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bunny-lily · 14 days

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Tether Me - Chapter 3

Pairing(s): Geto/Gojo/Reader Summary: Your soul housed a violent anathema whose sole purpose was to torment you with the notion that nowhere is safe. You can’t stay here, you can’t stay there, you can’t stay anywhere.

It reminded you of that one immortal snail hypothetical. No matter where you went, it would always follow you.

If that was the case, then, where was that feeling now?

The bickering boys in front of you, the idyllic mountains that curtained the shallow canyon, this cozy home and the terrifying one you owned – why didn’t they spur that fight-or-flight instinct in you? What was different about Japan, about this location?

Why did breathing feel so easy?

AN: Additional tag warnings: suggestive content, smut, masturbation, degrading names/language to self. There is 1 (one) mention of reader being mildly interested in nutrition facts. Just a small warning. It's very, very brief, but I figured I'd better be safe.

Ch: Prologue | Ch: 1 | Ch: 2 | Ch: 3 | Ch: 4

WC: 14.7k

“Whatcha makin’?” Satoru grilled you. Again.

He was relaxing on his forearms on the kitchen island, right leg bouncing on the circular step of the barstool, having pestered you for the nth time in the last 20 minutes alone.

You ignored him, focusing on whipping the egg whites, occasionally sprinkling more of the sugar you set aside into the mix. He had an electric mixer, one of those super pricey ones, too, but you preferred doing it by hand. Your entire arm was killing you, but you had better control like this.

You also just didn’t know how to operate the electric mixer.

You were pleasantly surprised to find that he already had all the ingredients you needed – ‘Ijichi tries to bake sometimes. He chars the cookies every time, though.’ – so a trip to Granny’s shop was spared. As was the trip to the bakery, that was pushed aside for another day.

Satoru’s and Suguru’s eyes were needling into your back, way too intense and nerve-wracking for comfort for such a menial task. You weren’t expecting them to both want to watch you fulfill your promise to make something for the former.

You also weren’t anticipating the latter’s presence, the added weight of his appearance making your wrist shake, and it wasn’t from exerting yourself with the egg whites.

“You could just use the stand mixer,” Gojo informed you.

He reminded you of an impatient bee; buzzing around you, epicurious about anything sweet, and a bit annoying. Otherwise harmless, so long as you didn’t try to steal said sweets.

“Yes, I know, thank you,” you replied flatly. “I prefer whisking by hand, though.”

“Why? That just seems tiring.”

It was, but you weren’t about to tell him that. “It’s easier for me to discern the stiffness of the peaks this way.”

“But it takes so long,” he complained, then added an extra few choice words under a whisper. “I’ll make your peaks stiff…”

Suguru chimed in. “Be patient, Satoru. Baking takes time, you can’t rush the process.”

You were quick to become very appreciative of that man. He was the real angel on your shoulder, supporting you and defending you from his best friend’s complete and utter gremlin chaos.

“But it takes so loooong,” the aforementioned gremlin whined louder.

Suguru groaned quietly and extended an apologetic smile to you when you pivoted to look at them. Satoru had his head laid down on the counter, nose smushed and stupidly long arms stretched out across the surface. You ruffled his hair as you passed him to grab the baking tray and paper he found for you earlier.

He tilted his head enough to show you a closed-eye mien of happiness, lips curled like the Chesire cat’s. He really did remind you of a feline a lot of the time, he downright purred when you ran your fingers through his enviously soft tresses.

Shit. You wanted to touch them again.

You retrieved the tray and strutted back to your bowl of semi-prepared batter. “Do you want me to tell you what I’m making now, or do you want it to be a surprise?”

His head popped up. “Now! Wait– no, no, surprise! Oh, wait, no, hang on,” he rambled, warring with indecision.

Suguru met your gaze and stood up from the stool he’d picked out, coming to stand beside you and bending so you were face-to-face. “I’d like to know now, if you’re willing to divulge,” he pointed at himself, the corners of his lips tugging upwards.

You made a show of deliberating his request, pressing the side of your index finger against your bottom lip as you tapped your toe and furrowed your brow. Your eyes sparkled as you beckoned him closer with your hand, choosing to heed his request, and motioned for him to turn his head to the side.

Having him this close to you was making your heart flutter like a canary behind the protective bars of its cage, chirping and tweeting. The warmth of his skin radiated in pleasant waves towards you, and the notes of his aura grazed against your cheeks once more; warm chai on a mellow night.

This was dangerous, yet you craved more.

You noticed the gauges in his lobes as he did so, appreciating the disks of deep blue as you leaned closer and cupped your hand around his ear, whispering into it.

He rose back up with an approving nod. “Oh, he’ll like those. Keep it a secret.”

“What!?” Satoru cried out, rounding the island sharply and closing the distance between you in two steps. “That’s cruel! You can’t just tell him, then not tell me!”

You patted his chest and lightly bumped him out of the way with your hip. “Sorry, it’s two-to-one. You’ll have to be patient to find out. I don’t think it’ll be hard for you to guess, anyway.”

“Is it too late to kick you out?”

“Yes,” Suguru answered in your stead. “She’s baking something for you, she gets to bully you a little in return.”

“Thank you, Geto-san,” you bowed exaggeratedly to him, then began folding the batter and adding drops of food coloring to it.

Satoru sulked. “She doesn’t bully me a little, she bullies me a lot.”

The kokushoku-haired boy clapped his hand on the other’s shoulder. “It’s good for you. Character growth, it’ll teach you some humility.”

“Oi! Who’s side are you on, anyway?” He accused him with a pointed finger pressing into his chest.

Suguru raised his hands by his shoulders in mock surrender, a shit-eating grin pinching his cheeks. “Hey, I’m just the mediator here.”

“‘Mediator’ my ass. You’re just defending her because she’s making cookies–”

“Not cookies,” you and Suguru corrected in sync.

“–or some shit.”

You rolled your eyes, muffling a laugh against the back of your hand while you scooped the batter into a piping bag. You’d have to replace it later and leave an apology note for Ijichi. Not that they were used much, from what you could tell. Once the bag was full, you twisted the top shut and snipped the bottom to let the round tip free, fighting to not make any terribly tasteless dick jokes in the process.

You couldn’t do that in polite company.

Polite company was Geto.

Satoru and Suguru bickered back and forth behind you as you concentrated on piping facile, even circles onto the baking sheet. That was the hardest part for you, getting them to be symmetrical. You had to flaunt your skill. You had an audience of two stupidly attractive men awaiting your results.

You released the breath you were holding when you finished the last row, smug that they were all perfect. You set aside the nearly empty plastic bag and lifted the tray an inch off the counter and dropped it a few times, shaking loose any bubbles.

Whooh, the majority of your work was done now.

The tray got pushed aside to let the batter rest while you cleaned up your station of a few things. “Satoru.”

“And you– ah?” He answered, pulled out of his boyish spat. “What?”

“French, American, Swiss, or Italian?”

“Uh…” He gave you a flat, confused squint while you and Suguru waited for his decision. “American…?”

“Good choice,” you nodded, relieved you wouldn’t need to do any more heavy lifting. For this, you could use the stand mixer. After you figured it out, that is, but you had plenty of time to do that now.

Except for the fact that it was on top of the fridge.

For some fucking reason.

You planted your hands on your hips, staring up at it angrily.

Your mother and father both just had to be short. What a cruel joke the universe has played on you, putting you in a house designed specifically around a tall freak and his freakishly tall family. You hadn’t seen his folks, but it was easy to assume, given the door frame heights. RNG could only get you so far if the right genes didn’t run in your family.

Gritting your teeth, you stepped closer to the fridge, placed one hand on the front side that didn’t have the ridiculous LED touchscreen panel on it, then jumped on your toes, trying to reach the object.

Your fingers could only ever barely graze the base of it, no matter how hard you tried. Shit. Alright, plan B.

You twirled around to face the now silent pair that were observing you with amused, wry smickers, clearly entertained by your struggle.

Oh.

Your plan B was to grab a chair from the dining table to use as a stool, but somehow that felt more humiliating than plan C.

“Help,” you requested with faux meekness. “Please.”

“Help with what?” Suguru drawled with a coy lilt. “Use your words, angel.”

You pressed your lips together to stave off the flood of lewd hormones that threatened to drown you under their heady waves. He really meant it when he said he was going to use that nickname, and you were struggling.

“Please, help me get the thing down from the fridge.”

“What thing?” Satoru goaded you. “Be more specific.”

Plan B was looking to be a lot more viable now. What was a bit of your pride worth, anyway?

Your nostrils flared and you forced your blood to cool. “The stand mixer. I…can’t reach it.”

“We can see that,” he confirmed as he approached you, hands casually stuffed in his pockets. “You are pretty short.”

Your tongue started moving before your brain could register, let alone approve of, just what you were mouthing under your breath. “Yeah, well, why don’t you put some inches in me…”

Your eyes widened and you slapped your hand over your mouth, watching in mortification as his surprise morphed into absolutely elated revelry.

“What was that, princess?” He took a step forward, you took one back, one more from him, one more from you, all the way until he had cowed you against the far counter, his hands trapping you in on either side. “Wanna say that again?”

“N-No! I said nothing!”

“Didn’t sound like nothing to me,” he lolled his head to the side, peering down at you through those cetacean lenses.

Are his eyes gray? You questioned silently as you attempted and failed to process how you got yourself into this position, all of it coming so fast. They’re so light. His glasses make them look blue.

“Oh?” Suguru voiced as he came to stand beside you two, bending to have his face in your line of sight, further causing you to shrink. “What’d she say?”

Satoru chuckled darkly, making chills shoot up your back and heat pool deep in your belly and high on your cheeks. “Correct me if I’m wrong, princess, but I do believe she told me to ‘put some inches in her’.”

Your face felt like it was fluxing off. Sweat formed at your hairline, your arms shook as you gripped the counter behind you for dear life, you were dying.

“Is that so?” Geto spoke in a hush. “Didn’t know this one had such a mouth on her. I think I know how to put it to better use to keep her from talking back…”

That’s it. You died. You were dead, right? There was no other possible, reasonable, believable explanation for how you got yourself stuck in this situation, pinned in place by a set of large hands and the striking stares of two illogically beautiful men who were just eating you alive.

“I–” you stammered. Forget speaking, you were straining to so much as breathe normally.

“Got nothin’ more to say, mochi?” The platinum boy whispered into your ear, hot breath brushing against sensitive skin and making you jolt. “Done bein’ a brat?”

You gaped at them with round, unblinking eyes, flickering back and forth between the two as they played Judge, Jury, and Executioner on your innocence – or lack thereof. You gulped with some difficulty, stunned into silence when Satoru cupped your cheek with a big, warm palm.

He’s touching me, oh, gods, what’s he doing, why is he getting closer–?

He swiped his thumb over the curve of your cheekbone, just under your eye, and pulled back only enough to show a smear of pink along the digit without moving an inch away from you. Batter – a spot must have gotten onto your face without you noticing.

While maintaining direct eye contact, he stuck his tongue out and salaciously pressed his finger onto it, sliding it down to spread the mixture onto the length of it, ensuring you witnessed every. Single. Micro. Movement. He closed his mouth, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he visibly swallowed, then his lips spread into an equally satyric smirk.

“I knew you’d taste sweet,” he purred and stepped back, leaving you disconcerted and dazed as he walked off like nothing happened, sitting back down at the island and picking up a conversation with Suguru.

You hadn’t even seen the other one move, let alone get the stand mixer down from the fridge and place it on the center of the marble countertop while they chatted about something you couldn’t hear past the shrill ringing in your ears and the deafening pumping of the stupid organ in your chest that refused to shut the hell up.

Time seemed nonexistent and all too pervasive as you took long seconds – or minutes? – to come back to yourself. Forgetting how to operate was a bizarre sensation, motor skills shot down as you went through a system reset.

You numbly gathered all the ingredients you needed, laying them out in a neat line that you, in full honesty, should not have been able to create with the way your hands vibrated. The boys seemed none the wiser to your plight, and you were thanking whatever remaining lucky stars you had that they weren’t pointing out what a fucking mess they turned you into in the span of less than a minute.

Buttercream.

Make the buttercream.

You’re fiiiiine, all good, mhm. Not like you had your entire spirit gashed right out your body by the primes of godliness across from you or anything, nope. You were a fully functioning, intelligent, strong, capable woman that wasn’t losing her absolute fucking shit.

You swear you heard laughter that distinctly resembled your mother’s, letting you know you were on your own with this one.

Traitor.

Willing your body to calm the hell down, you plugged in the mixer, messed around with it a bit, and got to making the filling for the macarons. You threw in the butter, watching it get tossed and beaten around until it succumbed to the paddle and became creamy and smooth.

Watching butter get pounded into submission was inherently satisfying to you, scratching some itch deep in the back of your skull.

You wondered what that said about you.

You glanced up at the boys and pinched your brows together. You shouldn’t think about potential kinks in front of them. For all you knew, they could read your mind. Best not to risk it, you could save that subject for later in solitude.

Or just stuff it in the ‘Problems to Deal With Later’ box you hid under your metaphorical bed with the rest of your dilemmas, never to be seen again. Whichever came first.

Vanilla extract…powdered sugar…sloooowly, now.

‘Slowly, now,’ he whispered in your ear and oh god oh fuck, you were fantasizing, nope, stop it, bad, fuck.

You bit the inside of your cheek hard, flinching at the pain. Phew, it brought you out of your imagination. You shamed your pussy for being a mindless whore. She couldn’t just wait until you were alone, huh? Had to humiliate you in front of the most unbearably sexy men you’ve ever seen?

Why am I like this.

“All good?”

You jumped with a startled squeak and saw Suguru inspecting you with a curious tilt and a knowing glint.

Crap, could he actually read your mind?

“Uh– yep! All good!” You affirmed a smidge too quickly and cleared your throat to drive away the squeaky chipmunk in your gullet.

Who needed lucky stars, anyway?

Satoru jutted his chin towards the counter behind you, where you left the tray. “Why didn’t you put it in the oven?”

Oh, sacred distractions, how you loved them.

“The batter needs to sit for a bit,” you told him. “Needs to form a layer around the outside called a skin. A little bit like a crust.”

“Cookies with a crust?”

“Not cookies,” you and Suguru corrected a second time, then you proceeded. “It’s to prevent the shell from cracking.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t guessed what it is she’s making yet,” Suguru commented, resting his temple against his fist. “You’re, like, the pastry expert here.”

You both watched as the gears visibly turned in Satoru’s head. He alternated between inspecting you, the mixer filled with now finished filling, and the untouched tray. He squinted, and then a lightbulb went over his head.

“Macarons!” He exclaimed, shooting upright with his Colgate teeth on display. “You’re making macarons!”

You cheered and clapped for him. “Hey, he got it! Good job!”

The boy lifted his chin and puffed out his chest like a proud peacock. “That explains why it’s taking so long.”

You deflated with a groan and rolled your eyes. “I find it hard to believe you’ll die just because you have to wait a couple hours.”

“Couple hours!?” He nearly shrieked.

“Is he always like this, Geto-san?”

Suguru was exceptionally entertained, you could practically feel it in his gaze and oh, shit, I know that look. “Only when he has a cute girl baking for him.”

Goddamnit.

Sly, accursed fox.

You really should stop talking, you just kept getting yourself into shit like this, where you had Olympian gods flirting with you and you couldn’t tell if they were being genuine or patronizing. Either way, it wasn’t good for your poor little core, nor your other core. Y’know, the messy one between your thighs that liked to cause you a lot of trouble. You weren’t sure where it got the audacity from.

Seditious bitch.

Okay, so, dodging them wasn’t working. What about playing into their games?

“Hmm, you know, I only agreed to do this because you asked,” you tapped your chin, speaking in a false trill.

Both tunneled in on you.

Ah, this was bad. Worse than willful ignorance.

“Which one of us, mochi?” Satoru queried. He acted so kind, so curious, but you could hear the underlying warning in his tone. Be careful how you answer.

“Can’t it be both?”

Air rumbled low in Suguru’s throat, danger flashed in Satoru’s eyes behind those filtered glasses, and you knew you were boned. And not the good kind of boned.

Mama, I’m doomed.

“Careful there, little lotus,” Suguru hissed, steepling his fingers and hiding his mouth behind them, as if fighting to maintain control of himself. “You’re playing with fire.”

You never were the biggest fan of things that were too hot. Blistering summers without a wind to balm your sere skin, campfires that only ever blew sticky smoke in your direction, tea too piping to sip at when you were parched.

But these boys, who had flames crackling and sparking in the bottomless pits of their pupils? You’d happily let them reduce you to ash.

“I like the heat,” you whispered and stuck your tongue out at them, then pulled off a switch in personality you, frankly, were not aware you were capable of. You went right back to being polite and well-mannered as you disconnected the paddle attachment for the standmixer, scraped off any buttercream stuck to it with a Maryse spatula back into the bowl, and stuck the bowl into the fridge to chill.

You heard Satoru curse as close to silently as he could, Suguru’s teeth audibly clenched, and you knew they were both trying to dare you to do something like that again by burning you with their glares. You paid them no mind – on the outside, at least.

Your insides, on the other hand, were a tangled disaster of nerves.

One part of you was questioning where you got the gall, the courage, the bravura, another was having a breakdown from your momentary valor evaporating, leaving you questioning what in the finest shite you were thinking. Oh, and, yes, how could you forget the part of you that was busy waterboarding your panties with far too much slick for it to be normal?

For fuck’s sake, all they did was say a few coy words, and it got you this heady? How far you’ve fallen. Tragic.

Fighting against needing to shift your shorts into a more comfortable position (which would be one hell of an ask since there wasn’t a spot untouched by your dew), you instead very feebly tapped a circle of batter on the tray with the tip of your finger, testing the shell strength. Thankfully, it seemed they were good to go, as none of the batter stuck to your pointer.

Satoru celebrated when he spotted you moving the tray to the clearly incredibly expensive (preheated) oven in his house. You slid it onto the rack, shut the door, and began fiddling with the settings until–

“Ah,” you clapped your fingers against the heel of your opposite hand, congratulating yourself for figuring out the timer. “15 minutes!”

“Finally!” Satoru exclaimed.

“Don’t get too excited yet, space cowboy,” you shut him down. “They’ll need to cool after that, and I’ll have to put in the filling next. Then they’ll be ready.”

He wailed and flattened his upper body across the island. “Whyyyyy?”

“It’ll feel like less time if we do something to distract you,” Suguru patted his upper back.

“I don’t wannaaaa,” he bleated like a wounded creature, attempting to garner sympathy points, as if that’d make the macarons bake faster. His head shot up, fingers pushing up his glasses that started to slip down. He reminded you of a grumpy rabbit, stomping his little (big) foot when his human angered him. “These macarons better be worth it.”

You pulled out one of the bar stools and wiggled onto it, your feet dangling high over the ground. “How long did you think it takes to make macarons?”

“I dunno, like, half an hour?”

“Aren’t you the pastry expert here?” You mused.

Satoru crossed his arms over his chest and lifted his nose pompously. “I’m a connoisseur, not a baker.”

“Maybe you should learn,” you proposed. “You’re good at cooking, right? You can probably pick up baking quickly, then you’ll have a greater understanding and appreciation for baked goods.”

Geto’s nose scrunched up. “That’s not a good idea.”

“Eh?” You batted your eyelashes. “Why?”

“If Ijichi is bad at baking, Satoru is catastrophic.”

The catastrophic baker tugged at the hairs on the back of his head as he avoided eye contact. “I set the kitchen on fire once, is that so bad?”

“How the fuck did you set the kitchen on fire with an oven?” You blanched.

“Oh, no, not the oven,” the noiret clarified. “He tried to fry the croissants. Insisted it’d make them ready to eat sooner.”

You paled like a ghost. “So– so, he, wait– wait, waitwaitwait, he tried to make croissants, the notoriously difficult to make viennoiserie, and thought frying them would be a good idea?”

“What’s a ‘viennoiserie’?” Satoru asked innocently.

“‘Nother word for pastry,” Suguru said, then addressed your question. “Yep, just about.”

You thwarted the desire to place your head in your hands and tug at the roots of your hair. “What the fuck.”

Satoru appeared torn between looking sheepish and looking peeved, not enjoying the criticism. “It was one mistake. I mean, really, I don’t get why you can’t let it go already.”

“He basically raided my pantry every day while his kitchen was getting doctored. He found my hidden stash of chocolate on day two and devoured enough to make himself sick, and then some,” his poor best friend said with a grimace. “It was hidden for a reason. But it did reveal how poorly my chocolate was concealed, so I upped the security on it. Thanks for that.”

“You don’t even eat sweets,” an allegation was thrown at him. “How can you hoard them? Selfish.”

“I hoard them because of you,” he faulted. “I like having them occasionally, and I’m saving you from cavities and tooth rot.”

Gojo squinched. “I brush my teeth very well, thank you kindly.”

“Remember when you got that one really bad cavity as a kid?”

“Oh, so, we’re just airing out dirty laundry, eh?” Satoru slammed his hands down on the marble. “Weren’t you the one that ate so much spicy ramen in grade school that you threw up and tore your esophagus?”

Suguru flinched and pressed his palm against the lower half of his face, blood draining from the top down. “Why’d you remind me.”

“Wait, what?” Your brows pushed up. “What happened?”

He sighed the sigh of an old man who was about to recount his whole life story for the millionth time. “I like spicy food–”

“Loves spicy food,” the other adjusted.

“–and was addicted to it as a kid. I had one too many spicy ramens when I was, I think, twelve or so? My stomach didn’t like that, and fought back with a vengeance. I had to go to the hospital and get a feeding tube put in while I waited for my esophagus to heal.”

You winced and sucked your teeth. “Yikes, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” He relaxed, shifting his hand to support his chin. “I recovered and learned a valuable lesson.”

“Not that it stops him from devouring spicy food any chance he gets,” the towhead teased.

“I eat it in moderation.”

“At least two meals a day,” he shot back.

Suguru glared at him. “You’re no better. You practically live off of sugar, ninety percent of the stuff in your fridge is some kind of confectionary. Don’t get me started on the cupboards.”

You perked up, connecting a couple dots. “Oh, so that’s why I had to dig through, like, three mini cakes to find the eggs.” You slouched onto the counter. “What do you need three cakes for, anyway? Birthday coming up?”

Gojo merely shrugged. “I like cake. Ririka-san said she had extras she didn’t want to toss out and asked if I wanted them. You expect me to say no to that? It’s free cake.”

“You’re not exactly hurting for money, Satoru,” Geto sighed and rested his forehead on the webbing between his thumb and index finger. “But I suppose it did reduce waste, so, I guess it’s fine.”

“See?” He preened. “I’m a good person. I’m a great person.”

“Good people don’t say they’re good,” his friend deadpanned.

“This one does,” he hmphed, facing you and imploring your support, “don’t you think so?”

You pinched your chin and counted spots on the ceiling while humming, pondering. “You did take me in…but you’re kind of a whippersnapper…”

“Whippersnapper?” He gaped incredulously.

You pretended to not hear him. “Hmm…yeah, I’d say you’re a decent person.”

“Hah!” Satoru smacked the smooth surface underhand, beaming at your mutual companion. “See? What’d I tell ya!”

“Give it a few days,” Suguru warned you, his cheeks squeezing his eyes shut as they got pushed up by the corners of his mouth. Gods, that face was too cute.

You jolted when the oven timer went off and hurriedly rushed to check on the macarons. This step was vital – a minute too long or too short could spell demise for the treats. You cracked the door open a smidge, peeking through the gap to inspect them.

No cracks, crisp edges, cooked but not browned, perfect.

You turned off the oven and opened it fully, pulling on the silicone heat gloves to protect your skin, after which you eased the tray out and set it on top of the cooling rack nearby like you were handling pure gold.

Once they were balanced and safe, you threw off the gloves and belled, rhapsodic.

“Yippee! Now, we wait for them to cool, I add the filling, and they’ll be ready to eat!”

Your poor benefactor behaved the way a child would: pouting and bordering on a tantrum. “Come onnnn already.”

“He’s always like this, you said?” You turned to his best friend, who sent a sympathetic expression your way.

“Yes, and you’ll be living with him for the time being. I wish you the most sincere good luck I can muster.”

“Woooow, just throwing me to the wolves, huh? Er, wolf, singular,” you placed your hands on your hips.

Something flashed behind his pupils, his lips curling as he rested his chin on the back of his overlapped hands, and you felt a chill shoot up your spine.

Oh. Oh, dear.

His voice took on a husky croon, solidifying your place in hell. “Who said I’m not a wolf, too?”

Satoru blew air through his lips. “Oooh, edgy, how scary.”

“Shut it, Moon Moon,” Suguru snarled at him, all edge lost.

You involuntarily cackled at the lackluster insult. How fitting.

They certainly had the physiques of wolves. On the contrary, their personalities reminded you of cats. Or, rather, Satoru was a cat, and Suguru was a fox. His narrow, sly eyes had all the hallmarks of a kitsune in disguise, swishing tails hidden from sight, visible only to those enlightened. A stalker, one to hide in the bushes, crepuscular, using the depths of twilight to mask his measured movements.

Then there was Satoru.

A Ragdoll, made entirely of absurd amounts of fluff, sass, confidence, and a healthy dose of vainglory. An oversized animal that thought he was still a lap kitten, deserving of all your attention and energy. Trying to push him off your legs that were quickly losing blood supply was nothing short of criminal and a villainous sin.

Where the black fox was stealth and meticulous perspicacity, the Ragdoll was the type to walk into a room it knows you aren’t in and yell at the top of its lungs to summon you.

He’d steal your chair, just so you’re forced to interact with him, even if it meant shooing him out of the seat (assuming he’d be willing to give it up, which was often a resounding no). Your food? No, you’re mistaken, that’s his food, he’s just being charitable and altruistic by allowing you to eat it. You should have been thanking him with your forehead on the floor.

God-complex ass. Lovable ass – phrasing.

“Heyyyyy,” the lovable ass gave you puppy-dog eyes. “What flavor did you make the macarons?”

“Didn’t you get to taste the batter that was on my cheek?” You jammed away any lingering feelings bringing up that little incident might have tried to rear.

“It wasn’t enough,” he squalled. “C’mon, just tell me!”

You shook your head. “You’ll just have to wait. I gotta leave something a surprise, don’t I?” You doubted it’d be hard to guess, since you hadn’t gone out to buy any new flavor extracts.

“No!” Satoru shouted at the same time as Suguru said (much more calmly), “yes.”

The two boys scowled at one another, devil and angel respectively, tugging you in two directions.

There was a vague memory that flashed behind your eyes, though you weren’t sure if it truly was one. An inception, a memory of a memory of a dream forgotten erstwhile. A snapshot of two boys arguing that bore a remarkable resemblance to the ones before you. A ball tightly gripped, a threat heavy, a silence haunting.

It was gone as apace as it came, ceding only a ghost of a memento to a past you did not live.

Boys, you carped internally. At this point, it was definitely possible Satoru would combust if he didn’t get to stuff his mouth with your baked goods. Lucky for him, they were finally ready to be assembled, a task that went by surprisingly speedily.

Probably because they had shut up and let you focus, rather than distracting you. Two rows of sandwich halves flipped over, generous dollops of frosting applied after you packed it into a baggie, the other halves placed on top, and–

“Voila!” You sang as you carried the plate of neatly piled rounds of pink to the island. “Bon appétit, mes messieurs. J'espère que vous l'appréciez.”

“Oooh, French,” Gojo swooned as he studied the plate. “Tryin’ to seduce us, pretty girl?”

You picked up on his unexpected patience, having expected him to dive for the snacks once presented. “So, now you’re taking your time?” You crossed your arms.

He shushed you – “did you just shush me!?” – as he canted his head this way and that, observing the coralish-red pastries from every angle. “This is a vital part of the process. I’m checking the quality–”

“Satoru, I will beat your ass.”

“–and appearance. Presentation is important, ya know?”

The raven on the next seat over smacked him upside the head. “Would it kill you to have some semblance of courtesy and respect? She baked for you, try to be polite for once.”

Satoru growled as he rubbed the spot he was hit. “It’s called honesty. Some view it as the ultimate form of kindness. I heard it from a wise man once.”

Suguru’s brow twitched, irked by his audacity. “You can’t just quote your own words and call yourself wise.”

“I can, will, and did,” he proclaimed as he picked up one of the sandwiches and popped it into his mouth. Didn’t even bother to nibble or take a diligent bite, nope, right down the hatch it went.

You swear your adrenaline spiked at his reaction.

Satoru moaned like a college girl getting her cunt licked for the first time, good lord. The sound genuinely caught you completely off guard, impressed by how high-pitched his voice could go. You knew you were good at making them, but you weren’t sure they were that toothsome.

“I take back everything I said,” he confessed around the confection, still moaning. “The wait was so much more than worth it.”

“There’s no need to exaggerate to show your appreciation, either, Satoru. It comes off as insincere,” Suguru sniffled as he plucked up a sugary sandwich and examined it, holding it between his fingers. It looked comically small in his large grasp. “Though, I’m sure that…”

You could visualize his words dying on his tongue as he took a nibble and stiffened in place, bewilderment dawning on him. Each character tumbled away, lost on the same path his train of thought vanished on.

Shit.

That response was bad. Right? It had to be bad, nothing joyous came from–

“Wow…”

“Right?” Satoru exclaimed loudly, clapping the man on the back. “Right!? And you thought I was exaggerating.”

“I stand corrected,” Suguru maundered. He stared down at his half-eaten food as if it held all the answers in the world.

Then proceeded to shove it in his mouth and snatch up a second one.

You were baffled, flattered, and skeptical. “You guys don’t have to pretend they’re good if you don’t like them.”

They paused mid-chew to pin you in place with their intense, dumbfounded veneration, and you regretted ever opening your mouth.

Gojo was acting like a man trapped in the middle of Death Valley during summer who stumbled across the one oasis that happened to not be a delusional mirage created from dehydration, heat stroke, and the blistering weather. His eyes, wide and unblinking, refused to move off of your face, like you’d just told him that, no, we can’t stop at the oasis for a sip of water.

Geto wasn’t any better. You got the sense that he would’ve taken less offense if you’d called his mother a monkey. Which is a hell of a leap, since you were talking about baked goods.

“You’re kidding, right?” Your host garbled around his food.

“You don’t have to act humble,” the other man disapproved. “These are really good. We aren’t lying.”

Your lips scrunched to the side in apprehension. Were they trying to spare your feelings? You were…distracted several times during the process. Maybe you added salt instead of sugar? Was powdered salt even a thing?

You wouldn’t know unless you tried them for yourself. You filched one, analyzed it, and took a cautious, tiny, itty-bitty nibble. Followed by a second, much larger chomp and released a relieved purl when nothing but berry treacliness met your tongue.

You weren’t a worldstar chef by any means, but, ugh, you did make some pretty rockin’ macarons.

Satoru and Suguru obviously shared your sentiment – the first one even more so, and he wasn’t shy about showing it. Were they worth sounding like he just had the best orgasm of his life? Debatable, but you weren’t going to take that away from him.

Sure, you were enabling his sweet tooth to hell and back, but it meant you got to stay under a safe roof and beneath the cushy blankets of the guest room bed.

His enjoyment was a reward in its own right, too.

You’d make these every day if he wanted, if only to see the gleam of the pure, intoxicated, glucose-induced high in his dilated pupils.

Sugar was to him what catnip was to a kitty. Which was a dangerous realization for you. You’d have to tread the line of confections-related conversations carefully, lest you land yourself a job as his personal at-home baker.

Which actually wasn’t all that bad of an idea. You’d get to chill in a mansion with a hot spring in the backyard, cozily nestled higher up in the valley. It was decently cloistered, you could forget the existence of that stack of sticks under your name, and, hey, you might get away with not needing to pay rent! Win-win for everyone involved.

No, you were not willing to discuss the logistics behind that. Let a girl daydream, ladies deserve to fantasize about the wildest shit. Like becoming a sugar baby without needing to do anything nefarious. Was it so wrong to want to be spoiled?

A little voice, high-pitched and frightened, clued you in on a little clause in any contract you might consider signing: do not tie me down.

Alright, a little rephrasing was needed, then: was it so wrong to want to be spoiled, without the risk of being forced to remain in that position indefinitely?

Normally, you experienced a tightness in your chest when those kinds of words filtered into your consciousness, making a sense of cold spread from your solar plexus to your fingertips. It instantly changed your mood, made you go from cheery to withdrawn.

Your soul housed a violent anathema whose sole purpose was to torment you with the notion that nowhere is safe. You can’t stay here, you can’t stay there, you can’t stay anywhere.

It reminded you of that one immortal snail hypothetical. No matter where you went, it would always follow you.

If that was the case, then, where was that feeling now?

The bickering boys in front of you, the idyllic mountains that curtained the shallow canyon, this cozy home and the terrifying one you owned, why didn’t they spur that fight-or-flight instinct in you? What was different about Japan, about this location?

Why did breathing feel so easy?

…How long would this sovranty last?

You elbowed aside that conversation for another time. You were going to enjoy every moment of this while you could. If you were at peace, you weren’t going to sabotage that. It was unique, foreign. No area, no city, no home had ever brought you this kind of emptiness in your head, and you were desperate to hold onto that feeling, to milk it dry.

Starting with this little moment of domesticity, sharing food with your…friends?

Friends. Friends who took a great liking to what you made with your own two hands.

You should sneak some away from Satoru to give to Granny, Shoko, and Utahime before he ate them all.

Oh, speaking of.

“Hey, Satoru,” you called out.

“Hm?”

“Are you and Iori-san exes?”

He ‘hah’d and Suguru coughed on his snack, nearly suffocating. “Nah, she wishes.”

You raised a brow. “She seems like she hates your guts.”

“She’s just jealous of my devilishly good features.”

Not trusting his story, you turned to Suguru, who was patting his chest. Bless the boy, he was always there to shed light on the truth.

With regards to making fun of Satoru, anyway.

“He antagonizes her,” he told you after choking down the frosting he partially inhaled. “Spends every second bullying and annoying her anytime they’re near each other. She also swings the other way.”

“Ahh, gotcha,” you thanked him, stepped over to Satoru, and flicked his forehead. You chided him as he clutched the spot with his hands and fussed dramatically. “Be nice to Iori-san!”

“Wh–” He glared up at you. “She’s just as mean! Why aren’t you shaming her?”

You planted your hands on your hips. “She’s your senior. Respect your elders.”

He jutted out his lower lip. “That’s so not fair. Aren’t elders supposed to be setting good examples for their kouhai? It’s her fault I’m like this!”

You and Suguru displayed twin deadpan lours. Raised brows, narrowed eyes, the whole nine yards.

Satoru grimaced. “Ugh, ew, don’t do that, that’s creepy.”

“What’s creepy?” You asked, perplexed.

“You two are matching, it’s weird.”

Suguru gave you a sidelong glance that you returned, judging the validity of Satoru’s claim.

You cracked first.

The edges of your mouth twitched and you pressed them together into a thin line, jaw tensing as you tried to maintain your composure. The corner of his mouth pulled up a millimeter and you popped, giggling against your hand as you faced away.

He shook his head and chuckled, the noise balmy and charming.

An amicable silence fell between the three of you, filled only with muted chewing and the occasional appreciative drone.

It may well have been inadvisable on your part to fall under the spell of the alluring siren that called you to drown in the depths of comfortable mundanity, to breathe in liquid mercury in the form of idle acceptance, but how could you not?

When you had two magnetic entities drawing you in, giving you a taste of something so normal and natural when all you’d ever known before was diffidence, could you really be blamed for willingly closing your eyes and falling backwards off the cliff that once kept your footing stable? Could you be faulted for the rush of pure adrenaline that coursed through your veins when you gave in after resisting for so long and got to feel the wind bosoming your form the way a lover would?

You knew the ground was speeding up to break your fall, to eviscerate you, turn you into dust made of microscopic shards of glass, but you had plenty of time to pull the cord to your parachute. A little indulgence never hurt.

Right?

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

“Good girl,” a voice murmured in your ear, sultry and seductive, praising you while you suckled lewdly on a pair of fingers that tasted sweet and rich and distinctly of berries. It sent chills all over your body, from your scalp, down your spine, all the way to your curled toes. “So needy, aren’t you?”

You nodded vehemently, breath hitching as plush lips traced the curve of your ear. You sucked harder, laving your tongue around and between the prodding appendages.

A different voice, no less enchanting and blazing, came from the figure that draped himself across your back, one arm wrapped around your midsection, his skin igneous against yours. “Greedy brat,” he cooed, his tresses of ivory tickling your temple and cheek. He slowly pulled his soaked fingers from your mouth, spreading them to display your saliva webbing between. “Just one man isn’t enough for you, huh? Need two to cure your insatiability? To fuck you stupid?”

“I–” you gasped, words caught in the back of your throat and fizzling away when his warm hand grasped your breast, wet digits pinching your nipple between his index and middle fingers. “Oh– fuck.”

Black kite eyes occupied your blurry vision, a bewitching smile lifting the corners of his lips. He came off as virtuous, a god amongst men, but the pure and raw hunger in his eyes promised only your corruption.

A fallen angel, a deity that chose to paint his feathers midnight, to dive into the allure of sacrilege and build a throne for himself to sit upon. He chose to rule over this ungodly land of heathens and desires. To pull you down to the depths with him, that was his purpose.

His eyes vowed to drown you in them, to make you as lecherous for them as they were for you. To make you yearn and crave and need them. To have them pressed against your body, invading your veins, speaking sweet nothings into the bottomless, most primal part of you until you could think of nothing and no one but them.

His scorching fixation drew you to him, the elfin star reaching to be coaxed into his gravity, to be torn apart at the atoms by his bare hands.

The presence behind you was just as cosmic, tugging you the other way, trapped within a binary astral system that encircled you until all you knew, and would ever need to know, was their names. You were ensnared in their push and pull, hands held by each of theirs, pressed between leviathan celestial bodies, and there was nowhere else you’d rather to be.

You were Persephone to their Hades, both holding one half of the same pomegranate, tempting you to bite into each. A silent urge to sink your teeth into the rich fruit, let the acidic, covenant-binding juice of gods flow into your core, spread through your entire being until you belonged to them and they belonged to you.

You hungered for it, wished to see and feel the coquelicot essence of the berry spill from your lips, curve over your chin, drip onto your bare breasts like fresh blood.

You wished to have their tongues on your flesh, licking the circumfluous juice as if it was the ichor of life itself.

Deft hands slipped between your thighs, prying them apart. Cool air brushed against your flushed, dripping womanhood, drawing a sharp inhale from you. You squirmed when the hand on your breast shifted to tease and torment your other nipple, the arm still holding your midsection loosening enough to allow strumming fingers to walk down your stomach.

Past your navel, across your womb, over your mons, until–

You chirped when the pad of his middle finger slid through your heavily slicked folds and pressed directly onto your hypersensitive clit, lightly pushing back the hood to expose more of it, all on display for the raven before you.

The swan chuckled deeply against your back, sending the vibrations directly through your ribs and into your stuttering heart. “So sensitive,” he drawled, nipping at your pulse through the tender skin of your throat. “We barely even touched you and you’re already soaked, princess.”

Firm palms massaged your thighs, ensuring they stayed open, forbidding you from covering yourself. You were theirs to watch, to toy with, to covet and fuck and ruin.

“Our poor, pretty angel. Desperate,” a wicked laugh escaped from lush lips that hovered just over your own, so close yet so far beyond reach.

“P-Please,” you shivered and whined when the finger on your burning, twitching button circled it lazily. “Fu-uck.”

“Use your words, sweetheart,” one of them instructed you – you no longer knew where they began and you ended. “Tell us what you want, and we might reward you.”

You took in a shaky, uneven breath, attempting to steady your voice. Hell, to find it at all. “Y-You. Need you. Please, gods– ah!”

“Which one, love?”

“Both! Both– both of you,” you choked out, bucking your hips against the hand cupping your heat. It wasn’t enough, you needed more, you needed them. All of them, every inch, every fraction of their beings melding with yours.

“Really, now?” A hot breath fluttered over your ear. “Such a spoiled little lover. Are you sure you can handle both of us?”

“Yes– oh, god – yes, please, ple-ase!”

You could feel their voices more than you could hear. One’s chest was flush to your spine, your nails digging into his forearms. The other breathed your air and gifted you with his own, a promise that you were only able to fill your lungs with oxygen because he allowed it.

This was hell. It had to be. They were so close, so fucking close, but they weren’t giving you what you wanted. You asked so nicely, begged them, you were impatient, aching for them to the point it hurt.

“If you say so,” he – who? – huffed, amused. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

Their warmth and scents mixed with your own, blistering against your damp skin, scalding you from the inside out, and how ready you were to plunge into the waves of magma below. You were doomed the very moment you said yes, from the second your eyes met theirs. You were destined to fall from the heavens into their cocooning embrace, and you willingly leapt from the clouds, chasing after them where they awaited you with open arms.

The set of fingers on your clit left to graze your entrance in ringlets that were far too languid for your liking; another grasped your chin between them, tilting your head up to peer into vortices of lust, venery, and depravity, threatening to suck you in and never let you leave.

What they didn’t say in words, they commanded with their searing idées fixe; they molded you into the perfect doll for them, the captivating nymph that curled her fingers towards herself, luring them to join her in the goddess’ blessed pond.

He leaned in, his soft pants fanning over your lips, right there, a millimeter more, almost–

You startled awake with a gasp, shooting upright onto your palms as you struggled to inhale and exhale properly. A thin sheen of sweat covered your entire body, making your exposed skin shimmer under the moonlight pouring in from your window.

Your heart raced in your chest, and you took long seconds to grasp your bearings and figure out exactly what occurred. Your heavy lids batted, trying to ease the grit from them. Everything remained fuzzy, recollection failing you…

As you began to calm down, you shifted your legs and abruptly stopped, cringing. The answer came like a slap to your tit.

You weren’t just wet, you were submerged.

Someone could squeeze water out of a rag and it'd still be less wet than you. You were utterly sopping, soaked right through your panties, a sticky mess of slick coating your pussy and the insides of your thighs.

Great.

This forsaken song and dance again.

Your cunt throbbed, clenching and mourning the loss of your high. Your nipples were painfully stiff, your clit screamed for attention, and all you could do was fall back on the bed and spread out your arms in defeat.

A wet dream. You had a fucking wet dream. And not just any wet dream, no, of course not. Nothing in life was ever simple. Not for you, never for you.

You groaned and pressed your hands against your face, trying to wrest away the image of Suguru and Satoru drawing you thin between them, turning you into a babbling, pleading mess, pining for the attention of your gods. The heels of your palms dug into your eyes until spots appeared, but all that did was make the images more clear.

Hell. Now what?

Feeling particularly uncomfortable, you chose to start by shimmying your panties off and tossing them into your hamper without getting up, exhaling heavily as you glowered at nothing in particular and zoned out.

Sure, you could try to go back to sleep, pretend it was possible and that you’d return to happy, not-lewd dreamland, act like your disgustingly blasphemous subconscious didn’t create the hottest dream you’ve ever had, but you knew that wasn’t going to work.

You grabbed your phone and squinted at the screen when you checked the time. 4:17 AM. Taking a bath at this hour would probably wake someone in the house. The better option was to grab a hand towel and use the sink to wipe yourself off, then lay awake and scroll mindlessly through your phone until you inevitably passed back out.

But…you felt so empty. And so fucking horny, it genuinely hurt. You didn’t know it was even possible to get this aroused, and you were paying the cost for it.

You worried your bottom lip between your teeth, nipping at the dry skin. Your fingers twitched at your side, fighting a war, debating.

…Once would be okay, right? Just once, to fix yourself up and get rid of any lingering ideas you had about the two boys. Yeah, that was okay. Probably. It’s not like they were going to know anyway, and you could go back to sleep after you took care of your…needs, then wake up as if none of this ever happened.

Alright. Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine. That’s the plan.

You swallowed thickly, noticing how viciously parched you were, but that could wait until you were done.

Your fingers tapped apprehensively against your stomach, yenning yet still uncertain. They trailed lower and lower, following the same path from your belly button to the apex of your thighs Satoru had taken in your delusion. A quickie. You’d be fast, and then forget this entirely.

You sucked in a hiss through your clenched teeth when your icy fingers brushed against your tender, swollen clit that was weeping for attention. Jesus, when was the last time you were this sore? This irriguous? Had you ever been?

You couldn’t tell if your fingers being cold made it worse or better. You weren’t sure why they were so frigid when the rest of you was combusting. All you could remember was a large, warm hand and addicting digits toying with you. This simply wasn’t sufficient in comparison – quite literally opposite in every way – but it was all you had to work with, so it would need to do.

You swore as you began rubbing the ticklish bundle in quick circles, your free hand swiftly shoving itself under your shirt to grasp your breast. You pinched, tugged, and twisted your nipple between your thumb and forefinger, lamenting the lack of satisfaction. It wasn’t fucking enough. Your digits felt too stiff, too glacial, for what you really wanted – what you urgently, critically, dolorously required.

You rubbed faster, pressed that sorry little nub down harder, dug your nails into your nipple, Christ, you were going to cry.

Why, why, why? You were right fucking there, on the cusp, more than ready to tumble off the cliff and let the swift fall break you into a million pieces.

Please, please, please! Please, fuck, just let me cum!

What were you missing? You had no trouble with this in the past, your hand was your best friend, now it was betraying you. Was your cunt too slippery? Was the frost of your touch driving your orgasm away? What was–

Your stilled as a sinful, dreadful thought crossed your mind.

This…all of this was caused by them. Not directly, but by proxy. It was because you were dreaming of them that you landed in this messy, painful spot. Your body forced you out of your own dream, effectively cutting off your lifeline of pleasure.

So, what if you…

You shook your head, winced, reconsidered, then repeated that process about a dozen more times. If you vowed that all this would remain here, in this moment, then there wasn’t really any harm in it, no?

You squeezed your eyes shut tight and slowly picked up the pace again, squirming under your own ministrations. You let yourself draw pictures behind your lids, visualizing the pair of boys, pretending it was their hands on you instead of your own. You picked up where your dream left off, the tick before Suguru’s lips were on yours.

His hands massaging your thighs, teeth nipping at the tip of your tongue, kurobeni locks tickling your forehead and cheeks – it was shockingly realistic in sensation.

Satoru was playing your body like a harp, drawing and pulling on the threads of your being, strumming them until he was the reason you were writhing and panting and moaning in subdued notes on your bed that took more effort to contain than you’d ever care to admit.

Your high came mind-numbingly soon. Where you had been trying to wrench it from yourself with immense difficulty a minute ago, now you were teetering over the edge. You only had to do a smidgen more to reach your freefall.

It came naturally to you.

Whined, breathy, pitchy, louder than you had any permission to be, you uttered the two names that sent you careening from elysium’s clouds.

“Mmph– S-Sat-toru, Sugu–”

You were fairly certain you saw the eternal gardens of Eden somewhere between that nanosecond and the next.

You broke like an over tightened violin bow, the hand twinging your tit shooting up through the collar of your shirt to slam against your mouth barely in time to muffle the piercing cry that tried to fly out from your bitten lips. Your muscles tensed, trembling violently. Your hips bucked against your hand, your back curved further than you thought possible, and your pussy squeezed around nothing so tightly that you believed if anything had been inside you, your pelvic floor would have cut off its circulation.

You rode out your ascent and dive for as long as you could, dragging it out with unsteady, arrhythmic, back-and-forth massaging on your twitching, overstimulated button until you lost all steam and flopped back onto the mattress, hands separating from your body like glue.

You panted heavily, staring up at the ceiling blankly, sprawled out as you tried to catch your breath. Your head was empty, limbs still shivering with aftershocks of the strongest orgasm you’ve had in a while.

You brought your arm over your face, watching your fingers glisten with your slick as you wiggled them around. The wetness sticking to your cunt and thighs was growing more and more uncomfortable by the second, too slippery without purpose for being so. The sheer amount of honey you produced was a disturbance on its own, but now you had to deal with the mess you made between your legs, on top of your post-nut clarity.

You needed God.

“What is wrong with me…” You mumbled as you rolled over to climb off the bed, feeling particularly disgusted with yourself. How the hell were you supposed to face Satoru and Suguru now that you had rubbed yourself off to the thought of not one, but both of them?

Shit, all of this because of that godsforsaken dream.

You shuddered, heat flashing through your body at the memory, and you quickly smothered the kindling. You weren’t hankering for a second orgasm at this time.

You wiggled off the edge and eased yourself onto rickety legs, using the mattress for support while you gained back your strength. You turned cautiously to check the sheets, and nearly collapsed in relief when you found no evidence of the heinous crime you just committed atop it.

God bless, you wouldn’t have to deal with trying to sneak the sheets into the laundry without getting caught, or come up with a passable lie to explain that the oddly damp and sticky patch wasn’t the remnants of your orgasm, nuh-uh, nope, not at all.

You weren’t a very good liar when put on the spot.

Little victories.

You crept around, tugging the hem of your shirt down over your thighs as you located things to freshen up with, thankful that the article of clothing was long and baggy enough to cover your shame. The moon, round and silver, lit up your room a smidge too clearly for your liking. You really didn’t want to see yourself in any way for the time being.

The hall, unlike your room, was sorely lacking in light.

With a small towel and a change of panties in hand, you carefully eased open your door, and glanced both ways like you were a child sneaking off to steal candy from the kitchen. It was crepuscular as fuck, but you had to ensure there wasn’t anyone who could see in the dark. Unreasonable line of thought, but who cares.

Coast clear.

You booked it towards the bathroom on the tips of your toes, rushing as soundlessly as you could to dive behind the door to safety. You didn’t let yourself breathe until you closed and locked the barrier with minimal noise. Mission successful.

Your eyes squeezed shut at the suddenness of the bright light flooding the bathroom when you flicked the light switch, your fingers scurrying to hit the dimmer and un-blind yourself. Bleh. Pain.

After your eyes adjusted to the light, you took one glance at yourself in the mirror, in all your mussed-up-hair and flushed-cheek glory, and instantly swiveled your head away. If your face wasn’t burning before, it certainly was now.

Your reflection would just have to remain a mystery until you could stand to look yourself in the eyes again. Which could take a long while.

“You depraved bitch,” you muttered to yourself scornfully as you turned on the sink, waited until the water was hot, and dunked the towel in it. “Goddamn slut. One was bad enough, but two?”

You worked quickly to wipe the tacky smears from your skin at the crest of your thighs, fussing and reprimanding yourself all the way through.

Unfortunately, as much as you wanted it, your shower would have to wait until morning. You feared boiling the shame off your flesh at this hour would be too conspicuous. You grimaced as the fibers of the cloth rubbed a smidge too harshly against your tender sensory nerves, and you took extra care to not aggravate your horniness again.

The band of your panties snapped against your hips, grounding you further, and you decided you’d been punished enough (for now).

Back in your room, you flopped onto the bed face down, abnormally fatigued. The forbidden rendezvous in the eclipse of the waking world and following nutty nut (heh) wiped you out from head to toe. Not bothering to pull the blanket back over your yet-to-cool-down figure, you nuzzled into your pillow, and conked the hell out.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

You had mixed feelings on how rested you felt when you woke up.

On one hand, it was delightful to open your eyes and feel energized after a yawn and a ferocious cat stretch, but the way you got there made it feel like an undeserved good night’s sleep.

You mulled over it as you zoned out in front of the pot on the stove while you waited for the buckwheat you tossed in to finish cooking.

Technically speaking, you did use the boys to get your rocks off, but could that really qualify for the ‘morally incorrect’ category when it was not soundly your fault? It’s not like you sat down and had a heart-to-heart discussion with your brain and pussy about giving into your perversion within the safety of your insanity.

Okay, insanity was a stretch, and definitely an over exaggeration, but it was your best excuse. Some cog had to have been knocked loose in your thick skull for you to succumb to your cravings the way you did.

Or, you know, you argued with yourself, maybe it’s because you live with a stupidly hot guy and he has a stupidly hot best friend? Is it really so hard to imagine you’d get horny over a couple of model-worthy men?

Yes. Yes, it is.

You ran your hand through your hair as you switched off the heat on the stove, deeming the seed ready, and retrieved a bowl from a nearby cupboard.

You weren’t one to fall so low. If you masturbated to anyone, which was already rare as gold, it was some rando on a porn site. You didn’t know them, they didn’t know you – hell, they didn’t know you existed for starters. Free content without being perceived, win-win for everyone.

What curse infected your system last night to make you do the things you did?

Gods, it was a really good orgasm, though.

It sat on the forefront of your mind the whole morning as you went through your routine. As you showered, got dressed, washed your face, brushed your teeth, and now, as you made what was basically brunch given the hour. You were having a tug-of-war with yourself, which was cool and all, but why the hell were Satoru and Suguru the ones on your shoulders debating your moral compass?

Debating was generous. It was more so Suguru reassuring you, telling you that it was alright, just a miscue in your judgement, everyone had a moment like that at least once or twice in their life. Satoru, meanwhile, took great delight in howling like an incubus and teasing you relentlessly about your misfortune.

Neither were actively discouraging you from being a degenerate, but you pined for death regardless.

Unintelligible inveighs spilled from your lips, aimed at nobody in particular as you scooped the buckwheat into your bowl, poured milk in with it, and sprinkled sugar overtop. You were mildly gratified to see Gojo had the seed, as your childhood comfort meal would aid in overcoming your newfound psychological complications.

“What's that?” Gojo's voice scared the balls off you as he spoke directly into your ear, bowing over your back. You physically felt them pop off and roll away like wayward marbles, never to be seen again.

Metaphorically. And–

Oh, god, Gojo.

How the hell does a giraffe manage to move around like a mouse?

You can do this. This is fine. You totally didn’t have a sex dream about him and his best friend, not at all, how could anyone dare to think so? You only had to act normal. Act good, this was normal, you were normal. It wasn't weird. It's only weird if you make it w–

“Buckwheat cereal,” your mouth answered for you. You suppressed the urge to sag in relief when nothing atrocious came out of it. “It's good for you.”

“...Explain.”

You angled your head to face him, fighting down the gasp and blush that wanted to spark to life at his proximity. Oh, he was, like, right there. “It's cereal…but with buckwheat.”

A frown marred his pretty face. “Is it sweet?”

“To everyone's taste. But for how I make mine, yes.”

“Lemme try.”

Your body moved on its own without any instruction – or permission – from your nervous system. You scooped up a spoonful of the cereal and brought it to his mouth as he stayed positioned behind you.

Which was a horrible fucking mistake.

His hands grasped your hips to hold you steady as he actually said ‘nom’ and closed his luscious, puffy, pink lips around the utensil.

Oh, my god.

If you thought the dream was bad.

He pulled away from it, though didn't retract his hands as he contemplated your choice in food, chewing slowly. He gulped too freaking loud, and beamed childishly. “More.”

You scoffed and lightly bumped your hips back into his, pulling a muffled grunt from him (oops). “Get your own. There's plenty on the stove.”

You weren’t sure if it was reprieve or disappointment that filled you when he released you and stepped away, inspecting the pot on the stove. “How do you make it?”

“Scoop some into a bowl, add milk and sugar. Boom, buckwheat cereal.”

“Is it really that simple?”

You snorted. “Yes, Satoru, it is. The only ‘hard’ part is cooking the ‘wheat itself, which is kinda like making rice.”

“Huh,” the boy vocalized as he followed your instructions. “Won’t the milk make it cold, though? Or is it supposed to be?”

“Again, it’s to everyone’s taste. You can heat up the milk if you want it to be warm. Buckwheat is surprisingly versatile,” you briefed. “High in fiber, antioxidants, anti-inflammatory, and – now that I think about it, it could be especially good for you, since it can help manage blood sugar levels.”

“Nerd,” he quipped.

You scoffed as you spooned some into your mouth and oh shit, oh fuck, this was the same spoon he used, was this an indirect kiss? Was this weird? He didn’t seem to care as he grabbed his own utensil and propped himself up against the counter with his lower back.

This is fine, you said as you banged your head repeatedly on the walls of your mental prison.

Pretend, pretend, pretend. Confidence was basically just really good lying. “Excuse me for being weirdly curious and just collecting random fun facts.”

He quirked a brow, eating up his own bowl. “Oh, that’s it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Satoru plainly shrugged. “Thought you might have been someone obsessed with nutrition facts or something.”

“I mean, I try to be a little careful about what I eat, but I’m not gonna sit and make calculations on every little thing I shove down my throat.”

A cruel sort of evilness curled the corners of his lips. “Is that so?”

You were going to shoot him one of these days for making you nearly inhale a kernel. Figuratively, duh, but nevertheless. Or perhaps literally. Whichever came first.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re annoying?” You probed.

His grin grew, as if this was something he was proud of. “Plenty, but none as cute as you.”

What a novel and unique method for making your cereal hot, using you as a human fucking conductor. No wonder the messy thing between your legs controlled your subconscious. It was Satoru’s fault all along.

You felt a mite less guilty about using his face as spank bank material.

“I’ll add ‘incorrigible flirt’ to the record, then,” you chuntered.

“And ‘good looks’,” he inputted.

You mimed writing. “E-go-tis-tic and con-cei-ted…”

“Oi!” He jutted out his lower lip. “O’, cruel temptress, you wound this one. You’re lucky I like you.”

A sizable chunk of your food attempted to get stuck in your throat, forced down only by sheer will alone. You froze, waiting for the world to collapse, for the walls to cave in, for the adrenaline to drown you in anxiety, for the air-raid sirens to start blaring. You waited, and waited, and waited.

Nothing came from his confession. It was a light, playful thing, sort of meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Your fight-or-flight had been triggered by less before, but…

Two seconds was all you allowed yourself to hesitate for, lest you look the fool. Two seconds of atypical…normalcy.

“You’ve known me for, what, three days?” You pointed out.

Satoru scraped up the last bit of his food and placed the bowl down to rest his weight on his elbows that he set on the marble surface behind him. “I’ve got good instincts. Gut feeling says you’re interesting, and I like your vibes. That’s all I need,” he disclosed.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same way. He was…easy, for lack of a better word. Talking to him came effortlessly, with lively chatter and content silence in the gaps between conversations.

Trust your gut instincts.

“Feeling’s mutual,” you admitted, softer.

That earned you a brilliant smile, stretched from ear to ear, and it made something docile and tender flutter in your heart. Not the rapid palpitations of attraction or flusteredness, no. Rather, it resembled a tea light, something mellow and snug.

Seeing him happy makes you happy.

You didn’t get long to dwell on it. “Hey, you still wanna use the onsen?”

His invitation wiped out all your brooding thoughts like a whipping gale, replacing it all with sheer zeal and glee. The moment you’d been waiting for! Now you didn’t have to awkwardly ask!

“Uh, yes? Hello? Is that even a question?” You gawked.

The pale-haired man simpered as he took your bowl from you – oh, when did that get empty? – and nodded towards your room. “Got a swimsuit?”

Thank the ever blooming stars above, you did.

“Yes!” It was taking everything in you to not start bouncing around like an overjoyed rabbit. The urge to zoomies was strong with this one.

“Great! There’s a shower outside and on the right, just past the partition when you go out the back,” he instructed. “Tradition calls for bathing in the nude, but I’ll spare you from that this time.”

Fuck ye– this time?

You were already moving along, shouting a high pitched ‘thank you!’ over your shoulder as you darted towards your room to retrieve a towel and your bathing suit, forfeiting your chance to voice that concern aloud. He was likely teasing you anyhow, and there was only so much flirting you could take before you’d combust.

You had no intention of testing your mental fortitude. Not until you got to turn into a boneless puddle of jelly beans in the onsen.

Was there some way to see a scoreboard of your times for ripping off your clothes? Because you were fairly certain this time would contend for first place with the time you tried the shower here for the first time. And, on top of that, you know that cute swimsuit you got eons ago, thinking you’d have a ‘hot girl summer’, only to never once wear it? You finally had a reason to pull it on and pose in front of the mirror in your room!

A tad late (or early?) for a hot girl summer, but damn, you looked good.

Satoru was nowhere to be seen when you skedaddled out of your as-of-current sanctuary, which permitted you to jog across the house to the back door on your tiptoes like a villain in a cartoon. You even did the evil little giggle, too.

The trees surrounding the backyard provided abundant protection from any potential gales, but the shade they shed made goosebumps rise all over your body from the chill, urging you to speed over to where the outdoor shower was to race your ass into the hot spring.

The shower itself was gorgeous. Dark, slat-wood tiles acted as protective walls, giving you decent privacy for a quick rinse. And the water?

Heaven.

Your only experience with outdoor showers before had been those super shitty beach ones, the type that half-sprayed, half-poured freezing cold water on you that did fuck all to get any sand or dirt off you. Plus, they were out in the middle of the beach anyway, so you’d end up getting sand on your soles afterwards anyway.

You were not expecting the water to be heated, or the ground to be free of debris (how far your standards have fallen), or anything beyond just a pole that water came out of.

Rich people. You gotta suck up to them more often, dignity be damned.

But you had a delightful bonus! You didn’t have to suck up to Satoru for these benefits! It remained to be seen what you would have to do after your free trial expired, but three days in, and you were more than ready to suck his dick to keep sitting pretty and living the life.

Okay, too far, but could you be blamed?

No. Most certainly not. No, you were not open for debate on this. You knew anyone else would think the same.

You hosed yourself down as thoroughly as your impatient self could handle, lest you perish before you got the chance to get a taste of rapture. Apparently, though, Satoru was faster.

Shock-white hair, dripping at the tips that had already begun collecting steam, alerted you to his presence as you tossed your towel onto a nearby bench. You had turned into a shivering mess in the seconds it took you to walk over and you were greatly looking forward to the deliciously painful sting that came from transitioning into hot water while cold.

He tilted his head back with that giraffe neck of his, the curious ‘oh’ of his mouth maturing into a smirk big enough to make dimples appear in his cheeks.

“There you are!” He called out. “You took forever, thought you slipped and died or something. Get in already, the temp is purrrrfect.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” you retorted as you sat down on the edge of the basin and dipped your feet in, hissed like a demonic cat wrangled from hell, then slipped in completely. Shudders wracked up your entire body, scalding you from head to toe – ah, but then, bliss. “Fuuuckkk…”

“Feels good, right?” He chortled and you nodded, your eyes slipping shut.

“God, it feels so good,” you slurred out contentedly as you sank down lower into the wonderfully hot piscina. You set the underside of the back of your skull on the ledge behind you and let yourself turn into a happy little jellyfish. “You’re so lucky.”

Satoru scoffed. You peeked one eye open. “I don’t actually get the chance to use it all that much nowadays.”

Your lips pursed in a pout. “Why not? You rich kids don’t have to work, right?”

“I am the heir to the Gojo clan,” he reinformed you. “My dad’s still kickin’, so he does all the major shit, thankfully, but I basically have to be on-call. Boring ass meetings, talking to even more boring ass people about,” he rotated his hand in a general all of this motion, “boring ass shit.”

You sat up properly, suddenly hyper aware of your position and whose company you were in. “Is it difficult?”

He tipped his head side to side, working out a crick. “Eh, nothing I can’t handle. I’ve known I’ll eventually inherit the family business since I was a kid, so I’ve been exposed to it all pretty much since the day I could walk.”

Guilt was knocking on the door of your sternum. Lifelong misconceptions of trust fund babies led you to have a mild prejudice against them. Social media didn’t help, with all sorts of platforms hosting blogs for the filthy rich who posted all hours of the day. Were all rich kids destined for the same, or was it only a few, like Satoru?

How could a petty commoner like you ever hope to understand?

You could start by learning.

“What’s the family business, if you don’t mind me asking?” You scooted closer.

“Politics,” he said as he propped his arms up on the stone behind him. “Like I said, boring shit.”

Ugh, politics. No wonder he was so disinterested, you would be, too. “How long has your clan been around?”

He blew air out past his lips, counting in his head. “Some one-thousand years, I think?”

“Yeesh,” you fluttered your lashes. “So you come from old old money, huh?”

“Ee-yup, pretty much,” he crooned, doing a complete flip in attitude from ennui to playing the part of charmer. “Which means I have plenty to spoil you with, pretty girl.”

You rolled your eyes and cupped water in your hands to splash him. He bayed in offense and splashed you right back, soaking your hair and face aggressively. He cackled like a mad man as you wiped the mineral water off your scowling features. That didn’t count, his hands were way bigger than yours.

He dipped a finger under one lens of his shades, rubbing away whatever liquid had gotten caught beneath, giving you the perfect segue to probe about them.

“Why are you wearing those glasses all the time? Can you even see through them with all this steam?” You inquired skeptically.

Satoru tapped his left cheek. “Sensitive eyes.”

“Or,” you proposed an alternative, because that was too easy, “you’re hiding something.”

His lips spread in a compelling grin. “Why don’t you come and find out?”

Don’t mind if I do.

You reached for his sunglasses, wiggling your fingers like you were about to cast some spell on him with a witchy smile. You expected him to maneuver away, angle his head so you couldn't actually get them, but he surprised you when he let you take them without any struggle.

You slid them off the bridge of his nose, fingertips brushing porcelain skin, and revealed the true hue of his eyes to you for the first time.

Your breath left your chest in a swift exhale, the vacuum of space stealing the air from your lungs.

You recalled what you thought of the sky the first time you had seen it from Satoru’s backyard, through a seamlessly cut circle sitting above the treeline. You remembered how you thought it was the brightest blue you had ever seen.

You took it all back.

This was the brightest blue you’d ever seen.

Prismatic eyes peered back at you, shimmering and shifting between shades of an early winter morning and oceanic depths, galvanic and otherworldly. You didn’t know how it was possible to have irises so vibrant and enthralling, how they caught the light and shattered it infinitesimally, scattering and dancing about like glittering snow. You swore that if you sought hard enough, you could see the crystalline shards glisten like rainbows whenever rays of luminescence caught them at the right angle.

At their darkest, they were cresting, bioluminescent waves crashing over the shore of a chilly evening on a beach, or a bouquet of blue orchids, or the celestial eons above when they began to shift from midnight to dawn, before the sun had awoken.

At their lightest, they were diamonds, multifaceted and nearly iridescent. The shimmering of a fairy’s wings, the first sip of spring, the water of the everblue hot spring behind his home as it subsumed you – calming, serene, warm. You yearned to take a deep breath, dive under the water’s cusp, and remain there forever.

A seraphim’s wings beat, thousands of eyes blessing with eldritch purity, each centered on you.

From the cascading snowdrift of his nitrogen-dipped lashes flocked with millions of ice crystals, to the gems he called irises, down to the voids of his pupils as they dilated, consuming pools of excruciating delphinium into trenchant rings.

They threatened to sink and drown you in their zeros, to poison you with a drop added to your wine, and you'd swallow all of it down in large swigs and thank him for it. You’d do anything to feel his hyperborean venom in your bloodstream.

You wondered if they collected sunlight during the day and glowed in the pitch of night, reflecting like vitreous ponds filled with veiled secrets known only to gods and the man in front of you, the one that ruled above them all.

He could make the boughs of celestia bend and lower for him, as if kneeling to respect their king. He could buckle any will with just a brief coup d'œil, make the strongest, most powerful people grovel at his feet, make the choirs of the universe sing for him and him alone, anything he desired.

But, he chose to lay his sights on you with playful mirth and gleaming excitement glissading within them.

“Careful, princess,” he preened, migrating towards you, a hunter stalking his prey. “Keep looking at me like that and I might get shy.”

Speckles of sweat slipped off the high curves of his cheekbones, dotting his forehead and temples, plastering his lily-white hair to his fair skin, and you decided on the spot that you were a slave to Gojo Satoru.

Ruin me.

Your lips tingled, parted as you beheld him in latria, begging to feel his upon yours. He was there, nearing, close, closer, closer–

“Ah, there you two are,” you jumped away from Satoru like he was a scorching bonfire you nearly leapt head first into, Suguru’s voice snapping you out of your muzzy revere.

You could have sworn you heard the boy you so nearly touched swear something foul under his breath, but you were too busy dying inside to pay attention. You whipped around, your fingers clasping the rocky shelf of the spring hard enough to break through it, gripping to it for dear life. Focusing on Geto as he approached grounded you and gave you a modicum of the stability you needed to recover because holy shit, you were about to kiss his best friend, what the hell is wrong with you.

“I heard back from Uncle Han,” Suguru updated you as he took a knee on the mildly damp stone in front of where you were peeking up from the hot spring. “He’s an acquaintance in the construction business. He said he can come over sometime tomorrow morning to inspect your house, just to see the condition it’s in. He won’t have any free hands soon, but if the thing is in a decent enough state, we could get started on it ourselves.”

“‘We’?” You tilted your head askance.

He raised a brow. “Yes, we. You, Satoru, me. What, did you think we were going to let you do it alone?”

“It’s just…” You chewed the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know how much to pay you.”

“Pay us?”

“Yeah,” you flicked your sight between him and Satoru. “Plus, I’d feel bad making you work for me.”

His forehead creased as if you were saying something completely absurd. “Who said that we’re charging you, or that you’re making us work for you?”

Now it was your turn to be taken aback. “Uh, because it’s labor? Aren’t you guys busy?”

Suguru arched forward a fraction, maintaining intense eye contact that refused to abate, seriousness etched into the tempered chocolate of his optics. They demanded your full attention, an unspoken command to meet his gaze and never look away unless he gave you permission.

You feared he never would – or, perhaps, wished.

“Satoru spends most of his days like a spoon-fed child who only has to occasionally go out of town to assist his dad, or fill out some paperwork when Gojo-san is too overwhelmed. I help out my folks with their farm in the mornings and sometimes an hour or two after noon. We have more free time than we know what to do with.”

Satoru sidled up to you, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you into his side. Everywhere his skin touched yours burned, hotter than the prickling, fervid loch submerging you below your ribcage. His beaming face entered your field of view, brilliant azures drowning out the rest of the world until only butterfly pea and black tea remained.

“It’ll be fun!” He touted, fingers squeezing your hip affectionately. “Tall, dark, and stupid over here’s right, we’ve been needing something to do.”

Mr. Tall, Dark, and Stupid’s expression dropped into a vexed glare. “Eat a dick and die, Satoru.”

“You first.”

“I’ll drown you in there.”

“Not if I strangle you.”

“Good luck reaching me, shitstick.”

As entertaining as their bickering was, you needed to say something before the very important conversation got completely swept away. You reached up to touch the dark-haired man’s hand as it hung lazily over his raised thigh, but stopped short when you saw liquid drip off your wrist. You didn’t want to get him wet, so you used that hand to draw his attention with a downward wave of your digits.

“Thank you, Geto,” the outer corners of your eyes crinkled.

His bristled temper died down, ire replaced with an irrefutable fondness in the gaze he directed at you. His hand flipped over and clasped yours, preventing you from withdrawing, unbothered by the dampness clinging to your heated palm.

He looked at you like you were the only soul worthy of seeing the curve of his lips draw upwards to match yours, the only one whose knuckles he’d lift to graze a featherlight kiss to, the only one who’d be able to coax an unseen side from him without a fight, needing only to merely whisper his name.

Sealed with a velvety promise when it spilled from his tongue into the space reserved for you, them, and no other.

“Suguru.”

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taglist: @kimi01985

#Tether Me #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #geto x reader #suguru x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #satosugu x reader #chimera writes

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darnell-la · 10 months

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Note: Hello!! We reposted this because something went wrong with our Tumlr account. Don’t worry, it’s fixed!! Please messages us some requests and comment if we made any big mistakes in this story. We love you!

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Paring: Dom/Rafe Cameron x Reader x Dom!JJ Maybank

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Y/n’s pov

“Just say it, Rafe. You’re a dick! You harass my friends, you harass me and you scare every dude away that I talk to. What’s up with that shit!?” I yelled at Rafe after I barged into his room and argued with him for a good few minutes.

He just scared a boy away that I actually found nice and attractive. Rafe tends to scare boys away somehow and for no reason what so ever and not tell me why.

“Don’t need you makin' anyone a victim around here, y/n,” Rafe said as he walked over towards his desk and took a sip of his alcoholic drink that’s probably been up here for days.

“That’s not your decision to make, Rafe. And what the fuck do I even do to you? I barely fucking know you!” I yelled at him. “I just moved here 4 months ago and it wasn’t hard to realize how fucked up you were,” I said, making him laugh.

“Fucked up? Ha, that’s funny. No, no, what’s fucked up is that you and your little Pogue friends keep getting in my way. You guys walk around here like you own shit,” Rafe argued.

“Why does that matter? It shouldn't bother you at all! All you do is bitch and cry about how Pogues are coming over to your part of the Island and having fun,” I said.

“Not every Pogue is gonna be working for you or suck on your dick, Rafe! It doesn’t matter how fucking good-looking you are. Not everyone wants that life!” I yelled at him, getting angry.

Rafe chuckled as he thought to himself. What was it? Did I say something wrong? This isn’t the time to laugh. Anytime he laughs, it's never the time to laugh.

“You even think I’m hot. Shows what you Pogue’s wanna have,” Rafe said, sounding cockier than ever. “What the- When the fuck did I say that shit!?” I asked him, in a are you crazy voice.

“You said I was good-looking. I mean, that’s not hard for me to see, but coming from you, it's a compliment. You don’t seem like a lair type or even the type to call just anyone good-looking,” he said, making me roll my eyes.

“It’s sad that you only heard that out of every other thing I said,” I said. Rafe had walked around me and towards his door. I thought he was going to kick me out until I turned around to see him closing his room door.

“No need for that, I gotta go anyways. You’re a waste of my time,” I said as I walked towards him, thinking he’d get out of my way so that I could leave and get back to JJ who’s probably taking shots and smoking a joint with the rest.

“You know what I think is a waste of time? You think I’m somewhat attractive but never put your thoughts to use,” he said as he began stepping toward me so I started stepping back.

“I have no thoughts,” I said as he scanned me. Rafe has looked at me like this before but being in this situation makes it different. It’s like he’s actually making a move instead of just talking.

“Are you sure about that?” Rafe asked as he grabbed my waist tightly but softly and pulled me into him. “Rafe, what are you doing?” I asked as I tried pushing his hands off of me until he lifted my chin softly with one hand.

“Stop acting like you haven’t thought of me fucking you instead of these bitch Kooks. I bet you get jealous that I’d get with anyone, knowing you’re better for me,” Rafe slightly smirked at me.

“I have to go,” I said, trying to move to the side and leave but he kept me in his grip. I looked up at him, very shocked at his actions until he cut my thoughts off and softly pressed his lips on mine.

I never thought of Rafe doing anything like this to me. Mainly because I’m a Pogue. There are plenty of attractive Pogue’s that have tried getting at him but he never tried it out. He hates us. Why is he kissing me?

Rafe moved from my lips down to my neck to suck and make love marks, causing me to let out whines as I gripped his shoulders to push him back but I couldn't. I can’t. It’s like I don’t want to.

“Wait, Rafe, no. No, we can’t be doing this. Rafe! Rafe put me down!” I demanded him as he picked me up and brought me to the side of his bed where he dropped me. “Who said we can’t?” Rafe asked as he pulled his shirt off. I stayed quiet and just stared at him.

“Because of JJ, huh? You scared he’ll get angry at you fucking his enemy?” Rafe asked. I wasn’t even thinking of that. JJ would be pissed off if he found out I even stayed in a room alone with Rafe.

“Aren’t you too old for bro code, baby?” Rafe asked as he tugged on my skirt until he got them off. “Rafe!” I shouted at him, acting surprised like I didn’t know what was next. Why am I not fighting him away? I can’t just let this happen.

“Yell at me again, and I’ll make a tape and embarrass you,” Rafe threatened. “Or do you not care? You’d probably like how angry the girls would get,” Rafe said as he pulled his shorts down, just enough for me to see his cock jump out. He’s big…

“Turn around so I can see a view of that pretty ass,” Rafe said but I didn’t move. I just looked at him, shocked and shy. I can’t do this to JJ. Not just because he and Rafe go at it all the time, but because me and JJ have a small thing going on. This would break him.

“Y/n, we’re too far into this for you to make me do everything,” Rafe said with a slight tone but I stayed still. “Why am I always doing shit myself,” Rafe angrily said as he roughly pulled me up, turned me around, and pushed me onto my stomach.

“Rafe, this isn’t-“ I tried saying but he quickly grabbed a full hand of my hair and slightly tugged as he leaned closer to my ear. “I don’t have time for that shit right now, y/n. Either you moan my name or shut the fuck up,” Rafe growled.

I kept my mouth shut, listening to everything until I felt his tip brush up against my entrance. That’s when I started moving and trying to push him off, now realizing how messed up this is, but it was too late.

Rafe forced himself into me with a hard thrust, causing a loud moan to escape my mouth. “That’s more like it,” Rafe said before using his free hand to push my waist into the bed and thrust into me.

“Rafe,” I choked out as I grew wet every second. My stomach began tightening. “You good, princess? This Kook dick gettin' to ya?” Rafe chuckled as he sped up his thrust, knowing I was close.

“Slow, slow,” I begged as tears formed in my eyes but he liked that. He loved the sound of me struggling to breathe and speak. “I don’t think you like that, baby. I think you like it rough and mean,” Rafe moved the hand that was on my waist to my face and tightened his grip.

“I think you want me to fuck your cunt full of my cum so you can fantasize about it every time I yell at you in the future, huh? Am I right?” Rafe seriously asked which is sick but he's not wrong.

“I bet you get wet and throb when I call you out or get smart with you. You love the nasty comments and pervy looks I give you,” he said reading me like a book. “You’re just another slut, dick drunk for me. I’ll make you come back to me,” he growled in my ear.

“It’s better if you come back to me because if I come back, I'm gonna fuck you harder than the last time I did, and I don’t think you’d enjoy that overstimulation. I’ll fuck you for hours until I’m satisfied with my cum leaking out of your pretty little cunt,” he growled in my ear as I cried in pleasure.

“Aho! Guess who decided to join us,” Rafe said, confusing me until he turned my head towards a shocked JJ. Ah shit... I fucked up.

“Rafe,” I struggled to say as I tried pushing him off. “Rafe, get off,” I started panicking as JJ watched Rafe fuck the life out of me. I can’t let this happen. I can’t. Shit!

“You didn’t want me off of you a few seconds ago. What? Now that your little best friend is here, you wanna act different? Wanna act like you weren’t about to cum on my cock?” Rafe asked as he began to roughly slam every last inch into me.

“Rafe!” I cried out as tears began to stream down my face. Unfortunately, it’s not because I feel bad. It’s because I can feel the best orgasm right around the corner if Rafe keeps fucking me and talking to me like this.

“She’s been tightening around me ever since she saw you. She likes the thought of you watching her,” Rafe said. “No! No, no, no,” I repeated, trying to get up but he was to strong. “Come over here and drop the angry act. You can’t be mad, seeing a body like this, knowing you could be in it, easily,” Rafe said.

“JJ, I’m sorry. Just, please, get him to stop. Get him off,” I begged, trying to get on JJ’s nice side as my legs began to shake. “Please get him,” I whined as my eyes rolled back. I soon came hard around Rafe’s cock and legs.

“Fuck,” I breathed heavily at the feeling of Rafe keeping his paste. He won’t even let me come down from my high. “Rafe, Rafe!” I whined in the sheets but he didn’t like that. He pulled my head back by my hair and gripped my face tightly.

“No, you’re gonna moan and show JJ how much of a good time he can have if he came over here,” Rafe said, turning my face towards JJ once again. “JJ,” I whined, just to whine as I’m too fucked out to think straight.

“You can only think about how hard you're getting fucked, huh?” Rafe asked but I didn’t want to answer. I couldn’t answer. “Fuck, I’m close,” Rafe groaned low as his hands gripped my waist tightly to fuck me rougher as his thrusts slightly got sloppier.

“R-Rafe,” my voice cracked as my eyes rolled to the back of my head once again. “Sucking me in? You want me to cum in you, huh? Want all this Kook cum, hm? Tell me, baby. JJ won’t mind,” Rafe said in a slightly desperate voice.

“N-No, I can’t” I sobbed, embarrassed at my actions. Embarrassed that I love the way Rafe is fucking me. I’m embarrassed at how I’m sucking him in, so desperate to feel every inch and all his veins that he so desperately wants to give me.

“Say it,” JJ said, catching me off guard. “What?” I asked low. “Say it!” He repeated more angrily. “Jay…” I said, not knowing if he was pissed off and would walk out if I say it or if he’d like it. “Say it y/n. Now!,” JJ demanded.

“I-I want it, Rafe,” I whined. “More,” Rafe demanded as he gave my ass a slap. “I want it so bad. Please, give it to me,” I begged. “What exactly do you want, princess?” He asked, causing me to sigh loudly. “I want your c-cum. Please cum in me, please!” I begged and soon after, Rafe bucked his hips, pushing deep into me as he filled me up.

I moaned mixed with cries as I felt his seed leak out of me. Why do I love it? Why do I want more?

I covered my face in embarrassment, hoping they’d both leave me here but I soon felt a hand grip my hair harshly and pull me to my knees. I looked up to see JJ. Jay fondled his belt buckle then pulled his jeans down as well as his boxers.

“Wait, JJ, what are you doing?” I asked, my voice still having cracks on it from Rafe fucking the voice, moans and cries out of me. “You wanna whore around for Rafe, but not me?” He asked as he jerk himself in front of my face. Why are these boys so big?

“You wanna cum on his cock, beg for his cum, let him cum in you, breed you!? But you can’t fucking kiss me when you’re drunk out of your slut mind and flirting with me!?” JJ angrily asked.

Before I could say anything, JJ pushed his cock down my throat right as I opened my mouth. I instantly gagged on him, causing his hips to buck.

“Fuck. Look at those lips around my shaft. Never knew I’d fall more in love with those eyes with my cock down your throat while making you cry,” he said. I moaned at how my pussy throbbed…

“What? Do you like being dragged around and used like it’s our last day on Earth? I bet you’re growing wet at just a dick in your mouth, huh? So fucking pathetic,” JJ growled. I can tell he won’t last for long. He’s trying his best but his thrust is beginning to become sloppy.

“Fuck, y/n. Look into my eyes. I wanna watch your eyes grow while I feed you,” JJ’s legs slightly shook as his cock twitched in my mouth. Before he could say anything else, his own moan stopped him as his seed traveled down my throat.

I whined as my vision slightly got blurry. JJ tried keeping his eyes on me but his own eyes kept rolling back at the intense orgasm.

“Agh fuck,” JJ pulled out and slouched over, trying to catch his breath with his hand still in my hair. “That front seat show made me rock hard again but I sadly have to get out of here,” Rafe said as he started putting his clothes on.

“Y’all can stay up here and sleep with me tonight. I’ll start shutting the party down and maybe we can uh, you know, threesome?” He asked. He was genuinely asking. Rafe Cameron asked for something. From Pogues!

“Is that okay with you, baby?” JJ asked me. “Of course,” I said. “Okay great,” Rafe said in a slight exited tone as he made his way towards his room door. “Oh, and if you guys come down and drink a little, make sure she’s on your hip. One word to any dudes, even my friends, then you take her back up here and fuck her in her ass until she’s drenched every inch of my sheets,” Rafe said.

Of course, my pussy throbbed at that thought. I’ve only experimented anal with myself and honestly, I’m ready for someone to help me out.

“Got it,” JJ said with a chuckle as he looked down at me. Rafe left the room and seconds later, JJ picked me up and placed me on the bed. “I know you’re aching,” JJ said as he leaned down toward my core.

“I can hear how wet you are when you move those pretty thighs,” he said, now separating them. “JJ, wait. I-I’m too sensitive right now,” I said. “Do you think I care? After you gave all What’s mine up to Rafe? I should fuck you anal just for being a dick-drunk slut,” JJ angrily said, only making me throb.

“S-Sorry,” I apologized. “It’s okay, baby. But the only apology I’m accepting is that pussy in my mouth, okay?” He said, making me nod my head. “Words baby,” JJ rubbed at my clit, causing me to clinch around nothing.

“P-Please eat me JJ. I want you so so bad. I-I can feel myself going crazy. I-I just need it. Please,” I begged. JJ wasted no time to dive into my starving pussy. I needed someone’s lips and tongue lapping around my cunt. I couldn’t take it anymore.

I grabbed JJ’s hair, causing him to groan on my cunt as I humped his face. “Fuck!” I moaned loudly as he gripped my hips to pull me closer. “My pussy,” JJ breathed heavily then went back to violating my cunt.

I can’t believe I let my best friend and Rafe Cameron do this to me tonight. They’re the two people I’ve never thought about having anything with. How could I? It’s sick. Maybe I am sick… Or maybe they just make me feel too good.

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bitterpotionn · 8 months

Text

Johnny Slaughter - Crush pt. 2

Here is part 2! I wanted to get this out sooner rather than later. I always hate waiting for part 2s, so I didn't want to subject anyone to that. This one is very smut heavy and I'm quite proud of it. It's also very long.

I hope you all enjoy it! I wouldn't mind expanding on this dynamic in the future if that's something y'all would read so just let me know!

As always, any feedback or constructive criticism is welcome!

Warnings: Use of Y/N, dub-con, Johnny's mean, cunnilingus, slapping, hair pulling, unsafe sex, pressure, reader is sad, drinking, smoking, name-calling, blood, loss of virginity

Two dates turned into many. Sneaking out and ditching her friends to see Johnny became a routine for her. She was so infatuated with him. She wanted to be around him constantly and she just couldn't help but revolve her entire life around him. He was always so convincing and charming; how could she resist?

They were walking hand in hand down the old cracked sidewalk. They had just gotten out of the late showing of a movie she was dying to see. Johnny was off today. Quiet. She took note of this and was worried the entire night, she didn't want him to be upset. She leaned into his side as they walked, stroking the top of his hand. He just grunted and continued walking as he took another long drag out of his cigarette. "Hey, I forgot to mention, my parents will be out of town for the weekend, some wedding thing..." her words drifted off, she felt him slightly stiffen next to her "Maybe you could, I dunno come over and I can make you dinner?" her eyes shifted to study his reaction. For the first time tonight, he grinned; wide. "That sounds like a good idea, darlin'"

Once they arrived at her house she let Johnny in, motioning him to follow her into the kitchen. Johnny scanned his eyes around the house. It was clean and cozy. Definitely a lot nicer than his house. He zoned in on a family picture hanging on the wall next to the kitchen entrance. Her mom and her dad were sitting on the porch of their house, with a teenage Y/N sitting in the middle of them, smiling. His eyes narrowed. He was distracted as she got out some pots and pans and began gathering up some ingredients in a hurried manner. She really wanted to impress him.

As she stirred some red sauce he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing himself into her. She could feel his slight hard-on. This made her stiffen a bit. They hadn't done much other than kissing and some light petting. Not that Johnny didn't try almost every time they went out, she always shyly turned him down. Mumbling something about "not being ready." Much to his dismay.

"I love seeing you act like my little housewife, makin' me dinner" he hummed out, his head resting on her shoulder. She could feel his warm breath on the side of her face. "Such a good girl for me hm?" his hands traveled to the underside of her breasts, staying still in that position for a while. She gave him a nervous laugh and nudged his shoulder playfully. "Makin' me blush Johnny" she said as she continued to stir the contents in the pan. He chuckled and stayed in his position, gently swaying her back and forth. Eventually, she needed to grab some more ingredients. She slipped out of his grip and started to grab some pasta to boil.

He leaned against the counter as he watched her rush around, desperately trying to make everything perfect for him. She turned to look at him. "You can sit down, you don't gotta stand here with me" she said giving him a smile. He shrugged and looked over at the food. "I like watchin'" he said grinning at her.

After a while of her running around she finally finished preparing the pasta. She got him his plate first and sat it down on the kitchen island. She had a hopeful look on her face as he watched him eating, praying that he would like it. "Do you like it?" she asked rubbing his head as he ate. He nodded and smiled at her. "Delicious" she felt herself breathe a sigh of relief as she gathered her own plate, setting down right next to him.

It almost felt domestic. Sitting next to him eating a home-cooked meal like this. She felt like she was on cloud nine. She could almost pretend that they lived together, that this was just another Saturday of them eating dinner together. Maybe they just put the kids down for sleep and they finally had some alone time, she liked to think like that. She felt like she was living her teenage fantasy.

After they were both done eating, she was washing the dishes in the sink as he leaned beside her, drinking one of her dad's Budweiser beer bottles from the fridge. She made a mental note to replace it, to not raise any attention to it being gone. "What we havin' for dessert, I think I got some ideas," Johnny said, his voice low as he spoke directly into her ear. She giggled and playfully swatted him away as she dried off her hands. "I still gotta show you around," she quickly changed the subject as she grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the center of the house.

The tour was painfully long and boring for Johnny, after all he only had one thing on his mind. The last part of the tour was the room Johnny was waiting for, her bedroom. As they walked in, his eyes scanned the area. He walked around and looked at all the pictures on her dresser, and all the books on her bookshelf. He noted a lot of pictures of her friends and family. As he scanned the area she sat down on her floral comforter on her bed. Readjusting some of her pillows and stuffed animals, trying to make the room look more neat. She almost felt like this was a prison cell check, the way he looked at every little detail made her nervous.

He turned back to her sitting figure and grinned widely. "Cute," he said, sitting down next to her, glancing over at her stuffed animals that lined the bed. "Aren't you too old for all those stuffed animals," he teased pulling her into his lap. She gave him a pout and shook her head. "You can never be too old," she said leaning her head on his shoulder, her arms wrapping around his torso. He chuckled and held her close, rocking her back in forth almost like a child. "I haven't forgotten about dessert ya know," he said slowly, kissing up and down her neck.

She bit down on her lip and didn't answer, too distracted by the feeling of him kissing her neck. He switched positions and gently laid her down on her bed, he was hovering over her. His knee was positioned right in between her legs, pushing up against her. She bit down on her tongue to prevent herself from moaning out. His lips were all over her neck and mouth, the feeling was becoming almost unbearable. It was only when his hand moved down to the button of her jeans is when she shot up. He made a surprised noise as he followed suit, leaning back trying not to fall off the bed. "What the hell Y/N?" he said his eyes narrowing.

She bit down on her lip and shook her head a bit. "I-I'm sorry, I just got nervous" she looked up at him and reached for his hand. "I just don't know if I'm ready for that, Johnny" He groaned slightly and moved his hand away from hers, rubbing his face in annoyance. "What am I supposed to just wait around until you decide to be ready? You're an adult Y/N" he snapped, almost glaring at her. "Johnny...don't be mad. I just, I need more time" her voice was meek as she spoke, her heart hurt. He gave a dry chuckle at this and shrugged standing up. "Right" he started to walk toward the door, and she quickly stood up and grabbed his arm. "Please don't go I'm sorry" her voice broke as she fought back the urge to cry.

"You're being so childish, Y/N. After all I do for you, you won't even let me touch you" he pulled his arm away from her and rolled his eyes. She felt her heart beat quicken, she felt like she was going to throw up. He can't just leave. "No, no I'm ready I swear" she said grabbing onto his arm again.

He looked down at her with a skeptical look on his face. "Really?" She quickly nodded and gave him a weak smile. "I mean. You're right, you do so much for me and you treat me so well. Its the least I can do right?" He smirked and nodded "That's right" he lifted her up and laid her back down on her bed. "Just please go easy..." she said frowning a bit at him. He nodded "Of course, I always take care of you don't I?"

His lips found their way to her neck, kissing and sucking. She winced at the thought of having visible hickeys on her neck. She wanted to say something, but she couldn't risk upsetting him again. His knee found its way right back in between her legs. She couldn't help but lightly grind against his knee, desperate for some type of friction. He snickered at this and rammed his knee closer to her aching cunt. She gasped a bit as her eyes shot up to meet his. "Don't get shy now doll, just a second ago you were humping my knee like a bitch in heat," he snickered and pulled up her t-shirt, exposing her breasts to the cool air of her bedroom. She whined and tried to squeeze her legs together, only to be stopped by this leg in between her thighs. "You've been holdin' out on me doll, makin' me wait for so long," his mouth caught onto one of her breasts, desperately sucking at her nipple.

She arched her back off the bed, holding onto his shoulders as he continued. Letting out small whines. She was overwhelmed with all of the different feelings she was having. On the one hand, she was ecstatic to lose her virginity to Johnny, after all, she loved him. But on the other hand, she was scared and didn't feel entirely ready. She felt like she had no choice now.

After an eternity of Johnny giving her hickeys and sucking on every part of her chest, his hands found their way to her jean button. He glanced up at her as he unbuttoned her jeans, painfully slow. He then yanked them down so that she was completely bare underneath him. He hummed out and ran two thick fingers over her wet cunt. He chuckled when he felt her. "Already soaked like a slut, you sure you're a virgin doll?" she quickly nodded her eyes going wide. He snickered "I'm just playin'" he ran his fingers through her folds. She let out some strained moans as she furrowed her eyebrows, her eyes squeezing shut. "Since I'm bein' such a gentleman, I'll warm you up first," without much warning, he pushed two fingers inside of her. She let out a gasp and stared at him. The feeling was so foreign to her. She couldn't decipher what she was exactly feeling.

He steadily pumped his fingers inside of her, curling them up into her. His free hand found its way to her neck, keeping her steady as he worked her. She let out small moans and whines her legs shaking. "J-Johnny" she stuttered out, gripping his forearm. Right when she felt herself about to go over the edge, he pulled his fingers out of her. He scanned his fingers, a thin sheen of blood coated them, he snickered and looked in her eyes as he sucked his fingers clean, letting out a low groan as he did so. Her eyes widened as he watched his lude act. She felt a warm sensation in her stomach.

He smirked and stroked the side of her face. He kissed her deeply, she could taste herself on his tongue. He then pulled away and took off his shirt, exposing his toned chest to her. She couldn't help but stare, it was clear all the farm work paid off. He then unbuckled his belt and pulled out his hard cock, stroking it in his hand. Her eyes went wide as she realized the sheer size of him. "Think ya can handle it darlin'?" he snickered, rubbing the tip through her wet folds. "Is it gonna hurt?" she asked, a deep frown on her face, she felt like she already knew the answer but hoped he would be able to provide some reassurance. He chuckled and leaned down to kiss her neck "Probably, but I'll go easy doll," he said with a sarcastic tone. He didn't make her feel better.

Without much warning, he pushed into her, he let out a deep groan, "Fuck your tight," he moaned out. She let out a strained whine, she dug her nails into his forearm. The feeling was almost too much, the feeling of him deep inside of her made her eyes roll back. It was painful and foreign at the same time. Johnny started to move but she quickly shook her head. "N-not yet" she moaned out, looking up at him with pleading eyes. He feigned an eye roll before shaking his head. "You gotta get used to the feeling, it will feel good I promise," he started thrusting at a steady pace. She panted and let out a series of loud moans as he hit deep inside of her.

"Such a good girl,” He gripped her hips as he thrust into her. He looked down and saw some drips of blood go onto her floral comforter. He smirked and thrust harder, his grip tightening around her hips. She gripped his hands and whined. "J-Johnny..." she breathed out. "That's right, I own this cunt", he reached out and gripped her neck, leaning down to kiss her sloppily.

Her mind was spinning, she almost felt sick and she was desperate for some sort of comfort from Johnny, but he didn't give her that. Johnny continued his rough thrusts into her, squeezing at her neck, all while letting out low groans. "Fuck I'm gonna fill you up," he moaned out, staring at the way her breasts moved with every thrust. With one last mind-numbing thrust, Johnny finished deep inside of her. He let out a string of curses as he squeezed down on her neck. Her eyes squeezed shut, cringing at the feeling of his hot cum inside of her.

He let out a low whistle as he pulled out of her, admiring the way his pink-tinted cum dripped out of her and onto her bed. He smirked at her and pulled her in for a kiss that was more teeth than anything. "You were a good girl, doll," he got up and began dressing himself, throwing one of her shirts on the floor to her so she could clean herself off. She shakily grabbed the shirt and tried to wipe the cum and blood off of her comforter. She looked up at Johnny. "You're gonna stay the night right?" she asked quietly, embarrassment laced through her words.

Johnny hesitated for a second. "I can't tonight, darlin'. Gotta be up real early tomorrow. But I'll swing by later hm?" he lifted her up from the bed and kissed her deeply. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tight, not wanting to let go. He chuckled and patted her back, setting her back down on her bed. Without another word from him he walked out of her room. She could hear his heavy boots thudding down the stairs and out the door. The sound of his truck driving away was like a punch to the gut.

She sat on her bed, still completely naked. She looked over at the large stain on her comforter. She shakily got up and stumbled into the bathroom, she felt dirty and used. She sat down against the door of the bathroom and hugged her knees to her chest. Her first time was supposed to be...different. It was supposed to be on her terms. She imagined Johnny gently laying her on her bed, whispering 'I love you's' into her ear as he held her. Going slow and easy. Showering her with love and admiration. Staying the night and holding her as she slept. Yet here she was, naked, bruised and sore on her bathroom floor. She cried herself to sleep that night.

The following morning she got up early. She could hardly sleep. She woke up with a splitting migraine and an ache in between her thighs. She called Lacy and Sarah. She didn't dare tell them what happened, how could she? Yet despite the complexity of her feelings, she found herself missing Johnny. She missed the way he would hold her hand and help her into his truck. Maybe she was just being difficult, he had to care about her. He wouldn't have waited so long if he hadn't; right?

Later that night, she was walking home from her shift at the bookstore. She was still sore and slightly upset. She hadn't heard anything from Johnny, not even a call. She almost didn't want to hear from him. The night before created a foggy mess over her brain. Left her confused and hurt.

She was able to pick up some new titles today, courtesy of her boss. She clutched the books closely to her chest as she neared her house. She heard the familiar roar of Johnny's truck coming up behind her, and her stomach dropped. Johnny rolled down the window and whistled at her. "Who is this pretty girl? Walkin' home by herself?" he chuckled and looked over to her. When she didn't respond he frowned. "Hey Y/N,” she stopped and looked over giving him a weak smile. "Hi Johnny, just headin' home," she said slowly approaching the truck. "I see that. Let me give you a ride, c'mon,”

She didn't bother to argue as she got into his car, settling into the passenger seat. He leaned in and gave her a deep kiss. She kissed back slightly before pulling away with another weak smile. He made a "hmph" sound before starting down the road toward her house. His hand found its way to her thigh as he drove. "You feelin' okay? Sore?" he snickered and looked over to see her reaction. She didn't offer one, other than a slight nod. He noticed this change in demeanor quickly, a deep scowl set on his face.

The rest of the ride was relatively quiet, aside from the sound of her flipping through the pages of her new books. Once Johnny pulled up to her house he turned off the car and got out, opening the passenger side door for her. She slipped out of the truck and looked up at him. "Thank you for the ride, I'll see you later,” she said turning to walk back into her house. He grabbed her arm and chuckled a bit. "Not gonna invite me in? Your parents aren't home still," he hummed wrapping his arm around her shoulder, walking toward the front door with her. "Johnny-" she didn't have much time for protest before he walked into the house with her.

"I figured I'd make it up to you since I couldn't stay last night. I'll stay tonight. How's that sound?" he asked, leading her up to her bedroom. She hesitated a bit before nodding "Alright...I'm awfully tired though." she said nervously, setting down her books at her desk. Johnny nodded and stretched his arms above his head. "Too tired for me?" he asked with a fake pout, pulling her close to him by the waist.

He sat down on her bed and sets her in his lap. “I missed you today, came by earlier and you weren’t here,” he explained, his voice laced with some annoyance. “Well I was workin’” she said sitting ridgitly in his lap. He nuzzled his face into her neck and peppered kisses along her throat. She let out a small giggle and lightly pushed his face away. He chuckled at this and angled her so she was sitting directly on his hardening bulge.

She felt a small squeeze in her stomach, she laughed nervously and shifted off of his lap and sat beside him. “Johnny…maybe not tonight. I’m really tired,” he rolled his eyes and started rubbing at this clothed cock. “Maybe you could help me out, put that mouth of yours to use,” he snickered and lifted her up and sat her down on the floor infront of him. He spread his legs wide and pulled out his hardening cock.

She frowned and tried to mutter something but she knew she couldn’t get out of this. “I’ve never…” she nervously played with the rip in his jeans. He pumped his cock a few times before gently gripping the back of her head. “it’s easy, darlin’. Just open your mouth for me,” she obliged and he slipped his cock into her mouth, letting out a lot groan as he tipped his head back. She furrowed her eyebrows and tried to get used to the feeling of him inside of her mouth. She laid her hands on his thighs to try and stay steady. She tried her best not to gag as he slipped his full length into her throat. Spit dribbled out of the side of her mouth as she whined, looking up at him with pleading teary eyes. She didn't know what to do.

She tried to circle her tongue around his leaking tip, but she kept gagging. He chuckled at her struggle and gripped her head as he bobbed her head up and down. She kept gagging, fat tears running down her face, she was praying it would be over with soon. She tried to suck on him as he bobbed her head up and down. This must have done something because Johnny groaned deeply and tipped his head back. "Fuck just like that, doll. Keep goin'" his grip on her head tightened.

She whined loudly and gripped down on his jeans harder. He moved one of his hands to the side of her face, wiping her tears with his thumb. A wide smirk on his face as he watched her tremble beneath him. He didn't hold back as he thrusted into her mouth. She felt him hit the back of her throat with each thrust, it hurt. She kept gagging, the sound made her cringe. With one last thrust, Johnny came deep inside her throat. She coughed as he pulled out, trying to swallow what she could but a lot of spit and cum dripped down onto his thigh. He held her face with his hands, staring at her puffy teary eyes. "Look so pretty, doll" he leaned down and kissed her deeply, allowing his tongue to explore the inside of her mouth.

Her body shook at the compliment, she gave him a smile once he pulled away from her lips. She admired the way the sweat made his hair cling to his forehead, the way his face was slightly red. For just a second, she could forget what he just did to her. What he made her do. She could imagine that he was looking at her with love, not lust. Her heart fluttered as he pulled her into his lap. "Are you stayin' over?" she asked quietly, leaning her head against his chest. He nodded and stroked her back.

She was able to get away from Johnny long enough to prepare for bed. Once she got back into her room, Johnny was in her bed sprawled out, partially naked, sleeping. She frowned a bit and crawled into bed next to him. It felt odd. Like he wasn't supposed to be there. She curled up facing away from him. She clutched a stuffed bunny in her arms. Her throat hurt and she was still sore from yesterday. She didn't know if she could continue this. His presence behind her made her feel cold.

"You're quiet, Y/N" Lacy said leaning back into the longue chair. They were at the community pool, and they decided to have a girl's day after Y/N had been spending a lot of time with Johnny. Y/N shrugged and kicked her feet gently in the pool, watching the water swirl underneath her. Sarah was sitting next to her, giving her a concerned look. Lacy got up and sat on the other side of Y/N, leaning her head on her shoulder. "What's wrong. We can tell something is bothering you" Lacy shot an expecting glance over at Sarah, urging her to say something. "You can tell us, Y/N." Sarah chimed in, rubbing her arm soothingly.

Y/N hesitated, focusing her eyes on how the water gently moved in the pool. "I just...I don't think me and Johnny are working..." she felt both of them stiffen beside her. "We-We had sex and I wasn't ready and I felt pressured. It wasn't like how I wanted it to be. I imagined something more gentle and caring but he just wasn't. Now every time I see him I'm just reminded of it." she blurted out, avoiding eye contact with both of him.

Lacy was the first to speak up, "Y/N don't feel pressured into staying with him, if he made you uncomfortable and unsafe you shouldn't stay with him," Sarah nodded along "He shouldn't be treating you like that. As much as we like to fantasize about him, Johnny isn't really great boyfriend material," Sarah said softly, not wanting to upset her.

Y/N felt her eyes start to tear up. She was finally faced with reality. She had been hoping for this teenage fantasy, this perfect relationship with a guy she knew she couldn't fix. "You guys are right," her words trailed off as she held their hands. "You need to focus on yourself, you have goals beyond Johnny Slaughter. Didn't you apply to Texas State? You can't let him hold you back, Y/N. Especially if he's treatin' you like that," Lacy said.

Y/N let the tears fall freely from her eyes at this point, she just nodded and wrapped her arms around them, desperate for comfort. "How do I even tell him? He's going to be pissed-" her words were interrupted by Sarah. "What if you don't? I mean you two aren't official, you could just put some distance and he probably will get the hint" she suggested, still hugging Y/N tight. Y/N gave a shrug in response. "I could try it" it felt like her heart was being squeezed dry, she did care about Johnny a lot. However, the thought of staying with Johnny made her stomach twist.

She had been avoiding Johnny most of the week. She didn’t know how to approach the subject. She knew she couldn’t just talk to him about it, she knew how he was. How he acted. Part of her wished he would just forget about it and move on to another girl. But that would be too easy.

She had decided after her closing shift to get some dinner from a local diner. Her parents were gone again for this weekend and she wasn't really in the mood for cooking. Afterward, she was walking down the relatively well-lit street, steadily making her way home. Her daydreaming was interrupted by the sound of a loud truck behind her. Her blood ran cold.

She heard a whistle as the window of the truck rolled down. She glanced behind her, Johnny was leaning forward, giving her a grin. "Hey doll, haven't heard much from you this week? You been busy?" he asked, idling the car as he spoke to her. "Y-yeah, been workin' a lot," she gave him a strained smile as she started to walk away slowly. "I gotta get goin', Johnny" his eyes narrowed as he watched her "Hey hey slow down, I miss ya. Why don't we hang out?" he said smoothly, smirking at her. She took in a quick breath and shook her head. "I can't, I got opening shift tomorrow and I'm gonna crash as soon as I get home" she quickly walked off. She heard some muted curses from behind her as his truck slowly drove off.

The walk back home went without incident. She was tired and eager to relax at home. She was curled up on her couch, reading a book when she heard loud banging on her front door. Her head snapped in the direction of the door. She glanced at the clock, 12:34 am. She slowly got up and walked to her front door. The banging continued, she peeked out the peephole and saw Johnny with an angry scowl on his face, her stomach dropped.

Being sure to keep the chain on the door, she gently opened the door. "J-Johnny what are you doin' here it's late," her eyes were wide with fear and worry. He chuckled in response and leaned against the door, his eyes scanning up and down her body "Givin' me the cold shoulder huh?" she could smell the booze on his breath. "Johnny please, don't do this..." she mumbled quietly, going to close the door. Johnny shoved his boot into the door, preventing it from closing. "Let me in, doll" he frowned at her "I just want to talk about this, I at least deserve that don't I?"

She hesitated, she felt bad. Maybe she did not do the wrong thing by just ignoring him. She nodded a bit and opened the door. He quickly pushed in and shut the door behind him, locking it. He turned to her and gave her a grin. "Now you gonna talk to me, darlin'?" he grabbed her waist and gave her sloppy kisses down her neck. She gave a nervous laugh and put her hands on his chest, lightly pushing him away. "I just" she gulped "I don't know if this is workin' Johnny. I just-ya know I'm goin' off this fall to school and I don't want to lead you on ya know?" she looked up at him, nervously fidgeting with the end of her t-shirt.

His eyes narrowed and his face scrunched up in a scowl. He leaned back and stared at her for a while before speaking, "Really? Just like that?" he laughed and rubbed his forehead in annoyance. "You're lying" he said, his hand gripping her neck suddenly. She let out a gasp and hit his arm. "Cut it out!" she whined out trying to pull away from him. "You just think you can what? Leave? Leave me hangin' after all I've done for you. You don't get to just leave." he squeezed her neck and got into her face, his eyes glaring daggers into her.

She stumbled backwards and fell onto the ground below, frantically backing up as he approached her. “Johnny stop, can we please just talk” she whined out, she could feel tears well up in her eyes. Johnny scowled and approached her, bending down to grab her again. “We ain’t talkin’” he drawled out grabbing her arm. Without thinking she raised her hand and slapped him across the face. She gasped as she stared at him afterwards, she frantically mumbled our apologies.

His head snapped to the left for a bit before a wide grin appeared on his face. He turned to face her and smirked as he stared at her. He quickly pinned her down to the hardwood flooring. Holding her wrists over her head. Her hands went numb as he held them firmly to the floor.

Her head felt dizzy and she could feel warm tears stream down her face. "J-Johnny my parents will be home soon...you gotta leave" she stuttered out, trying to catch her breath to prevent herself from hyperventilating. He made a fake pout, before laughing right in her face "You think I'm an idiot? I know they ain't home this weekend. You're all mine for the weekend, darlin'" he let out a chuckle as his lips kissed down her neck.

The first day with Johnny consisted of catering to his every whim. Whether that was sex or dinner or whatever else he could think of. Her mind felt muddled. She felt trapped. She had no one to call, no one to help her. She was stuck in her childhood home with Johnny.

It was almost domestic. The way she would make him lunch and sit on the couch with him. But of course, a usual domestic setting didn't include the yelling and the hair-pulling. Sometimes she could just pretend that this was normal, that he was her husband and they were happy. That facade only lasted so long though, as soon as he would grab her neck or pull her hair, the fantasy would shatter into a million pieces.

He was currently sitting on the big leather recliner in the living room. His feet propped up as he drank a beer, watching the TV. She sat stiffly beside him. His arm was wrapped firmly around her waist, keeping her close to him. She was sore and tired. She wished her parents would come home early or Lacy and Sarah would stop by. But they never did.

Johnny glanced over at her and smirked. "Come sit on my lap" he slurred out, this was his third beer. She hesitated just a bit too long for Johnny's liking, he grabbed her throat and pulled her crudely into his lap. His breath was on her neck as he wrapped both of his arms around her waist. He snickered as his hands rubbed down her thighs. "I'm so glad we get to spend the weekend together, almost don't want it to end" his hands found their way up her shirt, his fingers absentmindedly playing with her nipples.

She didn't say anything just clenched her eyes shut as he groped her. He lifted her up and switched her around so she was facing him. She readjusted her legs to be on either side of his thighs. She stared at him. He gave her a smirk and stroked her face with his calloused hands. "I don't like it when you look at me like that, doll," his eyes narrowed as he played with the hem of her sleep shorts. "What are you doing Johnny? My parents are coming home soon. You can't just keep me here like this" her words were laced with disgust and anger.

He sighed deeply and tipped his head back, still staring at her. "I don't think I'm done playin' with you quite yet. I think I might take you home with me" he angled her so she was sitting directly on his hardening cock. He put his hands on her waist as he rocked her hips back and forth on him. Her eyebrows furrowed as she stared at him. "You wouldn't," he snickered as he pulled down her shorts. "I would, darlin'."

She didn't try to resist him as he undressed her. She knew she couldn't do much to stop him. He bit down on his lip as he pulled out his cock. He pumped himself while staring directly at her. "Why don't you be my good girl and sit on my cock?" he grinned wide. She winced at his words and let down a dry gulp. She had never done this before, normally he was always on top. He knew this.

He gave her ass a firm slap as he looked up at her. "Well go on," a mean smile adorned his lips. She hesitated more and stared at him. "I-" he rolled his eyes and lifted her up, sinking her down on his now-fully hard cock. She winced and squeezed her eyes shut as she felt him enter her. He sat her down fully on him, and he let out a long groan as he leaned his head back. His hands firmly gripped her hips. "Now move."

She nodded a bit and placed her hands on his shoulders as she slowly bounced up and down on him. She let out small whimpers, opting to bury her face in the crook of his neck. He seemingly didn't mind as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as he matched her movements. He thrust up into her a few times, earning a few loud moans from her.

"Fuck, such a slut for me huh?" he snickered and grabbed her head and forced her back to look at him. Her face was streaked with tears as she struggled to focus on him, too consumed with his brutal thrusts. "You're not leavin' me, ever" he snarled out, thrusting up harder into her. His other hand gripped her waist, digging his blunt nails into the plush of her hips. "I swear to god I'll kill you if you pull some shit like that again" he moved his hand to squeeze her cheeks together, puckering her lips up as he forced her to look at him. "You understand!?" he yelled loudly, this violent thrusting not stopping.

Tears fell from her face as he shook her. She cried and nodded as she felt his thrusts become jagged and sloppy. "Yes yes yes" she slurred out her words as she came undone, letting out a loud moan as she cried. He released her face and held her close to him as he thrusted one final time up into her. Releasing his seed deep inside of her as he panted.

They stayed like that for a while. Her face was buried into the crook of his neck as he held her to his bare chest. He was still buried deep inside of her, his cum dripping out down the sides of his cock and into his lap. He didn't mind. He just held her. Her sobs lessened at this point. She kept her eyes squeezed shut as she cherished this small form of aftercare.

After the long string of silence, he picked her up and carried her into her bedroom. He laid her down on the bed and hovered over her for a second. He gave her cheek a rough pat, signaling her to open her eyes. She did so and stared at him. "I own you. Whatever hold you think you have on me. You don't. I could kill you right now." his face was stoic, not even a smirk. He slowly got up and walked out of the room. She heard the fridge door open and the sound of clinking bottles. The TV was turned back on.

She lay there staring at the ceiling. She watched as the light from her window faded. Hours must have passed. She didn't move, not once. The room was pitch black by the time she heard the door creak open. The bed dipped under his weight as he lay beside her. She could smell beer and cigarettes radiating off of him. An arm hooked around her waist as he spooned her. She could feel his body relax as he fell asleep. Yet, she lay there, staring at the dark nothingness that engulfed her room.

They were married, they were happy. He came home from a long day of work. The kids just fell asleep. They made love, it was gentle and kind. He loved her. She could almost believe it herself.

#johnny slaughter #texas chainsaw massacre #johnny tcm game #tcm #tcm game #johnny slaughter x reader #johnny slaughter smut #bitterpotionnfics #smut

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guyfieriii · 1 year

Text

Turn Me To Ashes

This one's an angsty little piece written for this ask. Its a self-indulgent little piece that's got a bit of everything: Price before he was a Captain, some angst, Price on a motorbike, some more angst, and finally that last bit of angst to cap things off nicely.

The biggest thank you to @mvtthewmurdvck who read this thing piecemeal and gave me the support to post it as well as @soapskneebrace and @yeyinde for indulging my crazed Price thoughts.

Pairing: John Price x f!Reader Warnings: PAIN

You will your eyes to deceive you like they have in the past. At moments most inconvenient they fashion a mirage so cogent you’d think it’s all they’ve ever done.

And now—

“J—”

They don’t.

It’s your heart that betrays you instead. “John.”

There’s an unmistakable flinch in his bearing at the sound of your voice, but he turns around, nevertheless.

He looks different but also the same.

There are tufts of grey where there used to be pure chestnut. A weathered face carved of grit, chiseled down by years of bellicose.

He looks tired, you think.

Or maybe it’s you that brings it out in him.

Had the years not passed in his absence, you’d have made a dig at him. Something along the lines of ‘People know we’re the same fuckin’ age, John, and you’re makin’ me seem older than I am’. Or maybe ‘At least you committed to the beard — spent a good couple years wondering if y’were gonna grow one’.

Instead, you stand there awkward and silent, imagining a conversation that isn’t really happening.

He watches you, wistful. Like he’s doing the same.

After a moment, he’s entirely expressionless and you’re not sure whether you’re more disappointed or surprised. Foreseeably the prior, more like. He’s a captain now. SAS. The ever-dependable island of a man surrounded by oceans of unpredictability.

“We draw the line where we need to.”

“Not we, John. You.”

It’s been over a decade since and the memory of it still blisters.

Bluebird. Blue.

That’s what he called you. You suppose it was fitting. You were protective, bordering on territorial — especially when it came to him.

“Is that an insult, Price?”

“It’s a compliment, dove.”

It was hard not to be. You came up together, joining the army within months of each other. Through sheer contingency, your paths crossed enough times for bonds to be made and friendships to be forged. Nothing more.

Nothing either of you would openly concede to.

It started the night of your birthday, a few years in. A party in the mess hall took a turn and so did the line that stood firm between the two of you. In a flurry of hasty fingers, impassioned moans, and your breath tinged with the burn of scotch, you allowed the levee to break and out poured months of hidden impulses that burst at your seams. Now they flowed freely across your tongue, gliding onto his against the beaten brick wall of the outer barracks.

“Just this once, hmm?” He promised.

“Just this once.” You quickly agreed under a high miasma of his lips and molten touch. Writhing and panting beneath him, you’d have committed to any oath at that moment. Part of you knew you didn’t mean it, but you said it anyway.

You later realized he didn’t much mean it either.

So, yes — you felt entitled to him in some way. Especially when the paramedics made eyes at him, and the rookies fought reason to have him indulge them in conversation. He’d grant them one, of course. Of course. You’d watch them, coquettish and wide-eyes and it was hard not to wonder if this was what he wanted.

You, inversely, snapped back. While there was an immense amount of mutual respect and understanding between the two of you, you had to make it noticeable that you weren’t beholden to him. It wasn’t for the benefit of your fellow soldiers or the watchful eyes of your superiors.

It was for you and him.

There was the silent yet ever present threat of impermanence. An occupational hazard you had come to terms with, or so you thought. But then the thought of his ephemerality burned a hole in your chest.

You could die. You had no qualms with that, you had planned for it. You even wrote him a letter.

You hoped he hadn’t done the same.

The other women — they were easier, straightforward. You weren’t. You were an exposed live wire of harsh candor and even harsher pain. An irritant holding up a mirror, a challenge with no end. It made sense at times to think that you were better left aside than with him.

What’s that story about the man pushing a boulder up a hill?

But then once the sun withdrew from the skies and the stars took its place, he’d only ever go searching for you.

You brought it up once in a canopy of post-coital bliss. The sound of his heart beating in a steady metronome, his fingers dancing up and down your spine, the way you just lay there in comfortable silence was all too perfect. It made your walls descend and your insecurities awaken.

So, you asked. “Why me?”

“We match, Blue.” He simply said and you believed him.

Until you didn’t.

He asked you home with him, once.

He looked just as surprised as you at his invitation, but your hasty ‘Yes, okay. Yes, I’ll come home with you’ didn’t give him a chance to backtrack.

His answering smile was one you etched into your myocardium. Always hoping for the best and expecting the worst, you knew you might need it.

You try your best to mimic it and give him something in return.

You match.

It was painfully awkward — that first flight back. You sat side by side in an aircraft with other home bound soldiers, chatty and eager.

Not the two of you, though.

He slept for most of it, or he pretended to; the lip of his beanie pulled over his eyes, head resting against the window, arms crossed at his chest. His shoulders would shake in sync with the aircraft’s rumble through some mild turbulence, but the man didn’t so much as shuffle out of his REM.

Not pretend, then.

You finally let out the breath you weren’t aware you were holding and make the snap decision to use this time to your advantage. There were people around, much to your relief they were entirely unaware. You allowed yourself some indulgences, letting your eyes dance over his sleeping form and zeroing in on all those details you hadn’t had the luxury to appreciate.

The scar hidden in the five o’clock shadow now forms across his jaw. You remember how he got it — narrowly avoiding some shrapnel a few months back in Astana. All he walked away with was a bit of metal half a centimetre deep.

Your fingers embarked on an expedition of their own as you absentmindedly traced the back of his hand that peeked through the crest of his elbow. They followed a patterned dance of up and over around each finger, through the valley between each knuckle, and down the risen veins and back.

Ad nauseam.

You pretended not to notice the irregularity in his breathing, the slight twitch in his lips as you continued on.

Eventually, his arms uncrossed, and you bit back your disappointment as he hooked a thumb over the flap covering his eyes to meet yours.

“Glad to be able to entertain ya, Blue”

You wished he’d go back to his feigned sleep, and you’d go back to your little game.

“It’s not the worst thing I could have done, John.” You kept your voice steady. Lighthearted. There was a hint of embarrassment trickling at the back of your throat, but you wouldn’t dare reveal it.

“Oh?” He shifted in his seat, leaning towards you. Your eyes quickly veered to gauge your peripherals for any possible interruptions.

This was a clandestine moment. One you weren’t keen to share.

He seemed all too unbothered, his eyes downcast glancing upon your hands fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

“Simmons— he, uh, wanted to draw a cock across your face. Good thing I stopped him.”

“How’d you do that?” Without a moment’s pause, he took your hand in his, large palm eclipsing yours entirely as his fingers wove their way through yours.

“Shot his bollocks off.”

It was so painfully tender. You’d have captured it in a globe for your mantle if you could. It bled such intimacy for which you felt entirely undeserving.

You were harsh people. You and John. Forged and brutalized to the point wherein moments like this feel like a vain, almost opulent purchase of your time. Frugality in all matters of heart was an imperative choice to be made.

Sink or swim.

Perish or survive.

And the two of you. Well—

“And you let me sleep through it?”

He invited you home and you schooled yourself to let it all be about a good time. A bit of R&R and some sex.

Wasn’t it?

He promised to show you around.

“I’ll show you where I had my first kiss, love.”

“Careful, John. A girl might get jealous.”

A glance into his past made the possibility of a future bloom.

The bait. It was too enticing. It had too much potential, the thought of you and him. Having a life outside of iron, lead, and dirt.

You couldn’t just—

You pulled away from him with about a tenth of the delicacy you were hoping for. His expression shifted five times over in the span of a second. Hurt. Confusion. Anger. Resignation. Apathy.

“You looked like you needed your solid eight.”

It was better that way.

It was a vintage Honda. John’s motorbike. It suited him to a T.

There is always something to be said for a reliable classic.

“Wanted this exact model as a lad, but my dad—“

He paused, swallowing down like he’d just tasted something bitter before continuing.

“Bought it as a beaten down clunker an’ I built it up.”

He looked at you, a bit self-effaced, in hopes of earning your admiration.

You couldn’t dare to disappoint him.

You recognized it as a point of pride within him. To him, it epitomized his freedom. His steadfast nature. To you, it was a death machine with a chassis built around it. But it wasn’t a fear that lingered.

The moment you were seated pillion, your body molded to the back of his. Every turn along the road, you were counterpoised by him. It was more graceful than you would have imagined. A delicate kind of waltz wherein he led you so intuitively, you felt as though you’ve been his passenger for a lot longer than you have.

It was the subliminal trust you had in him. What was usually conveyed with a look, if that, was now a tête-à-tête of his parity and your belief.

He did make good on his promise.

For the time you spent with him, morning rides were routine. You raced daybreak, cruising against asphalt, feeling the thrum of the engine behind the settling in your sternum. The amorous backcloth of the gliding mist at your feet, the ever-present chill of morning air curtaining the warmth of his body. At every stoplight, his hands would stroke the length of your calves, palm tightening around the exposed skin of your ankle.

The roads lay bare at that early of an hour, your only companions were the even-spaced streetlights along your way.

“That one there. Right under the hood of it. I was fourteen. Her same was Iris”. He said.

“Was it a good first kiss?”

“Oh, the best.”

You mapped it out like the route to a treasure. All this trivia, the stories. You harmonized every likened memory of his with one of your own.

The fantasy of the path untraveled remained your consolation prize for when your time with him came to an end.

It was near perfection.

All good things, however—

Betrayal is an ugly word, you think, and often misrepresented in its severity.

What might be a disappointment is deemed as grievous as betrayal just because it’s coupled with heartbreak.

Death in its unfortunate certainty is commonplace in a world like yours. The fact that it comes before it’s due is a bitter pill you’ve managed to swallow.

You grieve. You reminisce. You move on to the next.

But there are some that stick. It’s not the ones you don’t see coming. It’s the ones you do and fail to stop. They are the ones that linger well past the descent of ironed cloth on a closed casket.

What do you do when reliable foundation crumbles and you’ve lost all footing? You change.

John changed.

Something in the blood of his fallen comrade stained more than skin and cloth.

His perception turned — uprooting philosophies of adherence to something more uncontrolled.

There were lines he began to cross. Ones he expected you to cross with him.

John wasn’t a man you made a habit of denying. The very thought of it lit a match of unease within you. He asked and asked, and your resolve nearly collapsed, but you remained planted across the underscore of his reasoning while his hand remained outreached.

You just didn’t take it.

I’m sorry, okay?

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ughthisisntright · 6 months

Text

This is For Us | Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader | Finale

Summary: It turns out, ghosts haunt not just the people they leave behind. They haunt the ones closest to them all the same.

Warnings: Sexual references, angst.

Word Count: 3,920

The next morning, you woke to the smell of pancakes cooking and some bad oldies music playing down in the kitchen. You turned over and recognized that you were not in your own home. No, you were in Bradley’s bed.

A place you'd call home.

You slowly rubbed the sleep from your eyes and sat up. You took inventory of the room. Clothes strewn about haphazardly, your handbag toppled over and the contents spilling out. You made out his flight suit still in the pathetic plastic “belongings” bag from the hospital. The sight made your chest ache.

You almost lost him. In the blink of an eye. You'd almost lost him. TOPGUN training was no joke. You knew that going into this. Still, the pain of losing him haunted you each night since the incident.

You pulled yourself from the bed and walked to where his flight suit sat, crumpled, torn to shreds, in his bag. You opened it slowly and inspected it. There were some burn marks on the legs and arms, blackened fabric showing where heat licked the material. You noticed some rips here and there. You assumed they were from the fall.

His blood, however, threw you the most. Froze you still in your spot.

Your mind filled with images of Bradley - terrified, injured, and alone. You felt that ache in your chest again. Your limited knowledge of Naval Aviation only caused you to spin out further. You had too many questions and you weren't sure you were allowed to ask them.

Like what happens if the canopy doesn't open? What if the parachute doesn't deploy? What if he'd been too late? How close was he to dying? How do pilots know when to eject?

Instead, you swallowed the questions down along with your fears, folded the tattered flight suit back up, and put it away.

Standing up, you walk to the door but turn to look at the messy room one last time. You then make your way downstairs where your handsome pilot awaited you.

“Mornin’ Peaches!” His jovial voice called as you stepped off the last step. “Made you some pancakes. Hope you like syrup!”

A plate of pancakes stood tall in all their glory on his kitchen island. Your smile must have been bigger than you thought because Bradley’s arms descended upon you in a bear hug.

“I take it you love pancakes, then?” He asked with a big grin. You nodded and kissed his cheek.

“I do,” you said sweetly. “Not as much as I love you.” Your lips then connected with his and he quickly wrapped his arms around your waist. You wrapped your arms around his neck and melted into the kiss that slowly heated up.

Unfortunately, the all-too-familiar smell of something burning caused Bradley to pull away quickly before the smoke alarm went off.

“Look at you,” he halfheartedly scolded. “Makin’ me burn my pancakes.” He tutted softly and looked back at you. “You should be ashamed.”

“Oh believe me,” you said with as much sincerity as you could muster. “I am.”

Bradley could only chuckle and return to tending to the breakfast he was making. You walked behind him to the coffee machine on his counter and popped a coffee pod into the top and brewed yourself a cup. You then looked at your phone as you waited for the cup to fill with the gasoline for the rest of your day.

You looked over the pictures the two of you had taken together over the last couple of months. That ache in your chest returned when your mind played tricks on you - a picture you'd taken in bed together, Bradley’s eyes closed in slumber, becoming tainted with the cuts and bruises on his face from the training accident. You tapped on the photo as your heart dropped into your belly, only for the hallucination to disappear.

You couldn't shake the awful feeling that this wasn't going to be the first time he'd had a run-in like this. You didn't like the thought. And you wondered if this was the closest he'd ever come to death. You set your phone down onto the counter in a daze and grabbed your cup of coffee from under the machine. You tossed the used pod and then poured some creamer into your cup, stirring absently with a spoon.

Bradley looked up from his pancakes and raised a brow once he noticed the dazed look on your face. He finished plating the last pancake before turning the stove off.

“You alright, Peaches?” He asked softly.

“How many times have you crashed?” You suddenly blurt out.

“I- What?” Bradley’s face is one of shock as he looks at you. You look up at him now, face a little more stern.

“How many times have you crashed?” You repeated. Bradley swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

“Once,” he stated plainly.

“Just this once?” You press. You're hoping - praying - this is something freak. An accident and nothing more. That Bradley isn't going to have this happen again, that he isn't going to end up in that hospital again.

“Just this once,” he repeats. “What's the matter?”

“I’m sorry, I just can't bear to see you in that hospital bed again. Just the thought that you were gone was killing me on the way there and… I don't know if I could do it again.” You sighed and sat down at the kitchen island. “I know accidents happen but… You said yourself you were in the same kind of spin your father was when he died. That alone is enough to scare me.”

“Peaches,” Bradley rasped. “You have every right to be worried. But I didn't get to where I am without being careful. I made sure to follow in my dad’s footsteps. Granted, he was a backseater… But he was still safer than anyone else up there. I don’t want to end up burning in at this age. I don’t want to end up like my dad, as great as he was,” he sucked in a shaky breath before continuing.

“I don’t have a family yet. But, I like to live for the family I may have someday,” he took your hand gently and looked you in the eyes - to let you know he was being sincere. “That’s why I’m so careful. Today was a fluke, the same as what happened to my dad. That shouldn’t scare you, Peaches, it should only make you feel better about this. You have no idea how rare it is.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to understand it from his perspective. But the thought still nagged you in the back of your mind. Instead of protesting, instead of speaking your mind as you probably should have, you only nodded.

“I get it, Bradley,” you spoke softly, reserved, and he didn’t notice. “I’ll drop it. You have a good head on your shoulders. I don’t want to be the devil’s advocate.”

A smile graced his handsome face, gave tension its release, and he kissed your cheek before he dug into his breakfast. You watched him for a moment before starting on your own. Your mind raced. You couldn’t imagine losing Bradley at this point. It hadn’t been long, but the prospect of losing him now or ever was just something you couldn’t bear.

You assumed this wasn’t uncommon amongst those who date in the military, whatever the branch may be. Regardless, you found yourself imagining his death. A sad, lonely event. Not unlike the crash last week. Him laying half-conscious in his cockpit, blood splattered across his handsome face, flight suit torn and tattered. Something churned in your stomach and suddenly you weren’t hungry anymore.

Suddenly, you wondered if this wasn’t just a recipe for heartbreak.

—

Later in the day, while Bradley was at work - desk duty, he’d assured you - you were sitting on the couch in the living room of his home. You stared ahead at the black screen of the TV, horrible images of his demise in your mind. It wasn’t something so easily shaken, you’d found. But, that didn’t mean you could allow yourself to be swallowed up in it.

Saturdays usually meant some cuddling. Usually meant movies and makeouts. But, now, since he was out for so long, he had to make up the time with weekends. Already, you thought, this kind of incident has thrown off the routine.

Consumed in your own thoughts, you busied yourself anxiety-cleaning his place. Folding and refolding blankets, wiping down countertops over and over again, and pruning and preening every small detail of the home. You weren't sure where else to put the energy. It wasn't like you could just leave, he’d know something was up.

So you attempted to maintain as much normalcy as you could.

Around 2 pm you started to get antsy, but Bradley said he knew he'd be home by 4, so you attempted to take a nap. Tossing and turning, mind racing, heart pounding - was this a trauma response? You sat up with a frustrated huff and grabbed your phone, deciding blindly scrolling through social media feeds would numb your senses until your prince came home to you.

It wasn't until you were abruptly woken by the front door slamming shut that you realized you'd actually managed to fall asleep, at least for a short while. Bradley’s boots thumping down the hallway towards the bedroom filled your ears and you sat up a little more. His face positively lit up when he saw you.

“Hey Peaches,” he greeted warmly. “You look good in my bed, you know.” He winked and started to pull his flight suit off his body. You simply smiled and watched.

“What do you wanna do tonight?” He asked before he was completely undressed. “Movies? Dinner?”

You, however, weren't listening. Your gaze lingered on his abdomen. His beaten and bruised abdomen. The small cuts he had on him had started to scab over but those bruises seemed to get darker and darker by the day. Your mind went back to that horrible image of Bradley alone, barely conscious, but dying alone.

You wondered if that would ever be a reality, and what it would look like after him.

“Hello?” Bradley’s voice echoed in the distance. “Peaches?”

You slowly dragged your gaze up to meet his worried brown eyes. Realizing you hadn't even acknowledged his question, you tried to laugh it off.

“Sorry! I’m so sleepy…” You smiled sheepishly and then yawned for extra points. “Ummm… Maybe get some pizza and watch something here?”

“Perfect. I’ll order it after my shower,” Bradley walked over to you to press a soft kiss to your cheek before he made his way into the bathroom for his shower.

You mentally kicked yourself for the obvious display of anxiety, but it seemed he hadn't even noticed. Which was good. It would probably go away soon. Maybe you were just overthinking?

But still - you couldn't get over how casual he was being about everything. Like it wasn't a big deal. Like it didn't matter. Like it happened every day.

Heart heavy with worry, you set your sights on a calm evening with your Trickster.

—

“What a great movie,” Bradley said after a fairly obnoxious burp. “Right?”

When he turned to look at you, the look in your eyes told him you were miles away. The look of pondering ever so clear on the gorgeous face he wanted to wake up to each and every morning.

He sighed and clicked the TV off with a quick press of a button. He turned to you on the couch and tilted his head to try to get into your line of sight.

“Peaches,” he called. You quickly tore your gaze from whatever far away spot you were fixated on and met his gaze.

“What? Oh,” you looked at the TV then back at him. “Is the movie over?”

“What is going on with you? You've been weird all day.” His eyes widened slightly before he fell over himself trying to correct that.

“I-I don't mean weird weird, but… You're different today. Your mood is off.”

“Oh, don't be silly. I’m fine.” You waved him off casually but he wasn't buying it.

“Peaches.” He said, more firmly.

“Bradley.” You pressed. With a huff, Bradley stood up and cleared the trash from the living room. You sat there, stewing in your own worry, hoping he'd just drop it. You were sure this was a temporary thing. Why make him feel worse about something that wasn't his fault?

“Bedtime?” He asked softly. When you realized that was it for the night, you nodded before getting up and joining him on the staircase.

Once in his room, dressed down to your pajamas and comfier clothes, he tugged you into bed and held you close. Soft kisses were pressed to your head and temples, his hands touching you as if you'd fall apart right there.

“You sure?” He asked, voice soft as silk.

“I’m sure,” you whispered back to him. But the truth remained.

You weren't sure. Not anymore.

—

The days passed by in a foggy haze. You were constantly reminded of the dangers of Bradley’s job. And the fact he was the best there was didn't make it any easier. That meant he'd be sent head-first into the danger. Before anyone else. And he'd be gone before anyone else.

That thought made your stomach churn. Made your heart ache. It was the root of your anxieties.

But, of course, you’d have to shove it down to be as supportive as you could be. The other Top Gun students were counting down the days until graduation, each and every one of them fighting for the number one spot. Bradley included. You weren’t exactly sure how they achieved the “number one” spot, but you were supportive of the chase nonetheless.

So long as it didn’t get him into any trouble.

One night at the Hard Deck, you were snugly tucked under Bradley’s arm, against his side as he and the others discussed the competition. They all looked exhausted and incredibly stressed out. The last few weeks had been grueling and they were really coming down to the wire. Bradley was the most skilled out of the rest of them but he had one fatal flaw.

He thought too much.

Now, you were no pilot, but you could see plain as day that the time it takes to think about what to do next could be the very difference between life and death. Not that you’d ever tell Bradley that. Because what did you know? You were just a civilian. Bradley was the one who had been training for this his entire adult life.

After losing yourself in your thoughts, you felt Bradley tugging you back to his Bronco. You must have completely missed the goodbyes in your daze. He pushed you against the door and ravaged your neck while you sighed and moaned just the same as you always had. The man on top of you none the wiser.

A flurry of street lights and clothes and lips came your way as the night went on, Bradley making love to you like he always did these days. Sweet, slow, and savory. It was starting to grow tiresome, pretending you weren’t crumbling on the inside.

After your gorgeous aviator rolled off of you and tucked you close to his chest, he began kissing your head.

“You’ve been different lately, Peaches…” he hummed. “I don’t pretend to know why. Talk to me.”

You hesitate. How would this look? How would he take it? And would he accept whatever came afterwards?

“I’m okay, Bradley,” you lie. You always spared him your burdens. Though this time, you were met with a scoff.

“And I’m the King of England,” he counters, clearly not in the mood for you to hide what you’re feeling. “You’ve been cold, distant… I look at you and you don’t seem to be here. Like your mind is as far away as it can possibly be. So, tell me. What's going on?”

You finally take a deep breath, not realizing you’ve been holding your breath while he was talking. Truth time.

“I’m terrified, Bradley.” You start.

“Terrified? Of what?” He placed a hand on your cheek, thumb rubbing against your cheekbone gently.

“Ever since your accident I’ve been wracking my brain to figure out how to get past the near-misses, how to react when the time comes that you don’t come back from your plane. And I can’t figure it out. I’m so hopelessly stuck in a loop where no matter what happens, no matter how hard I try to stuff my fears down, I can’t get rid of them. And it’s crippling.” You don’t realize it until it’s too late, but you’re crying. Not big crocodile tears, no sobs, just silent tears slipping from your eyes as you finally let the emotions go.

Bradley is stunned for a moment, but shakes his head.

“Peaches,” he rasps. “You know I’m a safe pilot. I don’t take unnecessary risks, and I always come back.”

“Until you don’t. And you can’t control what other pilots do. Look at what happened when you got caught in the jetwash! I almost lost you Bradley. I can’t… I can’t live like this. Wondering when the last time will be the last time.” You babbled, sitting up. But you froze when you saw the look on Bradley’s face.

His brown eyes were big with worry, jaw set with unspoken tension. His nostrils flared with emotions he didn’t want you to see.

“What are you saying?” He asked with his voice just barely above a whisper. You didn’t want to do it. You wanted to save this until after he graduated. You couldn’t do this now. But, you’d backed yourself into a corner. It was, unfortunately, now or never.

“I can support your dreams, Bradley. But I can’t do it as your girlfriend. Or wife. Or anything.” You watched as the heartbreak spread across his face. And after a few moments you slipped from the bed to get yourself dressed. He let you go and watched as your “epic love story” slipped from his fingers. In a single second he’d lost you. And as you slipped from his bedroom, he watched his life walk away.

“Wait!” He called, quickly rising from the bed and slipping into some sweatpants. He chased after you, catching you just as you’d reached the door to his house. “Wait, please, don’t go!”

“Bradley please don’t make this harder than it has to be…” You whined from the door. His big hand grabbed onto your wrist, a pleading look on his face.

“There has to be a way I can help you get through this. There just has to be. Please, Peaches. I can’t lose you. I can’t, I can’t lose-”

“Bradley,” you interrupt. It’s his turn to cry now as he pleads, begs you to reconsider. “You’re going to be an amazing pilot. You already are. Just think of this as one less person you have to think about… One less reason to play it safe. And one less reason… To hold yourself back.”

“No. I can’t let you leave. I just can’t!” Bradley’s lip wobbled as he fought his tears off as best as he could. “Please, baby… I need you by my side. I can’t let you go. I can’t… I can’t…” He kissed your cheeks, down your jaw and neck, and then your collarbone. He sank to his knees in front of you and wrapped his arms around your waist, drawing you close. Burying his head into your stomach, he finally let out a soft sob of defeat. He knew you weren’t going to change your mind. But he had to hold you one last time.

You, on the other hand, had your hands in his hair and were crying tears of your own. This display, this emotion he was showing you, it made you ache. You watched your big, strong aviator collapse to the floor in pieces. And you were responsible. As much as you wanted to take it all back, kiss him better, and make it all okay, you couldn’t. You couldn’t stay with him for his sake. Because that would be an unfair thing to do to yourself.

“Bradley,” you urged. “Bradley, I have to go. I-I can’t do this. I need to leave now.” You gently tried to pull yourself away but he simply buried his head further into your shirt, now soaked with his tears. “Bradley.” You repeat.

This one seems to get through to him, as he looks up at you, eyes red and nose runny.

“Baby, please…” He begs one final time. You lean down and kiss his forehead sweetly. For a moment you feel like everything could be okay. For just a moment you think that you’re making a massive mistake. But when you pull away from him, you see your own anguish reflected in the look on his face. What could be your future if you don’t walk away now.

“I love you, my little trickster,” you whisper before finally stepping away and letting the door to his house close behind you.

You get into your car and breathe heavily. Soon, you’re punching the passenger seat and let out a wail of despair. Resting your head down on the steering wheel to right yourself, you let the tears fall freely. You didn’t anticipate falling in love that summer. You didn’t anticipate the man you fell for being a pilot. You never saw yourself in this spot. And just as easily as it had come to you, it was gone.

You knew it was for the best. It was better this way. That way, in the future, possibly, someday, if the two of you reconnect, there would be a chance. Because he’d be safe. You’d have protected yourself and him from heartache down the line. As much as it hurt now you knew that it was just something that needed to happen.

You started your car, head still on the steering wheel and sigh heavily. Your tears slowed as you lifted your head, peering around the quiet street you’d come to adore. You took in the small things. The way one of the street lamps flickered ever so slightly, how Bradley’s neighbor’s gate was just a little crooked, and how his own mailbox was tilted a little too far to the left. Things you’d considered synonymous with “home.”

Even as you drove away, you took your time. You were in no hurry. There really wasn’t anywhere to get to, you realized. But you knew if you spent any more time at the end of Bradley’s driveway, you’d run right back into his house and into his arms. You had to do this. You had to. It was the only way to save yourselves. This decision - this gut-wrenching decision - wasn’t for your own peace of mind. It wasn’t so you could go along and find someone else. It was more than that.

It was to save Bradley’s heart from further damage. Save him from having to consider someone else. From having to worry about someone else’s feelings, life, choices, everything.

This wasn’t just for you.

And as you rationalized it in your head, your heart ached as you let out a soft cry and uttered what you should have said to him inside.

“This is for us.”

Fin.

Thank you everyone who read this series. I admit, the ending is abrupt. But I did lay some groundwork here. I enjoyed writing this ending despite the feelings it left me with. I sincerely hope you enjoyed the series, exploring this verse with me, and the ending itself.

I couldn't have done this without the constant motivation of some of my favorite people here on Tumblr (you know who you are).

I'm looking forward to exploring Bradley and Peaches in future one-shots. I promise you, this story does not end here.

laura xx

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altheasmeadow · 6 months

Text

Homemade Christmas

WC: 459

warning: none

Pairing: Mingyu X fem reader

Mingyu was, in short, the nicest guy you could ever meet and that’s not an exaggeration. This was proved when he spent a week messaging his bestfriend’s mom to get the exact recipe for her Christmas specialty. It was cute really, he thought she was oblivious to his plan when her mother had been calling her everyday gushing about the sweetest boy she had ever met, begging her daughter to marry the overgrown puppy. And honestly, she considered it for a moment, being married to her bestfriend didn’t sound like the worst idea in the world.

Meanwhile Mingyu was oblivious to his bestfriend being aware of his plan, and still spent every second he could in the kitchen, cooking was his specialty, why couldn’t he get this right.

“Hey Chef, think you could use a break there?” he heard, startling him out of his thoughts, his whole body jumping three fett into the air to show his fright, he spun around, grasping his chest in exaggeration as he tried to cover the concoction behind him.

“What’re you doing here?” he was frantic, not that he was going to let her know that, he couldn’t give away the surprise.

“Well I thought you could use some lunch, you’ve holed yourself up in here for like a week now.” She hummed, placing takeaway bags on his island, moving to try and peek around his shoulder, “Whatcha makin?”

“Someone asked me to make them a dessert is all” Mingyu shrugged, quickly putting away his progress however a finger swiping the batter beat him to the punch.

“Hmmmm….needs a little more cinnamon.” She commented, pulling out the cinnamon and adding it to the delightful mixture beginning to stir in his place, once it was all mixed in she held up a spoonful allowing him to try it himself. It was perfect! Just like the intense flavor he tasted when her mother sent him a batch to try, he looked at her with wide eyes wondering if she knew just what she just did.

“How’d you know?”he wondered looking at her in awe, she simply giggled, moving out of the way of the desert and taking herself back to the food she brought.

“A little advice, my mom? She will not keep your secret, she called me the second you called her gushing about the sweetest boy and how I should marry you on the spot.” She explained, hands moving quickly to unpack the food, as he watched on feeling warm at the thought that her mother approves of him.

‘You should totally follow her orders. Mother knows best right?” He said trying to sound calm as he turned back to his desert to hide his awkwardness.

“How about a date first?”

#svt scenarios #svt fluff #svt #svt x reader #svt imagines #seventeen #mingyu #mingyu x reader #mingyu imagines #seventeen imagines #idol x reader #kpop idol

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thewintersoldierdisaster · 1 year

Text

a/n: after the gauntlet that was the honeymoon fic, i’m back with something shorter and sweet. i’m obsessed with girl dad drei, so that’s actually getting a bit of a focus the next few fics 🥰 again, posting this before i’m off to the isles/tampon bay (not a typo, i’m just a petty, grudge-holding long island gal) game, so give me a little positive energy in the tags!

word count: 3.4k

tw: nothing, just the standard google russian 🥲

summary: mother’s day in the svechnikov home

It’s too early for there to be so much noise in the house, you think briefly and through a haze of exhaustion. You roll onto your side, blinking, and Andrei nudges you and murmurs, “go back to sleep, I got it.”

The mattress dips and shifts as he climbs out of bed, stretching a little before he drops a kiss to the top of your head and pads from the room. You press your face back into your pillow and are nearly back to sleep when Andrei returns, the warm, solid weight of nine-month-old Dimitri placed against your side. Instinctively, you curl your arms around your son and tug the sheet up over his little legs. He quiets almost immediately, stretching his arms and legs out in the starfish position that’s a favorite of all the Svechnikov children, no matter how old they are.

“He should sleep a little longer,” Andrei whispers, running one large hand over the baby’s hair.

“Come back to bed,” you sigh, eyes shut and Dimitri’s little fist held in one of your hands. He smells like baby lotion and milk and it’s one of your favorite scents in the world. There’s a banging sound from downstairs and you wince.

Andrei chuckles a little. “Sleep, I’m going to go see what that is,” he strokes the back of his index finger over your cheek and you’re out before he even leaves the room again.

On his way downstairs, Andrei pokes his head into each girl’s room and once he sees that Alina isn’t in her bed, he has a pretty good idea of what the noise is and what he’s going to find in the kitchen.

Sure enough, there’s your second oldest daughter, pots and pans pulled out from the lower cabinets and a small pile of flour on the floor. Andrei clears his throat and Alina looks up, her hands still in the lower pantry cabinet. She grins at him innocently. “Oh, hiiii daddy,” she singsongs.

“Oh, hiiii Alya,” Andrei mimicks her tone, pressing his lips together so he won’t laugh. “What are you doing?”

The five (and a half! “Don’t forget the half, Daddy!”) year old slowly brings her hands back to her side and looks up at Andrei with his own brown eyes deployed to maximum adorable. “Makin’ breakfast for Mama,” she replies sweetly, with a faint undercurrent of ‘duh, isn’t it obvious?’.

He comes further into the kitchen and leans his forearms against the counter of the island, raising an eyebrow at Alina. She shuffles her feet and twists her fingers in the hem of her Disney Princess pajama tap. “Are you supposed to be trying to cook without me or Mama?” He smiles, just a bit, so she knows she’s not really in trouble. Andrei’s always been a soft-touch when it comes to disciplining the girls.

“No,” she sighs, “but I was gonna get you ‘cause I’m not even tall enough to get a plate out of the cabinet.”

Andrei doesn’t believe her for a second - Alina is nothing if not independent and resourceful. He’s pretty sure she would’ve just found something flat to use as a plate in a cabinet she could reach and call it a day. He starts picking up some of the pots and pans and says, “how about we work together to make Mama syrniki for breakfast in bed?”

“Ooh, yes!” Alina hops around in excitement, bouncing over to tug at Andrei’s shirt. “With bacon and s’berries?”

“Yes, with bacon and strawberries,” Andrei confirms on a laugh. “Do you want to see if Evie wants to help?” He pulls the child-sized stool from the corner and sets it against the island so Alina will be able to see and help.

She scrambles to climb onto the stool and shakes her head. “No! She’s too bossy and I just wanna be with you, Daddy,” she says firmly, pushing messy hair out of her eyes with the backs of her hands. Andrei chuckles and gathers her hair into a little pineapple of a bun on top of her head, securing it with one of the black hair ties he’s gotten used to wearing around his wrist. Between you and three daughters, odds are good that someone will have a hair related emergency around Andrei. Alina beams up at him, “thank you, Daddy! Now I can see.”

“Now you can see,” Andrei laughs. He gathers the ingredients for syrniki - farmer’s cheese, eggs, flour, sugar, and salt - and lines them up on the counter in front of Alina. She taps each ingredient and counts out loud, pleased to show off her skills.

“One, two, three, four, five,” she looks up at Andrei for approval and he nods, smiling.

“Try in Russian,” he says, switching languages so Alina can practice. The girls are mostly fluent, since Andrei, his parents, and Geno all practice with them. “Tell me what each ingredient is.”

Alina squints a little before counting off to five in Russian. She manages to tell Andrei the word for each ingredient in Russian, but gets tripped up by farmer’s cheese.

“Good job, Alya,” Andrei kisses the crown of her head. “Say it after me: fermerskiy syr.”

“Fermerskiy syr,” Alina repeats, mangling the new world a little, but Andrei still praises her attempt. “Can we start now, Daddy?” She’s clearly impatient with the Russian lesson.

He sets the measuring cups and a large metal bowl on the counter and nods, “we can start now, Alya.”

Alina grins and digs into the process, pouring ingredients as Andrei instructs her. She dumps flour in the bowl, getting half of it on the counter and her shirt. “Oops,” she looks up at Andrei with wide, worried eyes.

He brushes the flour from her shirt and then “accidentally” spills some on his own shirt. “Oops!” He mimics her, eliciting sweet, childish giggles. He brushes more flour from her face and she wrinkles her nose at him.

The eggs get cracked into the mix and Andrei picks out a few stray pieces of shell, carrying Alina to the sink and holding her by the waist so she can wash her hands. “Raw eggs can make your tummy hurt,” he explains while she soaps up, “if you eat them, even by accident, so you always have to wash your hands.”

“I know, Daddy,” she sighs, clapping her hands together and getting soap bubbles flying in the air. “Mama telled us that when me an’ Evie wanted cookie dough.”

“Mama’s always right,” Andrei teases and when Alina’s done with her hands, he sets her back on the stool so she can mix the dough. He leans against the counter and watches for the most part, since Alina’s perfectly capable of mixing on her own. She starts telling him a rambling story about magical fairies that he’s pretty sure she’s making up on the spot and his chest fills with love for his girl. The hardest part about hockey is how much time he spends on the road. FaceTiming with you and the kids only goes so far. So he’s grateful that Mother’s Day this year fell on the Sunday between Games One and Two with a Canes’ home ice advantage. If he had to be traveling today, he doesn’t think he’d forgive himself.

“Daddy, are you listening?” Alina huffs, frowning at him and looking remarkably like you. He laughs and smooths his thumb over her eyebrows, erasing the frown.

“Yes, Alya, I’m listening,” he says patiently, hoping she doesn’t ask him to repeat the entire story. Alina opens her mouth, but it’s Evie’s voice that cuts in, “Dad? What are you doing?”

Andrei looks over to the stairs where Evie’s rubbing at her eye with the heel of her palm, hair falling messily out of pigtailed braids, and a confused look on her face. Alina grins at her big sister and explains, “we’re makin’ syrniki for Mama.”

“Oh!” Evie’s face brightens and she looks wide awake now. “Can I help?”

“We finished the batter,” Andrei explains, pulling the bowl away from Alina. “And remember that the next step is to fry them in hot oil, so…”

“Only Mom and Dad fry things,” Evie parrots the refrain you and Andrei had drilled into their heads from the time they started showing an interest in helping in the kitchen.

“Exactly,” Andrei points the spoon in his hand at her. “How about you two put foil on the tray and lay out the bacon? Maybe wash the berries?”

Evie nods and dances to the fridge, pulling out the bacon package and going about her tasks with the confidence only a second grader can muster. She bosses Alina around and Andrei has to step in once or twice when Alina gets annoyed at being bossed around. But for the most part, they work well together as he fries the little cakes in oil and sets them on a paper towel covered plate. He loves seeing their relationship blossom and the way Alina follows Evie around like a little duckling always makes him think of himself and Geno. Evie sighs and shows Alina how to wash the strawberries and Andrei’s throat clogs a little with emotion.

When the syrniki are done and the stovetop is turned off, Andrei claps his hands together and the girls look over at him. “We’re almost ready to surprise Mama,” he grins at their enthusiastic cheering. If you’re not awake yet, you will be soon. “Alya, why don’t you go wake up Kira so she can join us. Evie, can you go down into the basement, behind the toolbox, there’s a big bag with Mama’s gifts from you girls.”

Alina squints at him as Evie darts off to the basement. Andrei squats down to Alina’s eye level and asks, “what’s going on, Alya?”

“What are you gonna be doing?” She cocks her hip, planting her hand firmly on it. With her sagging little bun and strawberry stained pajama top, she looks like a harried mother of a dozen toddlers and Andrei resists the urge to laugh.

“I’m going to get breakfast ready on a tray for Mama,” he explains. “So we can bring it to her in bed.”

Alina nods, clearly happy with his answer. “Okay,” she pats his cheek and skips off, calling behind her, “don’t forget the sour cream!”

Twenty minutes later, Andrei has breakfast plated and on the tray, Evie is holding the shopping bag, and Alina’s back with Kira, having held the three-year-old’s hand while they both slid down the stairs on their butts, the way Evie had taught them. Andrei ushers the girls back up the stairs, all of them moving extremely slowly behind Kira. He probably should have thought this out better, but too late for that now. “Okay,” he whispers outside of the master bedroom door, “we have to go in quietly just in case Mama and Dimka are still sleeping.”

Kira and Alina burst through the door, smacking it against the opposite wall, and Andrei winces. But you and Dimitri are already awake and you gasp in faux-surprise, since your daughters aren’t exactly the quietest humans. Carefully moving Dimitri off of your breast and adjusting your sweater, you grin, “oh my gosh! My favorite girls!”

“S’pise, Mama! S’pise!” Kira screams, grinning and climbing up on the bed.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” Evie says, practically tossing the shopping bag on the bed. Alina crawls into your lap, cooing over Dimitri before planting a smacking kiss on your cheek.

You kiss her back, squishing her cheeks between your thumb and index finger. She wiggles away and nearly kicks at the tray Andrei’s resting on the foot of the bed. “Oh, look, Mama! Daddy and I maded syrniki,” she crows, bouncing to her knees and pointing at the tray. Kira’s already reaching for a strawberry and Evie steals a piece of bacon.

Andrei grins at you, “better get some food before the little myshki nibble it all up.” He leans over to kiss you briefly.

“This looks delicious,” you say, shifting Dimitri in your arms. He squawks in annoyance when Kira rolls over and jostles him. She makes a kissy face at him and just as quickly, he’s giggling. You settle him on the mattress and he grabs for Kira with chubby hands. “Thank you,” you murmur, accepting the mug of coffee Andrei hands you, while lifting and curling your leg so Dimitri is in the reasonably safe position of being enclosed by your leg if he decides to move around. “You guys did such an amazing job.”

“I spilled flour but we cleaned it up,” Alina informs you through a mouthful of sour cream and syrniki. Andrei holds a hand under her chin to catch the falling crumbs.

“That must be my present then,” you deadpan, reaching out to get a forkful of your breakfast. “Oh wow,” you murmur around the mouthful, “that’s really good, Drei.”

He ruffles Alina’s bangs, “all thanks to my sous chef.”

While the kids nibble at breakfast, Evie pushes your presents into your lap. “You have to open the gifts, Mom! Wait until you see what we got you.”

It always makes your heart twinge when Evie calls you ‘mom’, missing the days when your oldest baby called you ‘mama.’ Andrei had nearly cried the first time she called him ‘dad’ instead of ‘papa.’ It’s probably how you ended up with four kids. The second one switches to ‘mom’ and ‘dad’, you need to have another.

Holding a piece of strawberry in front of Dimitri’s face for him to gnaw on, you unwrap your gifts with the other hand. Andrei’s finally sitting on the edge of the bed now, a mug of his own coffee in reach, but Alina’s draped over his lap, eating a piece of bacon and Kira’s standing on the mattress, holding his shoulders, with Andrei’s arm wrapped securely around her legs. Evie’s sitting cross-legged in the middle of the mattress, making faces at Dimitri so he’ll laugh and eating syrniki. There are so many crumbs on the bed.

You open the cards, not exaggerating when you exclaim over the handmade cards from the older two girls, stick figure drawings of you front and center on the covers. Kira and Dimitri contributed scribbles on another card, with their names printed underneath in Andrei’s chicken-scratch. His card - a Hallmark special - makes you cry with its inscription talking about how much you do for the family and how you’re the rock and the glue that keeps everyone together and how much Andrei loves you.

You look up and catch his eye, giving him a wobbly-chinned smile. He mouths ‘I love you’ and pops the dimple.

The pile of gifts include a glitter and paint covered picture frame from Evie complete with a photo of the two of you on the beach from last summer, Alina drapes a macaroni necklace over your head and you’re honestly surprised that this is still a thing kids are making in school but you love it nonetheless, there’s a new Stanley mug in Canes’ red to replace the one Andrei accidentally ran over with his car, a vintage Fleetwood Mac Rumours shirt you’ve been eyeing on eBay, and last but not least, a small black jewelry box that Andrei passes to Evie to give to you.

“Drei,” you murmur, “I really didn’t need anything.”

“I know,” he shrugs one shoulder, trying not to wince as Kira pulls at his hair. “I like spoiling you.”

“Open it, mama!” Alina sighs dramatically and Andrei tickles her, getting her shrieking with laughter and begging him to stop. The other three kids get in on it, laughing and making general noises of insanity. You sit back and watch them for a minute, stroking Dimitri’s soft baby hair and feeling so much love for these crazy people that are all yours.

“Okay, okay,” you call over the noise, “I’m opening my present from Daddy.” You pop the top on the velvet box and gasp a little when you see the necklace. It’s a thin gold chain with five horizontal letters on it. Two As, an E, a K, and a D. The little letters are studded with tiny diamonds and they glitter prettily in the light.

The girls crowd you and ooh and ah over the necklace. “It’s so pretty, Mom,” Evie gently traces one of the letters.

“It’s sparkly,” Alina says, a glint in her eyes. “I like sparkles.”

“Those are Mama’s sparkles, little magpie,” Andrei warns teasingly. He looks up at you, smiling shyly. “You like it?”

“I love it,” you reply, pulling the necklace from the box and dodging small, grabby hands to clasp it around your neck. It’s a shorter chain, so it hugs close to your neck resting at your collarbone. It layers perfectly with the cross you’ve worn every day since Andrei gifted it to you during your honeymoon in Greece. You run your fingers over both pieces, a soft smile playing at your lips. “This is the best Mother’s Day ever, all thanks to my favorite people.” You pull the girls close to you and kiss their cheeks and heads, making dramatic kissing noises so they’ll laugh. Eventually, after they’ve eaten all of your breakfast, they get bored of being in the bed and Alina and Evie roll off the mattress, heading for their rooms, knowing that lunch with the four grandparents is on the schedule for the day.

You’re left alone with Andrei and the two babies. They’re swapped now, Dimitri in Andrei’s lap and chewing on a chubby fist and Kira in your lap, playing with your necklaces. She looks tired and your smooth her hair back from her face while you snuggle her close. “This was so sweet, Drei,” you sigh. “I know you’re thinking about playoffs, but I appreciate everything you did this morning.”

“Solnyshka,” Andrei leans forward, mindful of Dimitri, and cradles your face in his hand. You lean into his touch and his thumb caresses your cheekbone. “You and the kids are the most important thing. I don’t get to play hockey without you here taking care of everything. Breakfast in bed and a few gifts are the least I can do.”

Feeling emotional, you angle your head and kiss the inside of his wrist. “Still. Thank you, my love.”

Andrei’s eyes twinkle and he tilts his chin to the breakfast tray. “I think you missed a gift,” he says and you reach over, pulling a little envelope out from underneath the empty plate.

Quirking an eyebrow at him, you murmur, “what do you have up your sleeve, Mister Svechnikov?” and open the envelope and withdraw a ticket confirmation page. There are little doodles - a sun, a palm tree, beach chairs, two stick figures in a compromising position - around the words and you finally focus on the location. Bora Bora. “What’s this?”

“This year’s vacation,” Andrei grins. “Just us. The parents, all four of them, have agreed to babysit for a week while we soak up some sun in a hut on the water.”

You shake your head at him, in disbelief. “How are you this amazing? How did I get so lucky?” You grin down at Kira. “Your Daddy is my favorite person in the whole world.”

“Me too!” Kira exclaims, lunging for Andrei’s lap. He catches her and laughs, kissing her cheek. She pats his face and frowns at the stubble.

“You deserve it and more, moya koroleva,” Andrei says. His tongue darts out and wets his lower lip. “More will have to wait though,” he bounces the kids on his lap. “When we have a less impressionable audience. For now…” he grabs your ankle and slides your across the sheets, slanting his lips over yours and biting at your lower lip gently. His tongue sweeps inside your mouth, the promise of more rushing through your veins.

And then Dimitri shrieks because Kira’s poked him in the eye and more is absolutely not happening. Andrei swoops Dimitri into his arms and gets off the bed, heading down the hall, and you lift Kira onto your hip and bring her to her own room to get ready. Evie’s singing along to the Alexa in her room and you can hear Alina telling herself a story. The noise echoes around the hallway, delightful chaos.

“Happy Mother’s Day, solnyshka,” Andrei winks at you. You grin back, loving every second.

#andrei svechnikov fic #andrei svechnikov x you #andrei svechnikov x reader #andrei svechnikov imagine #andrei svechnikov

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carbone14 · 4 months

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Les Marine Raiders s'exercent sur le pont de l'USS Nautilus (SS-168) alors qu'ils sont en route pour effectuer un raid sur Makin – Guerre du Pacifique – Iles Gilbert – 11 août 1942

Photographe : Official U.S. Navy Photograph

Le raid de Makin (17-18 août 1942) est une attaque des Marines américains contre les forces japonaises stationnées sur l'île de Makin dans l'archipel des Îles Gilbert. Le but de cette opération est de détruire les infrastructures des Japonais, de collecter des renseignements sur la zone de l'archipel des Gilbert, et d'opérer une diversion alors que dans le même temps la bataille de Guadalcanal commence. Seul le premier objectif sera atteint.

#WWII #guerre du pacifique #pacific war #raid de makin #raid on makin island #marines américains #us marine corps #marine raiders #uss nautilus (ss-168)#uss nautilus #ss-168 #makin #iles gilbert #gilbert islands #11/08/1942 #08/1942 #1942

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visceravalentines · 2 years

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Insatiable

Dad's Best Friend!Dilf!Bo Sinclair x AFAB!Reader

3.8k words

Part 1 Part 2

Smut & fluff, age gap, dad's best friend, fingering, oral, dirty talk & praise, soft orgasm denial, very mild alcohol use by Bo & reader, reader is referred to as darlin', baby girl, pretty, and lady at one point

Alright who wants a weekend sleepover date with Bo Sinclair? Everybody? I thought so. He's gonna take real good care of you, darlin', don't you worry.

I just have to say, I'm thrilled so many people love this AU as much as I do. I did not intend on it becoming an ongoing thing but it's honestly such a pleasant and comforting headspace for me to be in and I'm so happy it seems to be the same for many of you. Also dilf!Bo is the soft dom we all deserve you can't change my mind.

Despite Bo’s instructions, you did pack clothes. It took no convincing for your parents to wish you well on your weekend trip. You felt a little guilty for lying to them, but the prospect of them finding out the truth was infinitely worse.

In less than an hour you were in the car on your way to Bo’s place just a few miles away, flush with anticipation. His house was a cozy, blue-and-white craftsman with a well-kept lawn and thriving flowerbeds. Per his instructions, you pulled your car around to the four-car garage in the back, typed in the code he had texted you and secreted your car inside. With your overnight bag on your shoulder, you climbed the front steps and knocked on the door.

“‘S open, darlin’!”

You let yourself in, set your bag down on the couch in the front room and wandered down a short hall to a split kitchen and living room. Many of the furnishings seemed to be antiques, smooth dark wood and worn leather. Music played from a speaker on the counter and Bo was busy chopping vegetables.

“Hey stranger.” You rounded the kitchen island and kissed him.

“What took you so damn long?”

“I was just asking my dad if he needed me to pick anything up from you while I’m here. I think you borrowed a drill one time? Just wanted to see if he wanted it back.”

Bo pointed the knife at you. “For the record, you ain’t funny, and he borrowed the drill from me.”

“So now you’re drilling me, is that it?”

“Alright, maybe you’re a little funny.”

“Do you need any help?”

“I need you to sit that fine ass down and let me concentrate.”

You obliged, perching on one of the barstools on the opposite side of the island, examining the intricacies of his bare arms as he worked. You felt a little nervous and weren’t sure why. Perhaps it was the sudden intimacy of seeing him in his own space, of being a guest in his home. “What’re you making?”

“Jambalaya, since you seem to like the taste of Louisiana so much.” He winked at you. “Now I am no chef, but y’all are incapable of makin’ decent Southern food out here, so I had to teach myself a few things.”

“It smells delicious.”

“That’s just onions, peppers, and celery, darlin’, welcome to Southern cuisine.”

You spun your stool around to examine the living room. There were a lot of framed sketches on the walls, ranging in dimension from the size of a postcard to almost half your height. “Do you draw?”

“Nah, that’s my brother, Vincent.”

“He did all these?”

“Mmhm.”

You hopped down and moved closer to inspect a few of them. They were simple, almost abstract, with just enough detail to evoke emotion, memory. “They’re really beautifully done.”

“He’s an artist.”

There were dozens of sketches but hardly any photos. You studied one in particular, featuring a much younger Bo, a shorter man with a broad grin, and a third man with long, dark hair covering half of his face. The uncovered half was remarkably familiar.

“Are you a twin?”

“Yup. That’s me on the left, Vin on the right, and our kid brother Lester in the middle.”

“Do they live around here?”

“No. We’re all scattered to the wind.” His tone was flat, not unfriendly, but guarded. Maybe a little sad.

Today was not the day to disturb those particular skeletons. You moved around the room, exploring the bookshelf stuffed with mass market paperback copies of horror thrillers, the shotgun hanging above the fireplace, a beautiful chess set on the coffee table with pieces that looked hand-carved.

“Did Vincent make this too?”

“That was Lester. The pieces are bone.”

“Really? That’s so cool.”

“He’s a crafty one.”

“I don’t know how to play chess.”

“That makes two of us, darlin’. Les may be crafty, but he ain’t always practical.”

You laughed. “Maybe we can learn.” Returning to the kitchen, you put your hands on his waist, pressed yourself against his back. “You have a very nice home. Thank you for letting me visit.”

“Anytime, baby girl, you’re always welcome.”

“You have a very nice ass too.”

“‘S all yours, sugar.”

You tucked your hands into the waistband of his jeans. “Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

“I need you to quit distractin’ me so we can eat today. Why don’t you open that up?” He handed you a corkscrew and indicated a bottle of wine on the counter. You poured a glass for yourself and one for him. Bo took a sip and shooed you back to your barstool. “Tell me about school.”

He listened attentively as you described your degree, your favorite classes, the weird guy who always tied everything into the Divine Comedy no matter what the subject was. He asked you questions and you taught him some of the finer points of your particular interests. Before long, the food was ready.

It was, of course, wonderful, and after dinner you curled up with him on the couch, your legs stretched across his, the summer evening sun bright and golden through the windows. You looked around at the room and when your gaze wandered back to Bo, you found him staring at you wearing a lopsided smile.

“I can’t believe you’re here with me, darlin’.” He squeezed your thigh. “Musta done somethin’ real good in a past life to deserve a moment like this.”

You slipped your small hand into his big, rough one, scooted closer so you were practically in his lap. “Lucky I came home for the summer.”

“Lucky they kicked me outta the boondocks and I ended up in the suburbs fixin’ your daddy’s truck.”

You laughed. “Why did you leave Louisiana?”

His smile didn’t fade, but it shifted, became wistful. “Sometimes, you ain’t got no choice but to burn everythin’ down and start over.” He looked at you knowingly. “There’s a lotta ghosts in Louisiana, darlin’. I pray you never meet any of ‘em but me.”

“What about your brothers, do I ever get to meet them?”

“Sure, at the weddin’.” You choked on your wine and Bo laughed. “I’m just kiddin’. Not even a sweet thing like you can make an honest man outta me. Yeah, I s’pose I’d introduce you, if they were ever in town.”

“Are either of them still in Louisiana?”

“Nah. There wasn’t nothin’ left there for any one of us.” His grip tightened on your hand. Your eyes settled on the thick band of scar tissue surrounding his wrist, same as the one on his other arm. You had noticed them before, hadn’t wanted to comment on it. He rolled a mouthful of wine around his tongue before saying, “Go ahead, darlin’, you can ask.”

“I don’t need to.” You shook your head. “Someone hurt you, I don’t need to know any more.” He turned his hand palm-up on your lap and you ran your fingers gently over the marks.

“I used to think that was the way o’ the world,” he said. “Someone hurts you, you hurt someone else, and on we go, destroyin’ each other.”

“What do you think now?”

He looked thoughtful. “I think life is more about buildin’. I think the world is a dark and terrible place full o’ dark and terrible people, and if you find somethin’ bright and beautiful, you do everythin’ in your power to keep it safe.”

You furrowed your brow, regarded him carefully. “You’ve hurt people.”

You watched the shadows flicker across his face, the way his eyes hardened. He smiled coolly at you, flipped his hand back over, rubbed his thumb across your knee. “I most certainly have, darlin’. And there’s somethin’ about ghosts, they never stay put where you want ‘em to.” His smile faded and he looked at you seriously. “I will never hurt you. I promise you that.”

“I’m not scared of you.”

He bit his tongue behind his lips. “You should be, darlin’. You prob’ly should be.”

You set your wine on the coffee table, took his and placed it there too, adjusted your position and pulled him over so he was lying with his head on your chest. He leaned into you without resistance. You wrapped your arms and legs around him, rested your cheek against his brow, said nothing because you weren’t sure there was anything you could say that he would believe. You hoped it would be enough to hold him against your heart, that maybe he would take the hint.

Finally you ventured, “You’re bright and beautiful. To me.”

Bo looked up at you sideways, his devastating baby blues dancing with amusement and something else you couldn’t quite catch. “You gonna keep me safe, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

“How are you s’posed to do that when you keep leadin’ me into temptation every time I turn around?”

“That’s the trick,” you said. “You can’t get into any trouble if I never let you leave the bedroom.”

Bo chuckled as he sat up and kissed you, pressing his tongue delicately against yours. “You wanna come see my bedroom?”

“I would love to.”

He helped you to your feet, led you down a short hallway and into his room. The bed was king-sized with a big wooden headboard. A sizeable dresser stood against one wall, an armchair in the corner. The focal point of the room was undeniably a large art piece hanging above the dresser, nearly four feet long, an asymmetrical geometric pattern formed by pieces of wood slotted together. “Did you make this?”

“That I did. I like woodworkin’.”

“It’s amazing, how long did it take?”

“Oh, five minutes.”

You elbowed him in the ribs. On the wall near the armchair hung three more of Vincent’s sketches, all curves and contours, tasteful representations of the female body in compromising positions. “Bo Sinclair.”

“Yes dear.”

“You have porn on your wall.”

“Take off your clothes and I’ll have porn in that bed too.”

You couldn’t keep the grin off your face. “They’re beautiful.”

“You ain’t listenin’ to me, why you still dressed?”

You turned around right into his open arms. “I want you to do it.”

He huffed. “I gotta do everythin’ ‘round here.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll do it.” You pushed him away lightly.

Bo sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m expectin’ a show.”

“Didn’t you get enough of a show this afternoon?”

He smirked. “I never get enough o’ you, baby.”

Slowly, you undid the buttons on your shirt. He made an approving noise, leaned back for a better view. When you shrugged off the shirt and allowed him a full view of the lacey, front-fastening bra you had on underneath, his eyebrows shot up.

“You wear that for me?”

“Sure did.”

He let out a low whistle. “Do the panties match?”

“Mmhmm.”

Bo licked his bottom lip. “Show me.”

You unbuttoned your shorts, pushed them down your thighs. The set was a rich teal, stunning against your skin, the fabric translucent. Bo was reaching for you before your shorts hit the ground.

“This ain’t allowed. You keep takin’ my breath away like this and they’re gonna give me an oxygen tank.”

You straddled his lap, hands on his broad shoulders. “Has anyone ever made you cum in this bed?” you teased.

“Just myself thinkin’ about you, angel.”

Your stomach flipped. No one had ever said that to you before. “You don’t bring anyone home?”

“I live a celibate lifestyle.” You made a skeptical face at him. “I don’t like strangers in my house. If they want a piece o’ this they gotta take it where they can get it.” He fell back onto the mattress, bringing you with him. “You can get it anytime, anywhere, baby girl.”

“I want it here now.”

“Anythin’ for you.” He caressed your cheek and you melted on his lips. His hands were rough on the bare skin of your back and thighs but his touch was gentle and warm. Your kisses grew fervent; you groped for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off him, trailing your lips down his neck and chest.

“I want you, Bo, I need you.”

In a flash, he had you on your back, hands pinned above your head. You gasped, arched your back. “Want me so bad, huh?” he murmured, pushing your legs apart with his knee. “Can you do somethin’ for me, baby girl?”

You nodded quickly. “Uh-huh.”

He let go of your wrists and unclasped your bra, opening it up to free your breasts. He circled his tongue around each nipple in turn, drew it up the center of your chest. You threw your head back, moaned, squirmed.

“I need you to tell me if I’m doin’ a good job for you.” He trailed two fingers down your midline, hooked them in the waistband of your panties, pulled the front down to expose your sex for just a moment before letting it snap back into place. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” you gasped.

Bo stood up, stripped off the rest of his clothes, and settled on his knees between your legs. “‘S just you and me. You make all the noise you want, darlin’.” He pushed your panties aside and slid his middle finger into you, eliciting a long, drawn-out groan. “So ready for me, such a needy lil thing.” He stroked the inside of you slowly. “How’s that feel?”

“Good….”

Your focus narrowed to his touch at the exclusion of all else. “You want more?” You nodded. “Use your words, angel.”

“Yes, please.” You whined when he added a second calloused finger.

“I know, darlin’, I know.”

“Bo….”

“You’re doin’ so well for me, moanin’ so pretty.” His thumb rubbed over your clit and you cried out, bucked your hips. “Y’like that?”

“Y-y…yes.”

“Tell me how you feel, baby girl.” He did it again, firmer this time.

“Oh, Bo….”

“Use your words. I know it’s hard.”

“S-so good.”

He rewarded you with a steady, circular rhythm, keeping his fingers pumping in and out of you at the same time. You felt the pressure building deep in your core, canted your hips to push him in deeper.

“What d’you want?” he said softly.

“Mm….”

“You want me to make you cum?” You nodded frantically. “I’m all yours, baby girl, but you gotta tell me what you want.”

“I-I…I wanna cum.”

“I ain’t stoppin’ you, baby.”

“I….” Your thoughts were scrambled, incoherent. “I…want you….”

“I want you too.” A frustrated cry escaped your lips. You were so close. He was holding back. “You’re doin’ so well, darlin’. What d’you want?”

You gulped in a deep breath. “I-I want you…to make me cum.”

“‘Course, baby.” He pushed a third finger into you, shifted the angle of his thumb, knocked you over the edge in seconds. He didn’t even need to ask; you wailed in the pleasure of release at last, felt yourself clenching around his fingers, heard him hmm with satisfaction. “There’s my girl.”

You let out a string of tiny sounds as you came back down and he took his fingers back. He held your gaze as he sucked them clean one at a time. “You did so good for me.” He stretched out next to you on his side, tilted your face toward him and gave you a gentle kiss. “Now…have y’had your fill, or would y’like a little more?”

“More,” you sighed.

“The lady wants more.” He kissed the bridge of your nose. “Happy to oblige, darlin’.” He slipped off your underwear, tossed it on the floor. “I got love to make to you.”

You opened your legs for him and he aligned himself with your entrance, already hard, having worked himself up while he worked you over. Bo thrust into you partway, slowly, grinned at your wanton moan. “Easy, baby.” He watched himself slide all the way into you with a lascivious look on his face. “Look at you takin’ me so well.”

He felt marvelous inside you, filling you up better than his fingers, sending rolling waves of pleasure down your legs and up your body. You grasped his arms, ran your hands over his shoulders, clasped your fingers behind his neck. “You feel perfect, Bo.” He kissed your wrist and lowered his weight on top of you. You locked your ankles around the small of his back and let him sink deeper into you with a gasp. “Fuck.”

With his lips against your ear, he crooned your name over and over. You clawed at his back, breath catching in your throat, feeling a second, rapid build coalescing around his cock as he moved in and out, steady and slow. His teeth nipped at your earlobe and he whispered hoarsely, “You’re mine, darlin’, y’hear? All mine.”

“Yours,” you panted, taking his face in your hands so you could look him in the eyes as you collapsed around him, “all yours, Bo, I’m yours, Bo – ”

He groaned as he climaxed, gripping the sheets, spilling into you, lips parted, expression angelic.

You laced kisses across his chest, ran your hands through his hair as he buried his face in your neck. “You feel good, baby?”

“You ain’t never leavin’ this bedroom,” he mumbled. “Your daddy can come after me with a shotgun, ‘s fine.” You laughed and squeezed him with your legs. He kissed you sweetly, brushed his thumb over your lips. “Lemme show you how the shower works.”

“I think I can figure out a shower.”

“Nah, I gotta show you.”

You followed him to the adjoining bathroom and stepped into the shower with him. He held you close in the spray, resting his chin on your head. The man could not keep his hands off you, insisted on soaping you up, caressing your breasts, your stomach, your hips.

Before you knew it, he was on his knees in front of you, venerating you with his mouth, had you searching for something to support yourself as your legs threatened to collapse underneath you. You ended up clasping your fingers behind his head, holding him against you, trying and failing not to buck your hips into his face when he made you cum for the third time.

“Jesus Christ, Bo,” you said weakly as he stood up, gazing down at you with admiration. “You’re insatiable.”

“I like watchin’ your eyes roll back, that’s all.” He turned off the water and handed you a towel. “I’ll stop when you stop lookin’ so good.”

He pulled on a pair of sweatpants, toweled off his hair, and kissed your cheek. “I’ll be on the back porch, darlin’. Don’t be too long.”

You retrieved your bag from its place by the front door, put on clean underwear, took the liberty of rifling through his dresser for a shirt. After pouring yourself another glass of wine, you crept out the back door and found him reclined in a deck chair on the porch, smoking a cigarette and watching the sun set.

He looked over his shoulder as you approached and the smile he gave you was so handsome, so enamored, it made your heart skip a beat. “Nice shirt.”

“I thought so.” You sank into the chair next to him, took his hand and looked around at the backyard. Like the front, it was neatly kept, surrounded by a tall privacy fence. The neighbors would most certainly not see you. “It’s nice out here. Peaceful.”

“I used to, uh…landscape for a livin’. And do little home repairs, cosmetic stuff, electrical stuff. Comes in handy.”

“How are you still single?”

He laughed out a puff of smoke. “Could be the emotional baggage. Might be the sex dungeon.”

“The what?”

“You ain’t ready for that yet, darlin’. Lemme tie you up first, see how that tickles you.”

“Are you telling me there’s a sex dungeon? In that cute little house?”

“I ain’t tellin’ you shit.”

“Please?”

“You gotta earn privileges like that, baby girl.”

“How do I do that?”

“Oh, I’ll come up with somethin’. It’ll be real fun.” He kissed the back of your hand. “Y’got any plans for tomorrow?”

You stretched out your legs. “I met someone hot, I think I’ll spend the day with him.”

“Hmm. Someone from your peer group, I imagine. Age-appropriate ‘n all that.”

“Definitely.”

He clicked his tongue. “I hate to say it, darlin’, but I’m gonna have to kill him.”

“Now why would you do that?”

“I don’t like people touchin’ what’s mine.”

You laughed, stood up and sidled over to sit in his lap. He tasted like cigarettes and lust. You slid your hand down his bare torso, over the softness of his belly, hooked your fingers in the waistband of his sweats. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I know I don’t.” His arm around your shoulders was warm and solid. “Y’got any requests for breakfast?” You shook your head and laid it on his chest. “Mm. Well I know what I want.”

“God, Bo, isn’t your libido supposed to go down as you get older?”

“What the fuck is that s’posed to mean?” You giggled. “Now that’ll earn you a trip to the sex dungeon, y’minx. You best watch that mouth.”

“Watch it do what?”

He huffed, grabbed your jaw, gave you an open-mouthed kiss. “Ain’t it past your bedtime?”

“Ain’t it past yours, old man?”

Bo slapped your exposed ass cheek. “You’re gonna love the dungeon. It’s real cozy.”

“Will you be there?”

“Oh, you bet I will.”

“Good.”

He chuckled, hugging you against him, and kissed your temple. The sun sank out of sight and the cool air grew chilly. You yawned, struggling to keep your eyes open.

“Ready for bed, darlin’?”

“Yeah. Someone fucked me a lot today.”

“Hm. I bet he’s gonna do it again tomorrow.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“You best get some sleep then.”

Reluctantly you unwound yourself to stand up and stretch. Bo picked up your wine glass, pinched your ass, led you inside. You brushed your teeth side-by-side and then slipped between the sheets, cool and clean and smooth. They shared the same scent as his clothes. A thrill shot through your chest, cut through the exhaustion. How could you possibly be this lucky?

Bo switched off the light and you felt him climb into bed beside you. He drew you close, so hot beneath the cold blankets. You nestled into his neck, barely conscious.

“Goodnight, baby,” you mumbled.

He strung a crown of kisses across your head. “Goodnight, darlin’. See you in the mornin’.”

Taglist at the bottom bc this is a monster post already: @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @slutforguts, @brandnewhuman, @fluffy-little-demon, @cypressnmarigolds, @slasherlouvre . If you'd like to be added to the taglist, let me know!

#bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair fanfiction #dilf bo sinclair #slasher x reader #bo sinclair #my writing

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