm reared its head within you, and you felt breathless as the weight of the pleasure pushed moan after moan from your lungs. Price watched you, and the way your mouth dropped open in a continuous harmony of sounds.

His thrusts were becoming sloppier. He was panting, too, as he watched your body grow tight, your cunt constricting his cock in such a way that he grit his teeth to suppress a whimper.

"Come on, beg for me," he whispered, rutting into you desperately. "I know you're close, sweetheart, I know, I know. Just beg for it."

You whimpered, tears welling in your eyes as the pleasure mounted, burning hot inside your tummy. You felt dizzy, too.

"Please, sir, please let me cum, please, I'm s-so close... n' feels so g-good."

He groaned, pleased. "That's my girl. Cum for me."

You did.

You came around him for the third time. You arched as best as you could in order to feel his chest against yours— feel his body, his warmth, his presence. Tears slipped from your eyes as you moaned, and you finally allowed your eyes to flutter closed as you did so.

Your brain was fuzzy and warm and you felt so good. He made you feel so good. The solid weight as he lay over you, the heat of his bare skin, the slight scratch of his light, coarse hair. He stuffed you full, his cock reaching a place far within you that ached each time he spoke. Maybe it was your heart he was reaching, maybe not with his cock— although it surely felt close— but with his hands. His voice, too, and his words, his personality, his mind. Captain John Price had a firm grasp on your heart, and that sent more hot tears spilling down your cheeks.

"I love you." You sobbed, and he released your hands at just the right moment. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you.

He groaned, deep and melodic, his arms either side of your face. He leaned down and captured your mouth in a soft kiss. It was slow and passionate, full to the brim with emotion.

Price pulled away slightly, speaking against your lips. "Say it again."

"I love you."

"Again."

"I love you, John."

"Fucking hell," he kissed you again, rutting into your tight heat without any discerning rhythm. He was chasing his high. "I love you too."

He kissed the tears off his cheeks, before his head dropped into the crook of your neck. He nipped at the flesh, sucking a bruise.

"I love you, I love you," he repeated. "And m'gonna fill this pretty cunt with my kids. Breed you nice and full, sweetheart— ah, fuck— mhm, get you nice and full... all fat with my kids. Ah, ah— I love you."

He came inside you with a quiet moan, your name following like a mantra. You felt him, hot and thick, flood past your cervix. You whined, rubbing his shoulders.

Price dragged his cock out of you, bringing a wave of fluids with it. Embarrassment zapped up your spine as your arousal and his cum seeped out of your hole. Price ignored your whimpers, gently gathering his cum that had leaked out. He pushed two digits into your cunt, stuffing his cum back inside you.

"Don't waste it..." He whispered, more to himself than to you.

You whimpered under your breath at the feeling of his fingers inside you. He wiggled them around a bit, ensuring his seed stayed right up inside you.

"My perfect girl. I love you." He whispered again.

This time, it wasn't to himself. It was directly to you.

•º•

An hour or so passed and, after a couple more rounds, Price cleaned you up. Ever the gentlemen, he turned on the shower and helped you into it. Behind you, he soaped your body, running his hands along every dip and curve. He exited the shower first, grabbing a warm towel and wrapping you in it.

Little words were exchanged between the two of you as he dried you, then dried himself. You basked in each others presence. He then dressed you in his boxers and his shirt, kissing up your legs as he pulled the boxers up, and littering your face in pecks as he pulled the shirt over your head. He put on his boxers too, before guiding you back into his bedroom and yanking back the covers.

Price hopped in first. He held the blankets open for you to clamber in, nestling yourself against his chest. He settled the blankets back over you, hugging you tight to his body. He breathed deeply, nose to your hair.

You listened to his breathing for a moment.

"Price?"

"Mm?"

"I meant it, you know."

"Meant what, sweetheart?"

"That I love you."

He hugged you tighter. "I love you too."

You sighed into his chest. "This... I'm going to be in a lot of trouble with my dad."

"Yeah. Same."

You laughed at his nonchalance, leaning back to look at him.

"I'm serious," you muttered, fending off a smile, tapping his chest with your fingers. "I'm in love with his best friend."

He grumbled something.

You chuckled. "What?"

"If he has a problem, he can take it up with me."

"That is the problem, Price. He will take it up with you."

"True," Price said, and you laughed. He hummed, thinking. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, sweetheart, okay?"

"Okay..." You breathed, snuggling yourself back against him.

Comfortable silence followed. Then—

"Price?"

"Mm?"

"Do you really want me to have your kids?"

He choked on his saliva after inhaling to quickly. Shocked, probably. He coughed lightly, and you waited for him to soothe himself.

"Yeah, well, uh— okay, look, I mean—"

You pat his chest, echoing his words. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, John."

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

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