#// he's so tempted to just throw the scroll away

[joelsgoldrush]

“lovers once a year” | 9.4k

dbf!joel miller x f!reader

SUMMARY: One always craves what is out of reach. Like the forbidden fruit that lingers just beyond grasp, tempting with its sweetness. Joel became the town’s greatest sinner, and you, his best friend’s daughter, are the tantalizing temptation he knows he should never indulge in. Your very existence marks the path to his ruin. He can't help but follow it. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. joel’s POV. a lot of introspection. mentions of alcohol. miscommunication. no outbreak. dbf!joel. age gap (25 and 56). petnames. religious imagery. car sex. oral sex (f!receiving). fingering. unprotected p in v. riding. missionary. doggy style. orgasm denial. crying. hair pulling. thumb/finger sucking. cum shot. creampie. reader sits on joel’s lap and has hair. moodboard for aesthetic purposes only. A/N: the fact this idea has been sitting on my drafts for over a year is just crazy. i finally found the time to put into words, and i know i’m a little late to the whole dbf!joel trope, but i’m a real sucker for it... hope you like this one! <3

No one could’ve ever said Joel was a great best friend.

For one, he was terrible at remembering important dates. His mind just didn’t catch hold of details like that—never had, really. He wasn’t the sentimental type, either. At best, he’d manage a pat on the back or a firm handshake, maybe even a call on Christmas if he remembered. Emotional displays weren’t in his nature, far too used to keeping things at arm’s length.

Luckily for him, Stephen never seemed to care much about these things. They’d been friends for over forty years—which is, well, a hell of a long time, especially considering each had gone off to carve out his own life. They’d trudged through both primary and secondary school side by side, and Joel felt Stephen’s absence like a hollow ache the day his friend left for university in another state.

Technology eventually offered them more ways to connect, but it didn’t make keeping up any simpler. The years had tested them, and somehow, they’d held on to the quiet strength of their friendship—a bond they’d forged across decades and distance, held steady like the roots of an old tree.

Stephen was the laid-back type, always down for anything as long as a cold beer was part of the deal. It was rare for him to lose his temper, having a way of letting nuisances slide. Joel could bend every rule, yet Stephen’s patience never wavered. He was unflappable, hardly bothered by Joel’s mood swings, which was what made them a match made in heaven. Nothing could throw him off.

Though Joel doubts Stephen would stay so calm if he knew what he’d done to his daughter. As mentioned, Joel’s not exactly what you’d call a good friend—particularly considering he’s slept with his best friend’s daughter. Just once, to be fair. One ephemeral, impulsive encounter. Right here, in this very house, exactly three hundred and sixty-five days ago.

His gaze drifts across the room, settling on you at a smaller table a few meters away, surrounded by your younger cousins, ages five to fifteen. He watches as you scroll absent-mindedly on your phone, your brow furrowed in concentration, only tearing your eyes away from the screen when one of the kids hurls a handful of salty peanuts at you.

You press your palms flat against the tablecloth, eyes narrowing as you scowl playfully at the child, a mischievous glint in your expression. “You’ve got ten seconds to run,” you utter in a tone meant to sound ominous, tickling his sides until he erupts in laughter, his giggles filling the dining room with raw joy.

Joel’s been here for over two hours, but he can’t recall a single detail about the night’s events. All he knows is you—he’s studied your every movement, following the shape of your silhouette through the crowd. He’s accepted a few drinks, engaged in shallow conversation with your relatives, trying his best to play the part of a man with nothing to hide. But despite his efforts, despite every attempt to appear unaffected, he feels a slow burn kindling in the pit of his stomach, an ache that curls through him in a deliciously destructive way.

It’s when you look up, locking eyes with him, that he nearly mutilates the chicken breast on his plate, the knife skittering over porcelain with a screech. He quickly mutters an apology, excusing his clumsiness and blaming it on one too many drinks. Meanwhile, you don’t quit glaring at him, a hint of a challenge dancing in your stare.

This shouldn’t feel the way it does, this hazardous, risky game you’re playing. At one time, he might’ve thought this was something only seen in movies, something imagined and unreal. But here you are, and here he is, and the indisputable hunger in your eyes is as real as anything he’s ever known.

Suddenly, his memories drift back to a year ago, to your grandmother’s 84th birthday—the night it all began.

Stephen had left Austin when he was eighteen to pursue a college degree. That’s how he’d ended up in New York, and from that point on, he never came back. It’d been amazing to see him as an equal when they were teenagers, but as they grew older, the only things they shared were the white hairs scattered all over their beards and the memories of much better days.

Whenever they got in touch—which didn’t happen often—your dad would talk about you. You were just a name without a face, an empty canvas. Close to graduating, with only a few subjects and finals left. Psychology was your major—weren’t you smart? Joel remembers typing back with a string of exclamation marks to show his contentment. His best friend’s daughter was a success; how could he not be happy?

One random day, Joel’s phone buzzed late in the afternoon, flashing with Stephen’s name. It was rare for them to talk outside the usual birthdays and holidays, so seeing his name on the screen sent a small jolt through him. A dozen scenarios raced through his mind as he picked up, each one edging between concern and curiosity.

Just like that, Stephen dropped the news without any preamble. “I’m moving back to Austin,” His voice came in clear, and there was something unusual about it, brisk but almost nostalgic. Joel gripped the phone a little tighter, processing the words. “In fact, I’m filling up the gas tank as we speak. There’s someone at home who wants to see you.”

That someone had been your grandmother. With a twinkle in her eye, she’d insisted on inviting Joel to her 84th birthday. “It’s the perfect chance for you two to reconnect,” she’d declared, her tone laced with warmth and hope. She adored Joel, practically worshipping the ground he walked on, often reminiscing about the vibrant young man he had once been.

Who could deny anything to an elderly person, especially one as cherished as her? He was strong, physically imposing, but not strong enough to resist her wishes.

The reunion was going as well as it could, given the circumstances. After all, it was a strange kind of delight, seeing his best friend for the first time in decades. Joel thought they’d do what friends do—sit back, drink, smoke, and trade stories about the good old days. 

Then you walked into the room, absolutely gorgeous and with a smile that was all teeth, and you reached out to shake Joel’s hand as you introduced yourself. The contrast hit him instantly—your skin was satin-like against his, smooth where his was rough and calloused from years of handling concrete and steel. A subtle heat bloomed where your fingers touched, the chill of the rings on your hand sending a shiver through him, as if his senses had sharpened in that brief instant.

You pulled away, taking a step back, your eyes flicking between him and your dad. Joel’s arm fell back to his side, his hand forming a tight fist, the bite of his nails embedded into his palm to keep him grounded. But he couldn’t stop himself from scrutinizing you—every detail of your face, the curve of your smile, the effortless way you carried yourself. Your beauty was at fault, not him. You were completely out of reach, yet close enough to marvel at. He was no more than a man, bound to notice the charm of a pretty girl like you.

That you happened to be the daughter of his best friend—that was just a cruel stroke of fate. 

“Oh, sweetie. I’m glad you got to meet Joel at last!” Stephen’s voice cut through his thoughts, an arm draping across Joel’s shoulders, pulling him into an affectionate embrace. “He’s that friend from school I’ve been telling you about.”

Stephen looked so at ease, so utterly pleased, that Joel could only swallow back the lump in his throat. What kind of sick joke was this? What could he have possibly done to deserve this twist of the knife?

With a soft laugh, you folded your hands behind your back, tilting your head to the right. “My father wouldn’t shut up about you,” you said, light and melodic, drawing him in like a lure. Joel found himself adrift in the sweet cadence of your voice, entranced by the delicate chain glinting at your throat, resting just above the neckline of your shirt, the v-cut hinting at a world of temptation.

He blinked owlishly, fighting the images clawing behind his eyelids. “Well, he’s a good man, your father,” Joel managed, his smile strained. Not because it wasn’t true, but because there was a blaring alarm in his head, warning him to get a fucking grip. He knew himself well enough to read the signs, the underlying meaning beneath these nerves, the quickened pulse, the quiet, undeniable urge to reach out and feel you.

He was gone already. He fancied you, and his mind raced with thoughts he knew he had no right to entertain. He imagined what you’d taste like, the way you might sound if he were between your legs, encouraging you to gasp his name. Yet, he was aware that these fantasies were as treacherous as they were forbidden, even more with you standing right in front of him. And your father, just inches away.

From the kitchen, someone called out to Stephen, and with a weary sigh, he unhooked himself from Joel’s shoulder. “Coming!” he shouted back, already angling himself toward the door. He glanced back at the two of you, half-smiling while rubbing his temples. “I forgot how exhausting it is to host a family birthday party. I’ll be right back. You two go ahead and chat without me.”

Fuck, no, Joel thought to himself. Don’t leave me here. Where the hell are you going?

Joel resorted to remaining silent, choosing instead to take a long sip of his beer to avoid the occasion of sin. He refused to look in your direction, fixing his gaze on anything that didn’t involve your bare legs—the same legs he’d just been eyeing in those damn denim shorts, which exquisitely hugged your thighs. But, then again, he shouldn’t even be noticing that.

As he peered down at the carpet, he couldn’t ignore the movement of your shoes as you stepped closer. He observed your fingers playing idly with the frayed edges of your shorts, your body inching nearer, and he braced himself in anticipation of whatever you might say next. When his eyes landed on yours, he was met with an aura of expectancy, a cocky smirk pulling at your lips.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh, Mr. Miller,” you murmured, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed with effort. Letting your hand linger beside your face, you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, glancing at him through your lashes. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Joel felt the flush rise to his cheeks, and there was no mistaking it—you were doing this on purpose. Were you trying to push him off balance, to see how far he’d bend before snapping? Was this just a game for you, a bit of mischief to spice up a family gathering? The idea irritated him, but he couldn’t entirely ignore the thrill woven into the discomfort. A quarter of his mind itched to play along, but the rest of him screamed to find the nearest exit.

“Y’can just call me Joel. No needa be so formal,” he mumbled, lifting the beer bottle to his lips once again, the bitterness spreading across his tongue.

“But I like Mr. Miller better.”

His mind conjured all those images of fire and damnation, of being dragged to some dark, smoldering pit. Rotting in hell, he could already see himself within the flames. Tugging at the collar of his flannel, now too tight and hot, he gave a rough, clearing cough. “M’gonna—go find your dad.”

He was glad you didn’t try to approach him in public again. For a few hours, he felt something close to tranquillity—not fully, though, as he could still hear echoes of your voice in the silences. Every so often, out of the corner of his eye, he’d catch you orbiting near him, lurking in his peripheral vision, even though you sat at a different table.

Later in the night, he wandered upstairs in search of the bathroom, instead stumbling upon your father’s childhood bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and he took the liberty to enter it, a familiar scent filling the room. He ran his fingers over the walls, still papered with posters he recognized well. It was as if time had paused there—everything remained as it had the last time he’d been in this very room. The framed portraits, the worn bedspread, and Stephen’s desk, scattered with foreign bills under a layer of glass, each one a memento from the different countries he had visited.

It was only a matter of time before you found him, a light knock on the open door drawing his attention. Joel turned on his heels, catching sight of you, acknowledging your presence with a slight bow of his head. You ambled toward him, curiosity alight in your steps, twisting the chain of your necklace, a restless gesture that betrayed the energy simmering beneath your calm exterior.

He scratched the back of his head, offering a half-hearted smile. “This isn’t the bathroom, right?” he joked, attempting a casual tone. The joke was a weak one, admittedly, but you laughed anyway, a nonchalant sound that showed the gleam of your teeth.

“No, I don’t think it is,” you replied, sliding onto the edge of the desk with an effortless ease. “What brought you here?”

“Birthday parties can be a bit overwhelmin', dontcha think?” 

“Totally.”

And then you went back to watching him, your eyes tracing his features with an almost stubborn intensity. 

“You gonna stop doin' that?” he asked, the words coming out sharper than he meant, though they didn't make you flinch.

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Lookin' at me all doe-eyed.” His voice didn’t waver, but he advanced in your direction. His knees nearly brushed against yours, the weathered denim grazing your bare skin, and only then did a flicker of uncertainty soften your confident stance. “Whatever it is you’re after, it’s not gonna happen. So quit tryin’.”

You drew in a slow breath, pushing yourself to your feet. “You sure about that?” Before he had the time to react, you were standing inches from him, your chest pressing against his, just close enough for him to feel the soft weight of your breasts. “Should I pretend, then, that I haven’t noticed you’ve been half-hard all night?”

Joel's jaw tightened, his teeth gritting almost painfully. His fists flexed by his sides, his entire body feeling heavier, muscles pulled taut by some invisible thread. "Watch your mouth.”

“Or what?” You hooked a finger inside his belt loop, tugging him that much closer. Your breath, fresh and minty, mingled with the faint scent of your perfume, and he inhaled both, heady on the mix. “You’re gonna teach me a lesson?”

There was only so much patience a man like him could summon, and you were a thorn in his flesh, determined and unyielding. He leaned in, voice gruff as he uttered three words that made your brows knit together. “Close the door.” You stayed frozen, lips parting in surprise. “Did y’hear me? M’not into exhibitionism. Close. The. Door.”

You did as he asked, obliging, stepping back to close the door before returning to your place. Without warning, he turned you around, pressing your palms flat against the cool glass of the desk, a sharp chill that made you yelp. His hand settled firmly on your back, guiding you down until your chest was flush against the surface as well. In one swift motion, your shorts were gone, followed by your soaked panties, a damp spot where your arousal had begun to seep through.

He slipped his fingers inside you first, his hand covering your mouth to stifle the needy whimpers escaping your lips. The roughness of his beard grazed your cheek as he hovered over you, his breath hot in your ear as he spoke. “Bein’ too fuckin’ loud, doll.” Matching the rhythm of the slow drag of his fingers, his hips pressed forward, grinding against the curve of your ass, each movement making his mouth go dry. “Y’want this cock that bad?” He nipped at your throat, and you, against his sweaty palm, mumbled what could have only been a muffled Yes. “Then I need y’to keep real quiet for me, alright?”

His jeans and boxers hung around his knees, his cock leaking and throbbing at the tip. Joel realized what true desperation felt like, dangerously close to busting his load at any given moment before even getting the chance to be fully inside you. On top of the desk, your body trembled, and you reached back, pulling your top higher up to bare more of yourself to him. He unclasped your bra with one hand, while his other guided him to your entrance, his lips pressing reverently against your spine as he pushed inside, savoring the heat of your walls wrapping around him for the first time. It certainly didn’t feel like anything he’d ever experienced in his fifty-six years of life.

It had been short, and harsh, and fast. Borderline animalistic, what experts would label as a quick fuck. The moment he breached your entrance, you begged for more, fucking yourself back onto him until his thighs met your skin. You acted as if possessed by a greater entity, diabolic, though Joel didn’t mind it. He relished it, welcomed it. But he couldn’t let you take the reins. He asserted his dominance, snapping his hips forward with a force that drew moans from the depths of your lungs. He was the one in control, driving himself deeper and deeper within you. Suffice it to say you seemed to love it, if the sounds he elicited from you were anything to go by.

It was what you wanted, what you needed. One way or another, he’d caught onto what those lingering glances throughout the party had signified. Every glance you’d thrown his way had been leading to this—a silent promise that whatever was happening had been destined to be the night’s climax.

You bit down on his palm as you reached your peak, tightening around him, and perhaps it was the thrill of it all, the knowledge that he’d need far more time to become well acquainted with your body, that had him chasing after you. Holding back until you came had been a feat, pulling out seconds prior to his release, stroking his length once before painting your skin with his seed. A low, primal groan escaped him as he slid his length between your cheeks, prolonging his high, each heated pulse marking you in a way that felt undeniably his.

As he regained his composure, he watched you swirl your thumb along your lower back, collecting a trace of his release, and bringing it to your lips to have a taste of him. You softly laughed when he cursed under his breath, turning your face lazily to the side. “Damn minx y’are,” he rasped, closing the gap between your mouths, his claiming yours in an urgent kiss. Your mewls faded beneath the insistent press of his mouth as he sought to suppress the strange pull in his guts, reluctant to confront the unfamiliar sensations churning within him.

Things wrapped up quickly after that. You both returned to your places, resuming the roles you’d stepped out of briefly: Joel had been in the bathroom; you had been on the phone with a friend. When he reappeared downstairs minutes after you, no one thought twice about his slightly damp hair.

For the remainder of the party, the two of you exchanged no further words. The time for him to leave came, and he offered only a nod of his head across the packed living room. It was a farewell only Joel would give, a subtle acknowledgment that left you wondering about its meaning. There were no explanations, no parting words.

The next time he saw your father, the mere thought of seeing you again terrified him. If it’d happened once, then the temptation would still remain undiminished, strong enough to awaken the lust and the longing veiled in silence. But you weren’t there anymore—back in New York, focused on finishing your semester at college. The surprise must have been evident on Joel’s face, a bewilderment that prompted Stephen to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Remember I told you she hasn’t graduated yet?”

“Yeah, yeah. I remember now,” he said, wishing to convince both your father and himself.

You were out of the picture, no longer around. Yet, the two of you now shared a secret. You still do, to this day. He’s no stranger to the notion that some things never seem to change. After all, he’s a creature of habit—same breakfast every morning, same brand of bread he’s been buying for years. Like all his other preferences, he’s come to realize he likes his women a certain way. And though he hates to admit it, you fit the bill perfectly.

Betty, Stephen’s mother, was turning eighty-five tonight. A seat with Joel’s name was saved at the big table; they wanted him there, his best friend and his best friend’s mother. How nice it was to actually feel wanted. He liked that feeling. Still, he’d had to bite his tongue when your father mentioned you’d be there, too. You had graduated at long last, with your birthday having been just a couple of weeks ago.

“Can’t believe she’s twenty-five already,” Stephen muttered with a chuckle, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Sitting beside him, Joel gripped the arm of his chair, sinking his nails into it. “Me neither, man.”

His choices had led him to this moment. The clinking of glasses rings in his ears, blending with laughter and the rich aroma of food that fills the air. None of it manages to distract him. He can't help but track you down, eyes scanning the room, relentless in their pursuit of yours. The need to see you goes beyond any shred of restraint he might have faked to have. Joel can’t muster the decorum to feign indifference—God, not when you’re near, when the pull toward you feels like gravity itself. He’s keenly, almost painfully aware, that he’s not even pretending to be indifferent, his interest etched plainly in the way his gaze persists, refusing to pull away.

It’s his first time seeing you in a year. A lot can change in that span of time. He can’t help but be amazed, because you look just the same as you did back then. Only your hair’s a touch shorter. He wonders if it’s even noticeable, or if he’s just spent so long memorizing your features that he’s losing his sanity. He bets it’s the latter.

A light pressure on his shoulder makes Joel jump, breaking down his reverie. He turns quickly, eyes widening. "Betty," he exhales, patting his chest with a smile, eyebrows lifted. "Jeez. Y’scared me."

“Y’alright, Joely? Y’look a bit pale.” The older woman reaches up, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead with a gentle familiarity. Through her lens, he’s still young. “Doesn’t seem like you’ve got a fever, though.”

"That’s ‘cause I’m not sick." Joel takes her hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "How’s everythin’ goin’ so far? Got all these people together just t’celebrate ya’."

"It’s a wonderful night, sweetheart. So happy y’found the time t’be here," she replies, pinching his cheek in that affectionate way that earns her a quiet laugh from him. Her eyes then catch sight of a familiar figure. "Oh, look who's here. If it isn’t my beautiful granddaughter."

He stops smiling. In fact, he thinks he even stops breathing for a second as you intrude yourself into the scene, settling yourself beside your grandmother, flashing him a knowing grin. “I was getting kind of bored with the little ones.” 

“Y’know Joel, right, dear?”

“Yes.” A pause, a beat you draw out between breaths. “Yes, I do.”

Betty leans his way, her warm hand still on him. “Have y’heard the latest news? This young lady just graduated.”

“Stephen told me,” he answers, looking up at you with a reserved nod. “Congrats, kid.”

“Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

There’s that damn name again. Were he alone with you, he’d laugh in your face, but he can’t. Under the scrutiny of family and friends, he knows he’s cornered. Joel’s starting to believe you think you’re untouchable, that there are no consequences to your actions. You might look the same, maybe a little older, but that teasing, provocative spark in your eye hasn’t changed a bit.

“Always so polite, my child,” Betty says, cupping your cheek with a light pinch, a grandmotherly gesture perfected over the years which she seems to repeat often. “Any boyfriends back in New York?”

This would, without a doubt, be the perfect moment for him to excuse himself and stand up—a conversation he’d rather not be privy to. But with you positioned right in front of him, escape isn’t an option. “Still single, grandma,” you respond unfazed, as if you know exactly what you’re doing. “No one to worry about. Better like this, anyway.”

“But what’s the problem? There aren’t any boys y’like?”

He doesn’t even know what makes him say it—some impulse, some hidden tension surfacing—but he jumps in, his voice carrying a slight, sardonic edge. “Boys are more foolish than ever these days, Betty. Surely y’wouldn’t want her to settle for the first idiot who crosses her path.”

Betty clutches his arm, shaking her head in feigned shock. “Oh, not at all! It’s all about waitin’ for the right person. There’s no rush, for either of you. You’re still on your own, Joely?”

Time to drink again. He drains the last drops of alcohol remaining in his glass, feeling your eyes on him, intense and searing, and then he clears his throat, swallowing down the words he’d rather say. “Affirmative.”

“Well,” she sighs contentedly, patting each of your hands as though binding you both with some invisible thread. “Just means y’two have to wait a bit longer, right? Time has its way.” She chuckles, eyes soft with memory, turning to you. “Darlin’, this man here was quite the heartbreaker in his day. He and your dad would find all kinds of trouble with the ladies!”

“How so?” You cross your arms, playfully tilting your chin up. “Joel Miller, the charmer of the town?”

“Guess I’ve been known t’make a fool of myself,” he shoots back, silently cursing the moment he missed his chance to slip away. “Stephen got more fans than I did, though.”

“I did what?” Joel feels an elbow nudging his back, and there’s his friend, grinning in his usual easy way.

Joel's luck in life had been more bruised than blessed, a string of hardships that seemed amplified compared to what most people experienced. Being drawn in by you—in which category did that fall? Good luck or bad? He couldn't decide. Every glance and delicate smile you aimed his way stirred something reckless within him. Was it pure thrill, or a warning?

He laughs every time Stephen cracks a joke, but he’s barely listening, his mind half-tethered to the present. It’s like he’s watching himself from afar, observing his reactions as if he were an outsider. He isn’t stoned or drunk, just acutely mindful of your presence. He catches himself peeking up at you from where he sits, jaw tight, his brow creased. You meet his gaze with a slight squint, a polite look that hides something far more dangerous.

Boys are more foolish than ever these days. He’s sure of that much. They’re young, untested. But what about him? He’s no model of virtue, either. He’s made his share of mistakes, left good women behind—women who were willing to love him in spite of his flaws. They’d seen through the layers he wore like armor, and yet, in the end, he couldn’t hold on to any of them. He carried the ghosts of every past life, fragments of who he’d been and what he’d left behind, and he knew those shadows weren’t for everyone.

A thought pierces through him, sharp and sobering: what would Sarah think? His lovely daughter, grown and settled into her own life, would likely be mortified to know her father’s infatuation with a twenty-something. The weight of that realization sinks into his chest, and that seems to be his last straw.

He can’t possibly take it anymore. Rising from his chair, he mutters something to Stephen about needing fresh air and makes his way to the backyard door, exhaling deeply and gripping his car keys. The cool night air hits him, stepping outside, a temporary relief as he heads toward his truck.

Just as he’s about to open the door, he hears your voice. You call his name, your tone soft but distinct. He doesn’t turn, only lets out a long, weary sigh. “What?”

“Where are you going?” You stop a few steps behind him, watching the way his shoulders visibly tense. “Are you mad at me?”

“What?” He faces you, almost snapping his neck in his rush to look at you. “Why would I be—I’m not mad at ya’.”

“Then what’s wrong? Why are you leaving so early?” 

He scrubs a hand over his nape, fingers pressing into the tension gathered there. “Would y’like me t’break it down for ya’, how messed up this is?” His gaze drops to the ground, unable to meet yours. “I’m riskin’ the only real friendship I’ve had here for… for somethin’ that I can’t even wrap my head ‘round. This isn’t okay, no matter which way I look at it.”

In that moment, it’s as if reality pulls you under. The mask of subtle, practiced arrogance falls apart, scattering in fragments around you. He watches, waiting for you to gather them up, to hide behind that composed veneer again. But you don’t move. You leave the pieces where they lie. Instead, you confront his gaze, unguarded, and ask, “Do you regret what happened between us?”

Another question. You seem to be full of them. They just keep coming, one after the other, as if you already had them prepared. I don’t, he thinks to himself, but would it do you any good if you knew it? “Don’ start with those mental games.”

“Then come back inside.”

“I know myself well enough to know what’s gonna happen if I do that, darlin’.”

Neither of you breaks the silence that’s settled between you, thick as the night air. You slip your hands into the pockets of your jacket, shoulders slightly hunched, head hanging. Once again, like all those times before, he’s struck by how young you are compared to him. The difference stretches between you like a chasm, bridged only by these stolen moments. The weight of his years presses down on him, the choices he’s made—the mistakes and the half-hearted attempts to mend them. He’s got decades on you, three of them to be precise.

Joel never thought of himself as an ever-lasting free spirit, the kind of man who clings to youth or pretends to be something he’s not. Right now, with you here, he feels reckless, like a boy again. Stupid, impulsive, like the foolish young men he used to shake his head at—the very ones he’d warned your grandmother about.

“You left without even saying goodbye last time,” you mumble, low but clear, as you scuff the toe of your shoe against the grass. “And now you’re doing it again.”

He inhales sharply, clenching his keys, feeling the edges of the brass biting into his palm. For a moment, he thinks the sharpness will give him something to hold onto, but he knows the sting is nothing more than a weak anchor. “You’re a smart girl. Don’ need me to spell this out.”

“I know exactly what you mean, trust me. I get it.”

“Then why do you keep pushing?” His pent-up exasperation slips through despite himself, and he can see the hurt flicker across your face, the way your forehead barely puckers as his words hit harder than intended.

Even as you look away, a trace of that hurt fading, you stand firm. You shake your head after a beat, seemingly trying to brush off your doubts and confusion. Joel can’t decipher if you’re feigning innocence—if you are, he thinks, you could be one hell of an actress. “I don’t know. I guess I want to see how far this can go.”

You take a small step forward, testing the waters. Your feet move cautiously, not aiming to scare him off. Each step draws you nearer until there’s only a whisper of space between you, close enough for him to catch your scent, and he has to force himself to peer down to meet your eyes. They hold a quiet intensity: pleading, wide and earnest, already trained on him. Gleaming like two lone stars cutting through a moonless, empty sky. 

It baffles him, the question forming unbidden in his mind. He goes even further, can’t help but wonder: why him? What is it that you see in him? What makes you keep coming back for more? You’ve already had a taste, a story you could tuck away, a secret to be shared with your friends someday around a campfire. So why, he would like to know, are you still here, seeking something from a man like him?

“I like you,” you blurt out, fingers drifting to skim over the worn fabric of his flannel, almost hesitantly. That tentative gesture sparks something raw in him, a low rumble of desire that feels like it’s been lying dormant for too long. Heat pulses through him, hot blood racing through his veins, awakening every nerve, each beat of his heart more insistent than the last one. “I think you like me, too.”

“You’re insufferable,” he bites out through gritted teeth, his jaw clenching so hard it nearly hurts. He closes his eyes, half hoping you’ll disappear, that he’ll find some reason, any reason, to call this off. Though when he opens them, you’re still there, waiting, unshaken. “I wish I knew how to stop this. How to walk away.”

“That’s not what you want.”

“We don’ always get what we want, kid. You’ll figure that out soon enough.” He means it as a warning, but even he hears the way his voice falters, his defenses crumbling in the face of your unflinching state.

You let out a slow sigh, your arms falling to your sides, eyes roaming over his features as if you’re memorizing every line. Your focus dips to his mouth. “Maybe,” you murmur, and he feels the warmth of your breath against his skin. “But some things are worth fighting for. And sometimes, those who don’t give up… get the best in the end.”

With a gentleness that stuns him, you lean in, bringing your lips to his in a featherlight kiss. You pull away, and he helplessly notices the way your lips part, how your breath hitches, and for a split second, the guilt becomes palpable, the significance of wanting a woman he knows he shouldn’t. You stand there, chest rising and falling, skin tingling, a faint trail of goosebumps visible where your neckline meets your chest. 

Apart from the glint in your eyes, he catches the persistent, quiet ache of want. He isn’t sure if it’s just physical attraction, if it runs deeper, or if that’s all it is for him, either. He doesn’t need to know. The simplicity of it all is a short-lived relief. It’s an easy escape, though, this bare minimum of understanding—you want him, he wants you. Let it be enough for one more moment, for tonight, just another memory he’ll have to lock away. Yet he’s aware, deep down, of his own pattern: promises broken just as easily as they’re made. He’s only fooling himself. The part of him that knows this isn’t something he’ll let go of so easily sits there, silently taunting him, daring him to make another compromise he won’t keep.

From where you remain frozen, he’s certain you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he weighs every possible outcome. “It’s gonna happen, isn’t it?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and before you can react, his arm slides around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and turning you toward the car door. The cool metal pressing against your back startles a gasp out of you, but the suddenness only heightens everything—the heat of his body, the toughness of his hold. 

He doesn’t waste time with words, having always been a man of action. His hand cradles your face, inspecting your features to later crush his mouth against yours. Your tongue finds his without hesitation, seeking him out, hungry and unrestrained. He savors your eagerness, the way your hands roam over him, clutching at his shirt, tugging him closer by the belt until your lower halves are pressed tightly. The taste of beer and mint clings to your lips, and a husky groan rumbles from him as your fingers find their place in the longer strands at the nape of his neck, twisting and pulling him impossibly closer. 

He could lose himself in this, the simple, electric thrill of kissing you, how you fit so perfectly against him. Hours could slip by, and he wouldn’t mind, but then reality pulls him back; it’s too exposed here, right outside his truck where anyone could stumble upon you. “Get in the car,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, fumbling to unlock the door. It takes him three tries, and he chuckles, feeling the warmth of your laughter beside him as you tease him.

Once inside, his mouth finds yours again, this time more urgently, his hand pressing against your back, tracing the line of your spine through the clothes. “Tell me y’want this,” he breathes, his kisses trailing down your throat, latching onto the tender skin there. “C’mon, baby. Tell me y’want it. Tell me y’want me.”

A soft, breathy sound escapes you as his mouth fixates on that sensitive spot just below your ear. You tilt your hips instinctively, craving contact in search of relief, and he shifts you onto his lap, guiding your thighs to settle over his. Desperately working to undo the buttons of his shirt, yearning to uncover him, you pant against his cheek. “J-Jesus Christ, I need you. Please, touch me. Anything will do. Just—”

He’s silently grateful for your choice of a dress tonight. It makes things easier for him, and he gets right to it, bunching the fabric around your waist, hands roaming over the soft skin of your hips before moving his fingers lower, tracing teasing lines over your clothed center. He can’t fully make out the murmured words you breathe into his ear, but your voice drives him like a lighthouse guides a sinking ship, and he adjusts his movements, pressing with more intention. The only sounds filling the car are his ragged breaths and your gasping moans, and he holds you close to his chest, cooing softly as you start to rock into his hand, asking for more. 

His fingers find their rhythm, circling your clit in deliberate flicks. Joel watches as you unravel, trembling in his arms, a hint of drool spreading over his shoulder from your parted lips on his skin. His grip tightens as he tugs your underwear down your legs, grinning when you kick them impatiently to the floor of the car. Now, as he strokes his digits up and down your folds, you turn to putty on his lap. In another world, he’d have you laid out in his bed, enjoying each inch of your body. But here, in the cramped, dim backseat, he keeps the lights off. He knows it’s reckless, yet that barely slows him down. His cock throbs at the very risk of getting caught, at the edge he’s walking just to have you like this.

“Goddamn, you’re soaked, aren’t ya’?” He doesn’t expect you to answer, at least not in any coherent way. He sinks his middle finger into your bare heat, searching your face in the dark, contemplating the fluttering of your lashes. His hand weaves into your hair, a firm tug guiding your gaze to his. Your head tips back, a moan spilling from your lips at the new sensation, rolling your hips into his palm with earnestness. “It’s gonna be a tight fit, huh? If this is how you’re grippin’ my fingers, I can’t imagine what that cunt’s gonna feel like wrapped ‘round me.”

Studies suggest that in those final, fleeting moments of life, memories flood the human mind—a last journey through a person’s years before crossing over. If he were to die after tonight, he knows your face would be there, etched into his last breath. He can almost picture it: struggling for air, teetering on the edge, with that reddish, towering figure of mortality looming over him. But even then, he’d find solace in the thought of you, thrown into oblivion. You’d grant him a last-minute reprieve, easing the ache. You’d be the one who’d hold back the shadows. This constitutes the apex of his life, and he knows he should be worried, yet intellectual dominance doesn’t stand much of a chance when confronting the heart of a man. Not when that heart, so long starved of its pulse, has finally found someone worth remembering.

He makes space for himself, thrusting his long fingers into you until he’s got your slick coating his palm. One hand settles firmly at the small of your back, guiding your movements, while he feels his collected composure faltering. You mouth at the rough stubble along his jawline when you start to get close, breathless whimpers clouding his thoughts. “Joel,” you call out to him, as if that alone would make wonders. “Oh, fuck. Please, I waited a whole year. I need to come.”

A whole year. You were his once a year, and he was yours, a bittersweet ritual bound by time. He never would’ve thought this party could bring him such pleasure, though he can’t pretend he’s against it. Last time, he hadn’t taken the chance to pull you under and make you fall apart as many times as he’d wanted. He’s intent on making up for that missed opportunity, determined to make you enjoy every moment.

He withdraws his fingers abruptly, and a sharp laugh nearly escapes him at your reaction. You reach instinctively, grabbing for his hand, trying to guide him back to where he belongs between your legs. But he’s already moving, maneuvering you down until you’re lying on your back, fully under his command. He lowers himself, replacing his fingers with the warm insistence of his mouth. The sound that escapes your lips as his mouth presses against your center is nothing short of a scream—a wild cry that fills the space around you. He’s grateful he parked far from the other guests, because that sound would turn more than a few heads. 

Joel laps at your arousal as if it's the fountain of youth, the very essence of everything pure and precious in the world. He presses down on your thighs until they rest on either side of him, unclamping your legs from around his head. The suppleness of your skin feels divine under his fingertips, and he brushes his thumbs over your trembling form, coaxing you into calmness, to let him have his way with you at his own pace. It's an absurd paradox—aiming to soothe you while his mouth continues its fervent worship, tracing intricate patterns against your most sensitive flesh. His beard, streaked with gray and freshly trimmed, glistens with your slick, and Joel smolders with all-consuming passion.

When his friends had told him to go out more, maybe find someone to date, he's certain they didn't mean this. The smart choice (scratch that: the correct one) would have been to pursue a woman his own age. But fuck it—he's spent a lifetime doing what's right. Every road he might've taken would've led him here, to this moment, with you. Part of him believes he must still have something left, some spark of appeal. To have a pretty little thing like you, so eager, so willing, offering yourself to him? He has to have something. His knees ache from where he kneels on the unforgiving surface, but the burn is inconsequential, and he’ll endure anything to be what you need.

Joel trails his hand up your body, over the curve of your breast, before gently groping it, his palm covering yours in a shared grip. He runs the tip of his tongue along your folds, his saliva mingling with your wetness, aquiline nose grazing your sensitive bud. “You’re tellin’ me you’re this tight ‘cause you’ve been savin’ yourself for me? You do know what t’say t’make a man happy.” He spreads you open slowly, his gaze lingering on the way your cunt glistens, a sense of satisfaction rippling through him. You remain silent, your breath shallow. “Still with me, sugar?”

“It’s just that—I’m so close.” You bite back a moan, nails digging into the soft leather of the seat. Joel hums in response, his lips closing around your clit. Agitation flickers across your face as you try to grind your hips against his mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

The pressure is gone as he notices your thighs quivering again, his movements halting immediately.

“No, Joel. Please—”

“You’ll come when I tell ya’.”

He’s having the time of his life. Damn right he is.

He suddenly realizes he's still dressed from head to toes, the heat building in his body becoming too much to ignore. With a frustrated grunt, he undoes his belt, yanking the metal zipper down, longing to rid himself of the constricting denim. A strangled noise escapes him as you suck on his neck, fisting his base, giving him a few purposeful tugs.

“Now, you’re gonna ride me,” he murmurs, making a pause to shrug his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor of the car, “and you’re gonna like it. Don’ want you t’hold back this time, understood?”

His back ends up against one of the fogged-up windows. The air is thick with the apparent scent of sex—a phrase he’d only ever heard in movies, but now, it’s undeniably real. Joel holds his cock, aligning the tip with your entrance as his lips crash against yours in a hungry kiss. A deep groan escapes him, vibrating over your mouth, nipping at your lower lip. The sensation intensifies when your wet interior welcomes him, velvet walls molding to his size. Your brows scrunch together at the stretch, a choked whimper catching in your throat. As your hips sink fully, your ass flush against his thighs, your body clenches around him, that abrupt tightness drawing a stuttering gasp from him.

“For God’s sake,” he exhales, the words rough as his forehead bumps into yours. His hand splays over your ribcage, fingers curling slightly. “Sweetheart, you’re—killin’ me here.”

“I can feel you everywhere,” you huff, your arms looping around his neck to pull him closer, holding your breath. He takes the moment to capture your nipple between his swollen lips, leaving a shiny trail of spit in his wake. You lift yourself, the motion teasing, before sinking back down onto his lap, taking him in fully. “Can feel you in my stomach.”

When you begin to move, Joel loses track of everything else. Time seems to stretch, bending and reshaping itself each time his tip finds some hidden place inside you. He’s fifty-six years old, yet in this moment, his soul feels infinite. Invincible. He brings his hand to your lips, thumb grazing over them before slipping inside. Your warm tongue envelopes it, and when you start to suck dutifully, muffling your moans, his body jerks in response. His eyes drift to your glistening chest, where a sheen of sweat makes your skin glow in the dim light. You’re the most captivating woman he’s ever seen, and he knows he’ll never look at anyone the same again. He can’t tear his gaze away, mesmerized by the way your body merges with his, the way you undulate your hips on top of him.

You move back and forth, and he drives into you, filling you to the brim with every calculated thrust. He thrusts upward, stealing the air from your lungs, the sharp motion making you sputter as your body struggles to keep up with his.

“That’s it.” His voice is a husky growl as he wraps his arms tightly around your back, your chests sticking together with sweat. His pace quickens, the rhythm becoming more insistent. “Takin’ it like a good girl. You feel exquisite, baby. Makin’ me lose my fuckin’ mind.”

“So big inside me,” you pant, your own pace faltering as you surrender to Joel’s unforgiving tempo. His hooded eyes flicker to yours, catching the way your pupils have swallowed up your irises, dark and blown wide with desire. A shiver runs through him as your fingers dig into his shoulders, your grip leaving faint crescents in his skin. “Missed your cock so much, Mr. Miller.”

Fuck, not that shit. If it’s possible, he grows impossibly harder. He pounds into you with renewed intensity this time, his singular goal to leave you speechless, boneless, completely undone. He wants you limp and shuddering, with nothing left to give. “Enough of that.” His hands find their place on the soft globes of your ass, molding and squeezing until the pressure has you mewling, the sweet sound shooting straight through him. His lips ghost over the shell of your ear. “Responsive everywhere, honey. Have any idea how much fun I’m gonna have with ya’?”

Who would’ve believed him back then? It proves this isn’t some once-in-a-lifetime fluke. It happened before, and now it’s happening again. He might as well surrender to it—accept his fate and move through the motions like a man resigned to what’s already written.

There’s a moment when your moans sharpen, turning high-pitched and dazed, and the way you constrict him sends his eyes rolling to the back of his skull, a guttural noise tearing from his chest. His movements still, clutching your waist to pin you in place, denying you the chance to move, to bounce on him.

Then you break. A sob wracks your body, tears spilling over and tracing hot paths down your cheeks. They gather, fusing together as they slide along your throat and pool in the hollow of your jaw before disappearing lower. “Asshole,” you hiss, the word fragile as you push your face into the curve of his neck, seeking refuge in his embrace.

“Sorry? Couldn’t catch that.” He makes sure to keep you securely tucked under his chin, tilting his lower half upward. “If you want me t’stop, just say the world and I will.”

He’s messing with you, plain and simple. He doesn’t actually expect you to take his words at face value. But you do, grinding down harder, impaling yourself further on the length of his cock, and your arousal trickles down, slicking the coarse hair of his thighs.  “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.” Slotting your mouth over his, you attempt to move, chasing any sort of friction against your clit. Sadly, pleasure doesn’t come on its own—it’s Joel who can make you feel good, and he’s not obliging. His hand seizes your hair in a rough grasp, tugging sharply. Eyes fluttering shut, you hunch forward, submitting to the sharp edge of his control.

“What an impatient little thing y’are.” Joel grabs your thighs and turns you over, your back pressed against the leather seat. The brusque shift pulls him out of you, the cool air a cruel tease before he taps his head against your swollen folds, then fills you again in one powerful thrust, kissing your cervix in the process. A deep moan rips from your lungs, deep and guttural, as your legs tremble uncontrollably on either side of him. Your ankles dig into his back, fervent to keep him close. His balls rest heavy against your skin, full and aching for release. “Gonna give ya’ what y’want, okay? You’ve been on your best behavior,” he mumbles with his lips stuck to your forehead. “That’s a good girl. Think she deserves to come after all.”

Only then does he find his rhythm again, ramming into your drooling hole. For the third time tonight, he’s captivated by how you teeter on the edge of overwhelming pleasure. He has you eating out of his hand, taking all that he offers, and you do so willingly. He knows he could ask you for anything, and in exchange for an orgasm coaxed by him, you'd comply without thinking twice. In many ways, he’s not so different. He gathers some of your saliva, using it to moisten his fingers before slipping them between your bodies, rubbing your clit as he continues to hit your bundle of nerves. Where his stamina comes from, he has no clue, though he’s determined to keep pushing.

Your face becomes a living poem, each cry of yours adding to its verse. Your head nearly reaches the door, but he cradles it with his arm, ensuring you don’t hurt yourself. “Close,” you whine, struggling to keep your eyes from falling shut. “Joel, please. Let me—”

“Give it to me, darlin’.” Another thrust, another moan. “Drench me, c’mon. That’s what y’want, isn’t it? To come all over this cock?”

The way he’s worked you up has its rewards, leading to a release that feels like an eruption. You bite down on his shoulder, your cries growing louder, chanting his name without pause. It loses all meaning after being chanted so many times, but the way you say it still has an undeniable weight. He doesn’t mind it one bit, not when he’s finishing right after you plead him to fill you. His jaw hangs open as ropes of his seed spill inside you, and he sags against your frame, giving short thrusts to push his cum deeper into your warmth, your pussy milking him dry.

“Oh, God…” he groans, fumbling with one of your breasts, holding onto something for dear life. “Jesus Christ.” 

“Don’t pull out yet,” you say, grinning when you feel him twitch. “Stay a little longer.”

Too personal. Too intimate—dangerous in his books. Normally, he'd tuck himself back into his briefs, drive the woman he’s slept with home, and that would be the end of it. No happy endings in his story. So he’s surprised when he supports his weight on his forearms, claiming your lips in a voracious encounter of tongues and teeth. He caresses your cheek, tilting your face to deepen the kiss, and you sigh contentedly.

The two of you lapse into a heavy silence after that. He clears his throat, and says: “I should’ve asked you for your number that one time.” In the heat of the act, he’s being too honest. Regret will come knocking on his door once his excitement fades. His eyes bore into yours, dubious. “M’sorry for that.”

“Well, you could ask me for it now,” you admit from beneath him, and Joel pulls away for a moment, trying to gauge if you’re serious. He doesn’t think you’re joking. “To make up for lost time.”

This must be the onset of something else. He can't quite put it into words, but he feels it in his chest, in every place where your skin merges with his. He's no fortune teller, and there's no way for him to know where this path will take him, whether it leads to ruin or salvation. Though in this moment, he doesn't care—not now, at least.

At last, Joel blindly reaches for the pocket of his jeans with one arm. “How long are you stayin’ in Austin?”

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[jiarkives]

can you babysit our child?

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ summary — you ask nanami if he can babysit your child while you go out.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ character — nanami kento (jujutsu kaisen)

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ content — fluff, ooc nanami (?), no pronouns used but kinda leaning towards fem

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ notes — i just had an idea and wrote it,,, no edit whatsoever 😶‍🌫️

~

Recently, Nanami’s students showed you an application called TikTok and you had been hooked to it, to say the least. Whenever you had free time, you would scroll on the app for hours on end.

And while scrolling one time, you came across a certain video of a couple and decided to test it out on Nanami to see how he would react.

“Hey, Ken?” You called out to your husband from the living room as you played with your toddler in her playpen. “Can you come here for a sec?”

“Yes, hon?” Nanami stepped into the living room from the kitchen where he had been cooking your lunch for the past hour or so, his apron still tied around his waist and the sleeves of his sweatshirt folded haphazardly up to his forearms.

“So I have an appointment with my nail tech tomorrow, right?” You reminded. “And Shoko and I decided to go out for a girl’s day.”

“The one you told me about over dinner three nights ago?” God help you, he even remembered when you told him. “Do you need something, hon? You know you can just take my card, right? You know where my wallet is.”

“No, no, but that is a tempting offer, admittedly, but no.” You grinned. “But I was just wondering, since I’d be gone the whole day tomorrow, maybe you can babysit our child?”

His eyebrows were immediately drawn together at your words and admittedly, a part of you thought he would turn you down and so you spoke quickly, “It’s alright if you can’t though. I can just reschedule my nail appointment and with Shoko.”

“No, it’s not that. You should go, hon, you deserve a break,” he told you in assurance, but his brows are still furrowed. “But why are you saying it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Babysitting,” he said. “You asked me to babysit our child.”

“Well, yeah, because I’d be out tomorrow and someone needs to take care of our child, you know?” You said, feigning nonchalance.

“Honey, I want you to be honest with me. Have I been making you feel neglected lately?” He asked worriedly, stepping closer to you and even going as far as sitting beside you on the floor. “I know I’ve been working overtime the past few days. Have you been feeling lonely because of that?”

Now, it was your turn to be confused.

“No, why’d you ask?”

“You asked me to babysit our child,” he reiterated. “Hon, I am the father of our child. I will take care of them the way a father should, and not just babysit them like I’mm being paid to do so.”

You were about to speak, but he cut you off, “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much lately, but I’ll make it up to you two, alright? I promise.”

“Ken.” You giggled, throwing your arms around him. “It was a prank. I saw it on TikTok the other day.”

“Honey.” He sighed.

“I know, I’m sorry.” You jutted your bottom lip out as you pulled away. “But I love you so much, oh my god.”

“I love you too.” A small smile grew on his face. “But don’t ever do that again.”

He stood and moved to go back to the kitchen, but paused to turn to you, “And you’re definitely taking my card now.”

Well, your child is definitely going to have a new sibling soon.

[emmyrosee]

Outside, the rain pours like no one’s business, the wind howling in frustration as it mingles with the tinkering drops against your roof and windows.

You, luckily, are curled happily under your blanket, scrolling through your phone with a nice cup of tea next to you, enjoying the sounds of a storm in nothing but your own company.

Until-

“Ah. You’re home,” you hum, flicking your eyes up at osamu, then back to your phone. His arms are filled with reusable bags that dangle from the bulky muscles, two large palms cradling the milk, and the fluffiness of his hair lays flat to his head. His shirt is soaked, you hear the squish of his shoes, and you hate how cute the wet-dog aesthetic is on your man.

You hear him pant softly, “it’s. Wet. Outside.”

You chuckle and shake your head, reaching for your cup of tea, “yeah baby, that’s why I’m inside.”

“You could’ve helped your strong, smart, talented, amazing boyfriend with the groceries.”

“I offered, you said you “‘got this’,” you hum, secretly glad your boyfriends chivalry knows no bounds and he’d rather get drenched in the cold rain than risk you getting drenched in the cold rain.

But he is a Miya. He’s going to whine just a little bit.

You hear him place the groceries down, “but now I’m cold. And my shoes are wet. And I was lonely.”

You click off your phone and shrug off your blanket, making your way towards him. He smiles as you approach, and when you use a warm hand to move his hair off his forehead, he nuzzles into your touch.

“Thank you for getting the groceries,” you say, leaning up to press a kiss to his cold forehead. “Go take a nice hot shower, I’ll put them away.”

“I only bought a few frozen things, so you can join me in the shower.”

You giggle, “as tempting as that is, I’d really like you to warm up.”

He smirks and, before you can process, he scoops you up in his arms and throws you over his shoulder, his freezing shirt soaking you as you writhe and scream at the playful action. “Osamu!”

“Now you’re wet too. Come shower with me, and wash my hair.”

“You bought dairy,” you manage between titters, “I have to put it away.”

“So let’s put it away together. Then we can shower.”

“You’re so clingy!”

“Oh I’ll show you clingy.”

[devilfic]

❝late-bloomer❞

plot: you've never been kissed before. on a completely unrelated note, what if your best friend offered to be your first? pairing: tasm!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: post-tasm 2, gwen stacy mention, angst, self-deprecating thoughts about being undesirable and insecurity in love, best friends to wouldn't you like to know, eventual fluff, attempts at andrew garfield accurate rambling, he definitely talks you through it I mean who said that. words: 4.3k.

a/n: entirely self-indulgent because I wrote this after crying over being a late-bloomer for an hour ahahaha

Peter is reading something for research when you suck in a breath and finally ask, "What was your first kiss like?"

You hear his voice die in his throat. The small whispering of test results and calculations fall short, but you don't dare to look back. You're hunched forward so he won't see the way your eyes burn and brim with tears unshed because if he did, he'd ask about it and then you'd really start crying. Instead, you busy yourself with your phone, idly scrolling as if your question was pure curiosity alone.

You watch his ankles uncross, hear him sit up and then lean against the headboard again, fumbling for your train of thought, "Uh... sticky, 'cause I was six," Peter laughs, "You should know. You're the one who kissed me."

No matter how many times he tells you this, you can't remember the day you'd been so bold as to plant one right on Peter Parker's lips. You felt like you'd remember that, but you'd been such an impulsive child back them. Bolder. Thicker-skinned.

But Peter remembers, and so does Aunt May who swears up and down that she'd caught it on camera ("If only I could find that damned photo album"). You're the only one who doesn't. It's like it never happened, "No, God... no. I mean like your first real kiss."

"Like with tongue?" You hear the humor in his voice and even your sullen mood doesn't stop you from smacking his knee. "I dunno what you're talking about. That kiss was real to me."

"I'm serious, Pete."

He hums. You're so, so tempted to look back and see what he's thinking, but it would give you away too easily. "It was... it was a kiss. I mean, Gwen- you know. You know. I was crazy about her. I didn't think I just... kissed her."

"How did it feel? Do you know?"

"I felt like I needed to do it. I felt like if I didn't, I'd throw up. Not actually, just... like I'd explode with all the feelings I had for her."

Your finger hovers over a tweet. In your wondering about that feeling of almost nearly exploding, you try to picture that rooftop kiss that Peter had relayed to you between classes, with hushed whispers and childish laughter. It was windy, and I was breathless, he'd said, and I wanted to lay myself bare. And I just... pulled her in. Shot a web and swept her up and kissed her. I think I've lost my mind. You remembered pressing your back against the school lockers to cool yourself as you imagined the scene, the steps it took for you to settle the uneasy churn in the pit of your chest. The euphoria and panic upon realizing that your Peter was growing up.

You felt overwhelmed just imagining it. You barely hear Peter ask why you want to know. "No reason. Was just curious."

You think that Peter accepts that as good enough reason because the room is silent again. You keep scrolling, keep taking subtle deep breaths to keep the tears at bay. You see a picture of a couple on your timeline and scroll faster.

A few minutes of peace pass before Peter broaches the subject again, "What about you?"

"Hm?"

"I don't think you've ever told me about your first kiss."

Your shoulders tense. No good effort hides the strain in your voice, "I haven't?"

A beat passes. You glance over your shoulder and see Peter staring right at you, his lips upturned in a small, resting smile, but his eyes are inquiring. He's trying to read you. Perhaps he's just noticed the heavy cloud hanging overhead. "Nope." He pops the "P". He's waiting.

You could lie. You could say it was Flash Thompson who stole it, mention that field trip to the zoo in middle school when he'd sneaked next to you at the peacock exhibit and pestered you about you and Peter. Peter wouldn't question Flash about it. Even if they'd made amends, any conversation about him would send him over the edge with memories of his childhood bully and how much he pitied you for having your first kiss with him. And all of you were far too old now; Flash Thompson had gone to another state to play football the minute he got his diploma. It'd be so inconsequential, such an easy lie.

But the longer it takes you to deliberate on it, the worse it makes you look. You should've offered up an answer easily, jovially, unbothered. It should be inconsequential. Anything more and Peter would call your bluff because he knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes.

At some point, you feel the brush of a lone finger at the base of your spine and it startles you. Peter's slipped his finger under your shirt, stroking along the middle of your back, "I won't laugh. If that's what you're thinking." He says softly.

Of course Peter wouldn't laugh at you. As much as your relationship was teasing, he knew where you were tender.

But it wasn't laughing you worried about.

"I know." You say, in lieu of a real answer. You fear you've given yourself away.

Now there are two fingers stroking your skin, "You don't... you don't have to tell me, if you don't want to," but you can hear the discomfort in his voice when he says it, like the thought that it's something you don't want to tell him concerns him, "it's up to you."

Just lie. Your breath shudders and immediately you regret it. There's no way he hadn't heard that.

Before you can recover, you're feeling the heat of his entire hand on your back now as it slips further up, as he sits up in bed beside you and rests his chin on your shoulder. The closeness of his breath makes you feel claustrophobic all of a sudden, "Hey, hey. I'm sorry. Did I push? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

You struggle to shake your head, but now your eyes are burning again and you don't think you can stop the tears this time, "You didn't." You insist.

"You're crying, bub," he laughs (not mockingly, never mockingly, never when you cry) and reaches a thumb up to brush away the first warm tear, "what's wrong?"

There's a million things you could say. I've never been kissed before, I don't know what it feels like to be longed for like that, I want to be longed for like that, why haven't I been longed for like that? But it all feels so heavy. Peter picks his chin up to kiss your shoulder and that really does it, "It never happened."

Peter's lips still against your skin. Their warmth slowly peels away, though you feel his breath ghost over the curve of your bone, "What hasn't?"

"A kiss. A first kiss, Peter. I've never had one."

"That's..." Peter sounds almost shocked, disbelieving. He never picks up that thought.

You turn your head away and toss your phone onto the bed, no longer interested in pretending you could distract yourself with anything else. You try to shrug your shoulder out from underneath Peter's mouth but he's quick, the hand at your back locking around you and you can't escape him even though you want to, even though you need to get away from his sweet smile and lovely heartbeat that thuds a little faster against your side.

It was already so much to tell him you hadn't had your first kiss yet, to admit to your best friend who—despite popular Midtown High opinion—has always been so irresistible to lovers, that you haven't gone as far as something so... simple. Something teenagers running your old stomping grounds have probably experienced ten times over by now. You don't think you can handle his pity too, "Peter, please."

"There's nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. Everyone moves at their own pace."

You hiss through your teeth. You don't mean to, but the spite overwhelms you like red hot heat for a minute, "It's easy to say that when you've done it already."

You catch Peter's eye and immediately regret it. His untamed brows are drawn together, expression more analyzing than pitying. Even though you're brimming with feelings, he seems as if he's trying to wade through them, search for the gnarled root at the center of it all.

Then, and he says this so carefully that the meaning takes a moment to catch up with you, "There's nothing wrong with you."

It's the sincerity that does it. You shove his hand off of you, jerk away from him in a scramble to stand, but Peter is fast and lithe and he's always been two steps ahead of you even before the bite. He's up on his feet before even you are, coming to stand in your way when you go to grab for your bag, "Peter, move."

"Look, can we... can we talk about this?"

"I really don't want to. Move."

"Why are you shutting me out?"

"Because I want to go home. Move."

"Is it because of what I said?"

"Yes!" You blurt, growing frustrated the longer he blocks your path, "yes. Because I'm sick of being told there's nothing wrong with me when clearly..." Your voice tapers off, afraid to give him the reason he needs to worry about you, "Please. I'm just tired. It'll go away on its own, it always does, I just can't be here right now."

The standoff between you two lingers, feels like you might have to fight him just to escape. It takes everything in you just to keep eye contact with him and not burst into tears.

Peter clearly doesn't want to let you go. You can see that genius brain of his running every possible scenario in his mind in which he convinces you to stay, cry it out, leave happier than you came. None of them come soon enough. You brush past him when he realizes he's got nothing, and even the hand that grabs for you is halfhearted, shrugged off with little force.

"I'll see you later, Pete."

You let his front door shut on its own.

It hasn't been great.

What typically took a few hours to shake off had settled over you like a dark cloud ever since you'd stormed out of Peter's place. Even though you texted him like everything was fine (and dodged any phone calls so he wouldn't hear the truth with those freakishly good best friend senses of his), you had yet to see him again. Had yet to let yourself be seen.

You told yourself that it was just you missing Peter, and you believed that to be true, but you also believed that when he looked you in the eye and told you "there's nothing wrong with you", you hadn't been prepared for the nakedness of it all. He'd dug deep, right to the source. That kind of thing was hard to move past.

So you avoided him. If he came by your place, you pretended you weren't home. If he showed up at your work to take you to coffee, you lied and told him you had plans with a coworker. It had been several days now and you felt more and more cowardly by the minute.

It was Peter. Of all people, it was Peter. Your best friend. You could tell him anything (most things, some kept a little closer to the heart). You should be able to.

And it was silly. Being embarrassed about not kissing anyone. Plenty of people were in the same boat as you and they didn't ice their best friend out about it.

Ugh, now you were just making yourself feel worse.

You'd had enough. You'd end this pity party today. As you make your way through your apartment door, you promise yourself that after you've showered, after you've made yourself a filling dinner, after you've settled into bed, you'd call Peter and ask him to meet for pizza this weekend. You'd talk like civil adults who understand that life isn't a race. You'd share your couch, laugh about the whole thing, and maybe, just maybe, the hollowness in your chest that longed for someone's desire to fill it would finally-

He's sitting in your kitchen.

Legs dangling off the island, mask rolled up to his nose, and a spoon clattering out of his mouth and into a bowl of ice cream. Your front door shuts gently behind you.

You stare at each other for a few seconds. Then you glance through your bedroom door, cracked open just enough for you to see the breeze rustling your curtains. You turn back to Peter, who's cleaning off his bottom lip of raspberry sorbet. "Did you climb through the window? You have a key."

Peter sets the bowl down beside him, shrugs, "You weren't returning my calls."

Your shoulders sag and you drop your things to the floor, "Peter-"

"No, no," you watch him slide off the countertop and bounce over to you, and the nearness you aren't prepared for makes you back away an inch or two, "No Peter. I'm not Peter. I'm Spider-Man. See?" He gestures to the suit.

You reach your hand up and pinch his exposed cheek, then narrowly avoid his teeth before he tries to nip you, "I'm not in the mood. I said I'd call you later, I'm just... busy."

"Busy avoiding your best friend."

You can feel him trail after you as you walk away, beginning to undress. He catches your coat when you throw it toward the couch and hangs it up all neat on a hook. He kicks your shoes to a wall and tugs your belt from your fingertips once you've undone it. Then, unexpectedly, he hooks said belt around your waist and yanks you back to face him.

The momentum throws you fully into his chest but he's sturdy, unmoving as you grip his shoulders and give him the most hostile look you can muster. You attempt to wiggle out of the trap but he pulls the belt tighter, forcing you closer, and then you start to panic as the space between you both disappears, "I haven't been avoiding you, I just needed space." You quickly explain.

"And I get that," he admits, "but you scared me. I've never seen you like that before. Not with me. Not ever."

Of course he hadn't. It was why you kept all of this a secret in the first place. Because you knew he'd worry, and you knew that there would be nothing he could do to fix it. Not like he usually could.

"It was a... brief lapse in self-esteem. That's all. You're making it into a bigger deal than it should be."

"It's not a big deal?"

"No! That's what I keep trying to tell you."

"So it doesn't matter at all."

"Correct."

"Right."

"It's just an arbitrary milestone that means nothing." You grip the leather of your belt but you're nothing against his superhuman strength. Pleading with your eyes, you do your best not to slip back into that vulnerable place all over again. Peter made you feel safe to do that. Way too safe to do that. "I promise. I'm not avoiding you."

You get sick of staring into the whites of his mask and so you grab the edge of it and pull it up to his hairline, little tufts of curls poking out as his face is fully revealed to you. You stare into those sharp, probing eyes of his, forcing yourself to stand the test of Peter Parker's perception.

Suddenly, you're released.

You stumble back a bit, the belt clanking against the floor, as Peter throws his arms up in defeat, "Alright, alright. I get it. I should've let you breathe the other night. I was just worried, is all."

You smile, "And I appreciate that."

Peter quickly glances at you and then away, making an exaggerated show of kicking imaginary dust off the floor. "First kisses really mean nothing then, huh?"

"Zilch. Nada."

"So... doesn't matter when it is, who it is..."

You watch him carefully, "If this is about when we were six-"

"No, no, I know that didn't count. You don't even remember it," his face contorts in a wince, "I was just thinking. Something."

Your eyes narrow, "Uh-huh."

"Well, I mean, is that why? Because you don't remember it? Or... is it because it was me?"

"The kiss?" Peter blows a raspberry, looking more bashful by the second, and nods without looking at you. "It's... it's because we were six. And we didn't know what we were doing. I was just mimicking what we saw. We didn't know anything."

"And now we do."

"Yeah. What are you getting at, Pete?"

He sits on the back of your couch and kicks his feet out in front of him. "If all that matters is that we both know what we're doing, and a first kiss is just a meaningless milestone to you, then I thought that maybe we could give it another go. You know. So when a real kiss comes along that actually means something, you'll have an idea of how it's supposed to go."

You're six years old again.

You and Peter Parker are sitting in the dirt, mouths covered in sticky ice cream that the summer sun melted right up. You're both talking about Flash Thompson's trip to Florida and the hilarious sunburn he came back with when you spot an elderly couple across the park, pressing their mouths together over and over.

You're looking over at Peter and asking about it, sure it couldn't possibly feel good, and he's telling you that when Uncle Ben kisses May good morning in the kitchen he always looks away because it's gross.

And you're thinking... you start thinking something.

You're thinking it would be funny—that Peter would hate you for it, but you're just so curious—and you're pressing your lips to his so quickly that he doesn't get a chance to pull back before you're giggling in the grass. And May's voice flutters in the background, a shrill and delighted, "I caught that!" that makes you both turn tail and run toward the swings.

Peter's still staring at you, waiting.

Part of you feels like it's pity. Like he doesn't want you to feel bad about yourself. Like he doesn't know how else to fix it, because he has to fix it. He has to fix everything. He has to be your hero.

But the other part? A restless and selfish part wants to take it; it's curious.

You take a step forward, the two of you watching each other, waiting to see if the other might back out at the last second. He stays exactly where he is, legs parting slowly, and the silent invitation makes you feel hot under the collar.

When you're standing between them, you feel his knees bump your legs on either side, his hands planted firmly into the couch cushions. You notice the grip he has on them, "Are you sure?" You pause.

Peter tilts his head in that strange, spider-like way. As if he cannot fathom why would you ask such a thing, "Of course. I'm the one who offered."

Your hands shake as they consider where to put themselves, and you get about halfway to his shoulders before he takes them and places them on either side of his face, mumbling something about how it might help you feel more in control, quell your nerves a bit.

Peter's cheeks feel so warm in your hands, and you can feel each swallow he makes the longer you take in his expression. "Should... I move in first? Or..."

He laughs, short and high-pitched, "I guess I can go first."

You know you're supposed to close your eyes, but as he comes in close, you can't help but keep them lidded, taking in every twitch of his mouth as he inclines his neck, shuts his eyes, and kisses you.

Your brain reacts a half-second after his lips touch yours. You've probably stopped breathing, and you have to force your lips to unstiffen so that you could actually feel him. His lips are a little wet—he'd been rolling his bottom lip between his teeth since he'd sat down—and they taste faintly of raspberry. They're not cold though, and the feeling isn't unpleasant.

You don't know how to react to it, don't know if you should move or not, and so instead you curl your fingers into the silk of his nape and wait for the pounding in your chest to stop.

You feel him mouth at your bottom lip just once, and then pull back. "How'd that feel?"

You recall the sensations that went through your brain (all that it can recall anyway, when Peter's looking at you like that), "Slimy...?"

Peter's face falls, and then he bursts into laughter, shakes with the force of it, and drops his head on your shoulder. "There's got to be a better word than that."

"I don't know! I was just thinking about the feeling."

"I don't want to know what it felt like, I want to know how it made you feel. Did you like it? Hate it?"

"I don't know. I'm- I'm nervous."

"Hey, that's okay," his hand rubs your hip, warming the skin there, and you find yourself leaning into it for comfort, "everyone is their first time."

Peter is so, so gentle. Your heart feels like it might give out, but a little less now that it's over and he's not looking at you in disgust. You don't know what you expected, but... this was better. By far. That part of you that felt selfish takes over again, "Can we try again?"

His eyes widen a bit, but he's immediately nodding, "Okay. Yeah. Okay. We can try as- as many times as you want."

You nearly choke on your spit. "Can we?" Your voice comes out a meek whisper.

Peter nods. He brings his legs in so that he's sitting properly now. "Of course. You wanna move me? I can sit somewhere else. Or you can sit if you want."

"No, I like you here," you say, feeling your stomach tighten when his thighs lock against your legs, "um. Is there anything I can work on? How did I feel?"

"Warm. Soft. Just try to loosen up, alright?"

You force yourself to release the tension in your body and move in first this time. Images of rom-com kisses flood your brain, how you memorized their rhythms and the placement of their mouths. You try your best to mimic it, make it feel as good as it seemed to look, when you feel one of Peter's hands slip behind your head and angle you away just a hair, "You're tensing up," he warns, making you pause, "it doesn't have to be perfect. It's just you and me. Breathe for me, okay? Turn your brain off."

You feel your stomach flip a bit, and nod along mindlessly. You try again.

This time, it feels a little different. Not wet or stiff, even if it is still awkward. It almost overwhelms you when, as you're mouthing at Peter's lip, he returns the favor, but you keep your brain empty. You can't focus on the details because it won't feel right. You can't focus on the way it looks because it won't feel right.

So you focus on Peter. You focus on the hand on your hip drawing you closer and the hand on your neck rubbing circles into the knot there. You focus on the feeling of his suit under your pinkies. You focus on the small hum he makes when, with quite a bit of building up to it, you pass your tongue over his.

Almost as soon as you do it, you pull back. Peter is flushed and it makes the beauty marks on his skin stand out more. His eyelashes flutter, a half-smile on his lips that are kissed red. By you.

You open your mouth to ask but he beats you to it, "I think you've got it now... yeah. Definitely." You're so relieved you sigh, sagging away from him, but he catches your hands before they can can leave his face completely and holds them in his lap. You don't dare move them. "How about you? Did you like it?"

You nod, speechless.

Peter laughs and squeezes your hands in his, "Okay, good. Good. I love you, you know? I know it doesn't... replace what you're looking for, but you're wonderful. You're insane and funny and stunning and there's nothing wrong... you know? You're perfect. Take it from your loser best friend who had to get bit by a radioactive spider to get to first base."

You snort, "I mean, if that's all it takes..."

Peter shakes his head and stands, but his hand remains on your neck as you follow his eyes to his full height, "So, we good? No more ignoring me?" You bite your lip, nodding your head. Peter smiles. "Good, cause I'm starving and I need you to split a pizza with me."

"You just polished off a tub of ice cream and you're still hungry?"

"I'm a growing spider, honey. And I missed you." Without warning, the hand on your hip hooks around your back and hoists you into his body, throwing you off balance once more, "I'll swing us there and cover cheese sticks too. Sound good?"

You know you don't have much room to argue when he's being so generous. And not when he's beaming at you, so genuinely relieved to have you back that it would knock you off your feet if he wasn't holding you up.

He was right; this wouldn't replace what you were looking for, but it gets pretty damn close. Closer than you expected, actually. But it's just the adrenaline. This didn't change anything.

Did it? You stare up at Peter.

"We can try as many times as you want."

You might have a very different problem than you started with.

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes

[wonwoonlight]

take a chance / jeon wonwoo

Wonwoo x Reader // 1.7k words // nothing but fluff lol they're idiots

a/n: if you cant tell im absolutely insane abt this wonwoo. 100000% self indulgent and 100% not proofread as always ehe <3 v lowkey inspired also by niki - take a chance with me

He drives me crazy, it's so beyond me

How he'd look at me dead in the eye and stay unaware

Niki - Take A Chance with Me

[☆]

Wonwoo has never really been interested in romance.

When he was six and his friends started talking about girls were icky, he couldn't have cared enough to even think about girls in particular.

When he was fourteen and his close cousin who was practically his big brother told him about his first girlfriend, Wonwoo had simply nodded and congratulated him because the older guy looked like he was waiting for it even though he didn't get what's there to congratulate.

When he was seventeen and another cousin got married, he thought a little about what it'd be like to commit yourself for the rest of your life to another person.

Anyhow, now he's twenty seven and still pretty much free from the dating experience.

He just simply couldn't be bothered to try nor was he even curious enough to try.

There's too much risk. Too much things to do. Too many factors to think about. It's too complicated and Wonwoo has never been a fan of complicated.

Sure, the older he gets the more he understands about the attraction and whatnot. But the few dates that he has been on (which he could count with his two hands) was entirely due to his friends setting up with someone and his inability to say no the second time even though he did reject their so-called-help the first time around.

They eventually get the hint and stop setting Wonwoo up on a blind date.

He never sees romance as a necessity and he doesn't feel the need to have a partner, what is there more to say?

“I lost the floor 12 Abyss again.” You pout, half tempted to throw away the joystick in your hands. “I'm never playing this game again, I'm telling you.”

Wonwoo chuckles and tells you to move as he slides next to you, taking the joystick away and getting ready to restart your game.

“You just suck at this.” He teases, not minding your glare because he's way too used to it at this point. “And you say that everytime but here you are, still playing.”

“Shut up.” You pout, both impressed and unimpressed at the way he easily goes through the stages.

“Done.” He grins, all nine shining stars looking back at you.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don't.”

“I do!” You take back the joystick from him and close the window. “You don't even play this game! This is bullshit!”

He laughs under his breath and ruffles your hair, saying something about how he can't help being good at it.

You like that side of Wonwoo, as you often tell him, because people have always said that Wonwoo is quiet–that he doesn't talk a lot and it could be awkward being left alone with him.

And whilst it's not entirely untrue and you've been there too, you also know that Wonwoo is much more than his lack of words.

Wonwoo talks a lot once he's comfortable. You just need to be very patient and understanding about his silence before he gets there.

You… have been plenty patient, amongst other things.

You're patient enough to get where you are even though you've never imagined you'd get here.

Here, meaning being close enough with Wonwoo for him to be comfortable with you that he doesn't mind inviting you over to his place with no other companies.

Here, meaning being close enough with Wonwoo for him to not mind the fact that you like him and not act weird about it.

Here, meaning being close with Wonwoo despite the fact that you've confessed to him about your feelings but you're still here in his place, right next to him with not a single air of awkwardness between you two.

Turning off the Playstation, you settle on Wonwoo's sofa and decide to scroll through Instagram instead. You sigh, catching his attention, and when he asks you what's wrong, you simply shake your head no.

“What are you sighing about this time?”

This is something that people don't know about Wonwoo either: he prods when it comes to people he cares about.

Granted, he does it exactly three times to see if the other party would relent by then. He does that because that's how he is, he once tells you, because he rarely opens up at the first question but eventually cracks on the third time. That, by the third question, he's already had enough time to consider whether or not he really wants to talk about it.

“Nothing important.” You try to reassure him. “Just silly stuff.”

Wonwoo looks at you pointedly, but you simply smile and turn back to your phone, which he supposes means you don't feel like bringing it up just yet.

He closes his book and puts it on the coffee table, leaning closer to you to see what you're up to.

You wonder if Wonwoo knows what his action means to your poor, poor heart. If he's aware that, as much you said you're cool despite your confession, you still have romantic attractions towards him and confessing doesn't mean you're no longer affected by anything and everything he does.

After watching you go through your phone for a bit, it is quite easy for Wonwoo to realize what might be the core of your problem.

“You're thinking about why you're single again, aren't you?”

Your fingers freeze and so does your entire body, and Wonwoo would've laughed at how surprised you look right now, but he knows you're actually bothered by this problem from time to time though he doesn't exactly understand why.

And for someone who's observative and quite sensitive when it comes to things around him, Wonwoo can be a bit dense, still.

On what kind of universe does he think this topic would be okay to talk about with someone who literally confessed to you and somewhat got rejected though not explicitly?

“I don't want to talk about it.” You whine despite the fast beating of your heart. You honestly don't think you have it in you to talk about this with Wonwoo. At least not just yet.

“Why?”

You look at him, incredulous. “You know why.”

“Because you like me?”

You shrug, not wanting to deny it.

“Can I ask you something?” He asks, voice very gentle and careful.

“What?”

“I'm sorry if this sounds insensitive.” You press your lips together as he starts. At least, he has the conscience to know that. “But… what is it about being in a relationship that appeals so much to you?”

You pause before you answer, wondering what to say. “Do you want me to actually answer that?”

“If you don't mind answering.”

Wonwoo wonders if he makes you uncomfortable by asking such question. But if there's anyone he can ask about this, it can only be you. No one else would answer it in a way that he would understand. No one else would give him the sincerity that you'd give in your answer.

He feels bad knowing you like him and still asking you like this. But he supposes you're both close enough for that discussion, that he doesn't want to let your feelings get in the way of your precious friendship.

Perhaps he's selfish, but he doesn't want to be too conscious when it comes to your relationship with him despite everything.

“I guess it's just the fact that someone's always there for you.” You start, not looking at him even though his gaze is locked at you. “That there's this person who… you can tell everything to, from your secrets to what you feel like eating today. That when you want to do something, you can always run to them first before wondering if anyone else is available. That–”

“But that's already how we are?” He cuts you off.

You stare at him wide-eyed, wondering if it's some kind of prank even though you know he's not that kind of person.

“That's already what I do with you.” He says one more time–more firm and somewhat determined with a hint of confusion. “Why do you think you're in my place so often?”

“I… I– I don't know? You're… bored? And I happen to be free?” You stutter a little, not used to the way he's staring at you.

“I am bored.” He agrees, things suddenly crystal clear in his eyes. “But I'm bored because I don't have you around. And I want you here. That's why I asked all the time if you're available.”

You open your lips to say something–anything, but nothing comes out because your heartbeat is ringing throughout your body right up to your ears.

“You're the only person I send those posts about places I want to visit because I want to visit with you. I don't send them to anyone else. I don't even like going out all that much.”

“I… I don't understand?”

“Are we in a relationship?” He asks rather bluntly, mixing all your feelings together with one single question.

“Wonwoo, I don't think this is how you should go around it–”

“Have we been dating all this time?” He asks one more time, not even seemingly nervous about it.

He looks at you like he's expecting an answer, but how are you supposed to answer that? You've simply been happy that you get to spend time with him. You didn't think for one second that he might be into you despite all the time he asks you to accompany him somewhere and all the time you're alone in his place.

“I've been too oblivious, haven't I?” He concludes by himself, your silence doesn't deter him at all.

He reaches for your cheek, and if he notices how warm your face is, he doesn't mention it. But he caresses the apple of your cheek as he looks at you with the gentlest reflection you've ever seen in his eyes.

“I'm sorry it took me too long.” He whispers, and you bite your lip so hard to hide your smile because you don't want to be too happy before anything's decided. You're not sure what he's trying to say, your head is spinning with thoughts and your heart is beating at an erratic rhythm. “Do you mind… letting me learn a bit more?”

“About what?” You whisper back.

“Being a good boyfriend?” He smiles when you do too, feeling warmth all over his chest at how shy you seem to be. “You know I've never done this before, right? Let me take a chance with you?

You finally let yourself grin at this, no longer able to control the happiness blooming within you at whatever this might mean.

And as you lean your face more into his palm, Wonwoo thinks he's ready to take all the risks that might come together with whatever the future has in store as long as he has you by his side.

[preeningpisces]

pleaaase could we get some more choso stuff? maybe some more nsfw headcanons if you have them or if not then some drabble of him being a Little Freak (endearing)?? anything that you'd feel like tbh <33

Omfg of course!! I actually have a lil fic I’m working on for him rn, so hopefully I won’t take too much longer. Love me some freak Choso. Thank you for taking the time to send this!

Hopefully this isn't too weird, lol

Choso being a lil freak

Content: fingering, masturbation, handjob, mild dacryphilia, ear eating, saliva, use of good boy and baby

18+ content below, mdni, afab!reader, enjoy!

The TV drones in the background as you scroll through your phone, leaning into the arm of the couch. Anxious anticipation rolls off your boyfriend. You don’t have to look to know he’s fidgeting with the blanket, trying his best to focus on the show—an episode of How It’s Made, his favorite. It’s obvious what he wants, it’s what he always wants when you’re around, but he remains bashful nonetheless. Amused, you let him stew in discomfort, wanting to see how long it takes for him to crack.

He adjusts himself and scoots closer to you, in what you think was an attempt at subtly. A smirk threatens to split your mouth, and you can feel your lips wobble from the effort of resisting. What was once fiddling with the blanket becomes a bouncing leg, drumming fingers, and more frequent glances. Laughter presses against the seam of your lips when he sighs, but you keep it at bay. You’re as focused on your phone as he is on the TV; his energy is contagious and makes your desire spark. But right now, you just want to antagonize him.

Sex is a recent development in your relationship, and ever since you gave Choso the keys to the kingdom, he wants it all the time. Not that you mind. Introducing your boyfriend to sex in all its forms has been fun, to say the least. This isn’t cruelty: you’re just building his confidence to initiate, you tell yourself. Not two minutes later, he says your name in question. Innocently, you set your phone aside, giving him your full attention.

“Do you…?”

“Do I what, Choso?” It’s clear he didn’t anticipate any pushback, because looks ready to retreat.

“Can we?” His stare is intense and imploring as he rests a hand on your knee.

“Oh, I don’t know, this article is pretty interesting” — a lie. When he deflates with puppy eyes, you feel too guilty to not throw him a bone. “But I could be persuaded.” Confusion flits over his face; he really does need everything laid out for him, doesn’t he? “I’m going to keep doing what I’m doing, unless something more tempting comes along,” you say, and with no further explanation, return to your scrolling. You know this worked even though he hasn’t moved, because he’s wringing his hands and mulling over his next step.

Maybe you are cruel. Just a bit.

An unsure arm winds around your hip, and pulls you away from the armrest to sit upright. With a delicate press to your jaw, he turns your head to kiss him, but you pull back.

“Ah, ah—you can’t turn me away or block the screen.” Now understanding the game, he nods with wide eyes. “Good boy.” Excited, he sits right next to you, but doesn’t remove his hold on your hip. Hesitant kisses tickle your jaw and neck—more endearing than distracting. The complete lack of reaction prompts Choso to trail from your jaw to your chest, and cup your right breast.

A post makes you laugh, and you feel him bristle beside you. Riled up, he squeezes your breast harder than you thought he would, and goes for your nipple. Choso absolutely loves your breasts, it’s no shock he sought them out first. What is shocking is how aggressively he’s touching them. Normally, his touch is irreverent and pleading. A weak pinch makes you flinch, but you keep your focus.

“Is that okay?” 

“All I said is you can’t turn me or block the screen,” you say vaguely, allowing his imagination to fill in the rest. A sharp pinch is his reply, making you gasp. Tentative kisses are forgotten as he breathes into your ear, now more focused on the weight in his hand. Wearing no bra, there’s only a thin t-shirt between you and his fondling; rolling your nipple around and tugging it occasionally. As if just remembering he has one, he mouths at your jaw, and gently nips at your ear. The sweet attention makes you hum, your eyes hooded as you lazily continue scrolling, barely paying attention to what you see.

Suddenly, the kisses stop, and his hold on you relaxes. You fight the urge to look at him. Is this his way of playing, or is something wrong? Before you can ask, his lips rest at your ear, barely touching. Anticipation stills your shoulders, and you stare at the screen blankly as you wait for him to do something. Those lips press against your ear, and stop, gauging your reaction. When there is none, he kisses your ear fully, gently.

You expect him to move on, but one kiss becomes two, then three, then doesn’t stop at all; his head angles, and his kiss becomes more passionate, fully making out with your ear now. It tingles, and despite your bewilderment, you let out a breathy whine. Emboldened, he introduces his tongue, which licks at the planes and ridges. Cheeks hot and appalled, you shriek his name—he squeezes your hip so hard it could bruise.

Normally, he would release you and frantically make sure you’re alright, but your taunting must have affected him more than expected.The odd sensation makes you squirm, but you stubbornly grip your phone, and don’t turn to him. This only cues him to pull at your nipple with a twist, making you arch and moan.

He’s quick to move on; his hand dips under the waistband of your sweats, then your panties, and wastes no time rubbing soft circles around your clit. As if touching your pussy wasn’t enough, his tongue dips into your ear’s canal, making you nearly drop your phone. It doesn’t go far, but enough that it’s oddly sensitive. Sounds cut in and out, like you’ve dived into a pool and swam back up. Embarrassingly, you feel yourself throb.

“You’re really wet,” Choso says, and immediately returns to assaulting your ear. His bluntness only makes you more mortified, and the nerves in your neck and jaw prickle. The attentive circles are consistent, and keep a steady pace, which only drives you crazy, noises spilling from you freely. With his mouth covering your ear, you can’t tell how loud you are—every sound you make blares internally, as if you’re listening to yourself through earbuds. Your sounds arouse more of his own, overwhelming your mind. You can’t even hear the TV anymore, or the sticky sounds you know your pussy is making.

So enwrapped in pleasure, you hadn’t even noticed Choso was humping the air, his moans somehow both stifled and amplified. Unable to resist, you toss your phone and cup his bulge, letting him grind into your hand. Abandoning your hip, he helps you slide his sweats and boxers down his hips, cock twitching with need once it's exposed to the cool air. You wrap you hand around his cock and stroke him making his legs tremble. The hand previously on your hip winds back around you to continue stroking your clit, while the other slides two fingers in your needy cunt. 

“Oh, fuck–oh fuck,” you belt, grinding against his hands, helping him find your g-spot. When he grazes it, you shout his name, and he strokes it with every thrust of his fingers. “Yes, baby, just like that.”

The steady pace fumbles when you spit in your palm and continue stroking him. He chokes on a gasp and sucks the shell of your ear in his mouth; it’s the most you’ve been able to hear since he began, but the leftover saliva prevents you from hearing clearly. You twist slightly as you stroke upward, squeezing near his head. Even with the lingering saliva, you’re finally blessed with the wet sounds of his cock and your pussy.

“Please—ah—please cum,” his high-pitched and needy voice doesn’t match the way he roughly fingerfucks your pussy, stretching it with spread fingers and pushing your hood back to attack your clit. Overwhelmed, you shiver as you approach your release; it isn’t until he resumes his lip lock with your ear and tongues at the canal that you come with a keen. “T-that’s it, you look so pretty when you c-cum.”

Your body locks up as your stomach twists from the convulsions, and your pussy clenches around him nonstop, but he doesn’t let up until you still. He covers your limp hand with his own, and he pumps his cock furiously, chasing his end. Gripping one of his buns, you smash your lips together. Distantly, you expected a waxy taste, but were relieved to find none. Tongues graze, drool pools, and he makes debauched sounds when you pinch his tongue between your fingers.

“Are you gonna cum?” You pull his tongue tauntingly and squeeze around his cock. When he nods instead of answering, you pinch it harder, and his cheeks go redder than you’ve ever seen them.

“Yeth, I’-I-” he lets out long, continuous whimpers as he comes. Sensitive, he removes his hand, but you grip his wrist and make him stroke himself through it, thick cum leaking over your joined hands. Tears and drool roll down his face, but you keep stroking his cock with a sickening squelch. 

It’s only when he stops leaking cum that you release him, soothing him with kisses to his wet cheek before fetching the nearby water. The two of you lay against each other, now winded.

“I’m just going to address the elephant in the room: why did you stick your tongue in my ear?”

“You wouldn’t let me kiss you,” he shrugs, as if it was obvious. “I’m glad you liked it, though.”

“I did not!”

“Okay, if saying that makes you feel be-” you smother him with a throw pillow. 

Next time, you’ll think twice before giving Choso the reins to do whatever he wants. 

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Clingy.

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Wanderer x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 5.0k.

TW: AFAB!Reader, Modern AU, Non/Con, Blood, Intimidation/Threats of Violence, Toxic Relationships, Emotional Abuse, Slight Financial Abuse, and Codependent Behavior.

[Part Two]

On your third date, your boyfriend-at-the-time demanded that you give him a spare key to your ‘shitty shoebox of an apartment’, despite refusing to so much as let you into the penthouse Ei had leased for him while going to a university a hundred or so miles away from the multi-story, marble sculpted, beachside mansion he’d reluctantly flown you out to when he got sick of listening to you ask why he still hadn't introduced you to his moms eight months into your relationship. That probably should’ve been your first red flag, but somehow, you’d persisted. He brought out your competitive side, like that.

He made you want to dig your nails in, plant your teeth in your neck, and refuse to let go. It wasn’t good for you, but nothing he did was good for anyone. That never stopped him from doing it, though.

You could only assume that this – Kunikuzushi, your boyfriend of eighteen months and your ex-boyfriend of one, splayed across the couch in your living room, the keys he’d never given back dangling from his ring finger and the phone you’d forgotten when you left for work that morning in the other – wasn’t going to be good for you, either.

You didn’t say anything at first. It was all you could do to groan, to shake your head, to pretend you didn’t see him or didn’t care long enough to throw your messenger bag onto the nearest chair and tear off your jacket. He’d clearly made himself at home. A textbook was open on your coffee table, a drink from the cheap, trendy café he’d always whined about having to take you to sitting half-empty next to it. He wasn’t looking at either, though, his attention entirely centered on your phone. You didn’t have the energy to pretend to be surprised. He used to like to go through your conversations and delete the contacts he ‘didn’t trust’ when you were together, too, but you’d been more willing to write it off as the cute-but-concerning tick of a jealous boyfriend, back then. You must’ve fallen out of practice after your breakup.

You opened your mouth, but he was ultimately the one to break the silence. “You know Ajax?”

You crossed your arms. “Why are you here?”

“I mean, I know you’re in the same microbiology course, but c’mon, him? The fucker couldn’t tell a proton from a nucleolus. Honestly, I’m surprised he hadn’t flunked out yet. Give it another semester - he’ll be gone by spring, I promise.”

“I didn’t say you could come over.”

“I texted you last night. Did you try to block me again?” You’d blocked him, then reported his number, then changed yours when he’d started using burner phones to drunk dial you in the small hours of the morning and leave disjointed, rambling voice mails about how well he was doing without you, how much time he had now that you weren’t pestering him, how many people he’d slept with since the last time you'd seen each other. All of it was bullshit, obviously, but it was his bullshit. Somehow, he always knew just how to get under your skin. “Scratch that – I’ll take care of it. I should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to get through a month without my help.”

You grit your teeth. Swallowing as much of your anger as you could, you stepped in front of him, snatching your phone out of his hands and retreating before he had a chance to take it back. You were tempted to look at what he’d been scrolling through, see which conversation had gotten him so upset, but you forced yourself to turn off your phone completely, to set it down on the far side of your coffee table and think about something else. It’d take hours to fix the damage he’d done, to unblock all the acquaintances he didn’t approve of and the apologize to all the friends he'd insulted under your name. You’d rather get rid of him first, then try to fix everything he'd already started to tear apart. “Get out.”

He scanned over you, his eyes lingering on the wrinkles in your button-up shirt, the cheap material of your dress pants. “Y'know, if we were still together, you wouldn’t have to put up with that shitty job. You could just quit and finally move in with me.”

Once, you’d let him buy you a new laptop when yours gave out in the middle of the semester and you didn’t think you’d be able to scrape enough up for another before you next exam. It’d been a used model, already a few years out of date, and you swore up and down that you’d pay him back when you had the money, but he’d held it over your head for months, smirked and gloated and taken every opportunity to remind you how grateful you should be to have a boyfriend so willing to spoil his oh-so-unfortunate partner. He hadn’t let you pay him back. He hadn’t let you pay for anything until he’d gotten tired of playing savior and went back to acting like a brat, too desperate for your attention to care if he was in-charge. You doubt he’d be any more bearable if you actually moved in with him, if you lived in his house and relied on his good-will. If you actually depended on him.

But, rather trying to say any of that in a way he’d understand, you sighed, clenching your eyes shut. “It’s an internship and I need it for my major. Get out.”

His scowl wavered. “When did you get so bossy? This isn’t going to work if you think you can tell me what to do.”

“I’m not bossy, you’re just a prick. Get out.”

He sat up, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Cut it out. I’m not going to want to get back together if you keep acting so immature.

“I don’t want to get back together with you.” And then, gesturing towards your door. “Get. Out.”

If nothing else, that seemed to shut him up.

It took a few seconds, but eventually, he responded. There was an airy laugh, a thin smile, a certain air of hurt disbelief as he sat up. “You really aren't kidding, are you?”

You didn’t indulge him with a reaction. Rather, you watched with a pressed scowl as he pushed himself to his feet and stepped toward you. He was in his usually ‘too cool to try, but too bored not to’ get-up – ripped jeans and long sleeves striped in black and violet, half a dozen rings and bolts pierced into the curve of each ear and a belt from a brand you couldn’t name, but knew you were supposed to tacked on to further feed into his ego. He must’ve been here all day. His short hair was more disheveled than he usually liked it to be, and you could see more irritation in his dark eyes than you were used to, paired with a certain type of frustration that only ever slipped out when you managed to keep him waiting. You hadn’t, technically (you couldn’t be late to meet someone who you didn’t want to see), but you didn’t bother trying to point that out.

“I thought it’d be nice to see you after… How long? Five weeks?” He glanced down, starting to toy with something in his back pocket. “I thought we could order lunch, talk for a while, maybe watch a movie or something. Then, I don’t know…” His smile took on an apologetic lull, almost pleading. “Kiss and make up? It’s not like any of this is new for us.”

He wasn’t wrong. You’d been together for a year and a half, and most of that had been spent caught up in ear-splitting, tear-inducing, world-ending fights. He’d burn the notes you borrowed from your classmate, and you'd refuse to talk to him for a week. You’d decide you were over his constant mood swings and go on a date with the cute guy from your calculus class, and he’d mail a slab of raw meat to your best friend because, in his own words, ‘you couldn’t come up with such a stupid idea by yourself’. It wasn’t balanced, you would never be able to give as much as he took, but still. When he started yelling, you did too, and when he showed up at your door a few days later, his eyes still bloodshot from crying, you always took him back. Because he was Kunikuzushi. Because you loved him.

Because you knew he’d make your life hell, if you didn’t.

Which was exactly why you couldn’t just… kiss and make up, this time. Not if it’d mean swallowing your pride and letting him get everything he wanted.

You sighed, but kept your arms crossed, your expression stern. “I’m tired, Kuni. I don’t want to do this anymore.” You paused, bit down on the side of your tongue. “It’s not good for either of us. We’re not good together. I don’t want to pretend that we are.”

His smile wavered, but didn’t fall. “What do you mean, babe?”

“I mean,” You braced yourself, shut your eyes. “I think you should leave.”

At least he seemed to hear that. You watched with as little sympathy as you could manage as his grin cracked and fell away, as his shoulders slumped downward, as he let out an airy chuckle that cracked halfway through. “You’re breaking up with me?”

“We broke up a month ago.” And he’s been insufferable ever since. “And we’re not getting back together.”

Parted lips, glassy eyes. He raked a hand through his bangs, doing what he could to blink away the tears slowly forming in the corners of his eyes. This wasn’t new, and yet, you still found yourself struggling not to break, not to embrace him and mutter soothing nothings while he sobbed quietly into your shirt and wrapped his arms around your waist and, inevitably, ended up on his knees, his face buried between your legs as he made you cum until you forgot why you’d been mad at him in the first place. “Fine. That’s fine. Honestly, that’s great. I don’t know why I’d ever want to be with such a heartless bit—” His voice broke before he could finish. He made a half-hearted effort to wipe at his eyes, but that only drew more attention to the tears starting to roll down his flushed cheeks, only made you more tempted to pull him into a kiss and act like this had never happened. “Fine. If you’re really that sick of me, I’ll go.”

He pushed past you, starting towards your door. That was what you wanted. Kunikuzushi gone, your apartment empty, your life just a little less fucked than it always seemed to be when he was a part of it. You should’ve let him go. You should’ve stood there until he was gone. You should’ve let him leave.

But you heard another hitched sob, a string of muttered swearing, and something in your chest broke open. With a shallow sigh, you dropped your arms to your sides, forcing yourself to speak through clenched teeth. “…do you want a hug before you leave?”

Kunikuzushi glanced over his shoulder. “A hug? What do you think I am, a toddler?”

“It's the only thing I'm putting on the table. Do you want it or—”

You never got the chance to finish. His arms were already around you, pinning your arms to your torso as he buried his face in your shirt. You choked back your protests, forced yourself to fight the instinct to push him away, and in a few excoriating seconds, his hold on you loosened, his back straightening, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder and his lips pressing into your neck. There was a lingering8 kiss laid onto your jugular, then another to the corner of your jaw, but you didn’t bother to try and push him away. Instead, you only shifted in his arms, nudging at his chest. You’d gotten yourself into this, called him back when he was a few steps away from leaving. You only had yourself to blame. “I didn’t say you could—”

“I knew you’d change your mind.” A hand fell to the small of your back, the heel of his palm pressing into the base of your spine. “You always do. You always make the right choice, in the end.”

You opened your mouth, ready to remind him that you weren’t taking him back, but you hesitated. He was always weird, just a little too hostile, just a little too desperate to keep you close to him, but you didn’t trust the levity in his voice, the way his smile pressed into your skin despite how close he’d come to crying a few minutes ago. “I think…” You trailed off, bit down on the side of your tongue. “I haven't changed my mind. You have to—”

Something flat and stiff pressed into your back – the blunt edge of a switchblade. His switchblade, you realized, dredging up hazy memories of bandages wrapped around thighs and hollow promises that he’d be more careful, next time. You heard his nails drum against smooth metal, felt something cold and sharp cut into the skin above your shoulder blade, and you froze, your mind instantly going blank.

He laughed, the noise cracking and airy. Warm breath fanned over the crook of your neck, and he melted into you, nuzzling into the curve of your throat. “I love you.” And then, pressing the blade into your flesh. “Say you love me too.”

Automatic, robotic. The only thing you could spit out through grit teeth. “I love you.”

Another laugh – more giddy, this time, more eager. If he noticed your reluctance, it clearly didn’t bother him. The switchblade was pulled up to the nape of your neck, then drawn in a loose arch to your collarbone, the tip never leaving your skin. “I mean, yeah, obviously. That’s why we get to stay together, even when we’re at each other’s throats.”

He paused, burrowed into you. In turn, you were dragged further into his chest, but pushed away just as quickly, allowed to get just far enough to make it possible for Kunikuzushi to raise his free hand to the collar of your shirt and drag you into a clumsy, rushed kiss – too rough and too forceful for anyone but him to enjoy. His teeth scraped against your lips, his tongue dragging over yours, but he pulled away with a breathy groan, his pale cheeks flushed and his eyes still glossed over. “…you didn’t get with anyone while I was gone, right? You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

How could you? He hadn’t given you room to breathe, let alone get past anything more than a first date with someone new. Even when you’d been together (actually together, not fighting or on a break), he’d been so suffocating, so possessive, you’d never been able to get any further than heavy petting, oral, his body on top of yours and your legs wrapped around his waist before he said something you couldn’t brush off and the night devolved into something... less romantic. It was hard to be with someone like Kunikuzushi, someone who acted like they’d rather give up the air in their lungs than a second of your time. Even after a year and a half, it was hard to let your guard down around him when he seemed so willing to give you every reason you ever could've needed to keep it up.

You guessed you should’ve expected this, looking back on it. He’d was bound to get tired of waiting for you to trust him eventually.

This was just his way of letting you know that he’d never really needed you to, in the first place.

Stiltedly, you shook your head, and he let out a relieved sigh. “Perfect. That’s why we’re supposed to be together.” He kissed the corner of your lips, then your forehead. “You’d never hurt me.”

He didn’t give you time to respond. Instead, he took you by the hand – his fingers intertwining with yours as he turned and tugged you forward, moving to lead you further into your apartment. The switchblade left your skin, falling momentarily to his side, and for a few brief seconds, you considered trying to get away, jerking yourself out of your hold and running as far away as you could get from him and his fucking issues. You made a passing effort, but Kunikuzushi’s grip turned crushing as soon as you began to shift, and you gave up before he could break something more vital than your heart. He was between you and the door, you and your phone. He had a knife, a weapon. He had you, and until he decided he was done, he wasn’t going to let you go without a fight.

With little ceremony, you were drawn out of your living room and into your cramped bedroom. Kunikuzushi let go of your hand, but you didn’t have time to run before you were being pushed onto your unmade bed, before he was straddling your waist and pinning you to the center of the mattress. The knife was brought back to your neck, but quickly plunged lower, slid beneath your uppermost button and used to separate thread from fabric. Somehow, annoyance managed to overshadow your panic, if only for as long as it took for one rational thought to be followed by another. This was your nicest shirt, one of a handful you’d splurged on for your internship, but it wasn’t like Kunikuzushi would ever understand anything like that. It wasn’t like he’d ever tried to, before.

The tip caught on the slight dip below your diaphragm and you winced, a few dots of red immediately seeping into white fabric. You winced, beginning to protest on reflex. “Kuni’, that—”

“I’ll take care of it.” Absentminded, only half conscious that he was speaking at all. He reached the hem, pulling his switchblade free and letting your dress shirt fall away from your chest and over your shoulders, as useless as it was embarrassing. “I’ll take care of everything when we’re done. Just sit pretty and keep your mouth shut for a while.”

Really, you could only wonder why you hadn’t dumped him sooner.

Your pants were next, slits carved into the material over your hips and ruined fabric torn away. He moved to cut off your boxers, too, but seemed to hesitate, to linger, to find the strength to pause just long enough to drag two fingers over your clothed slit and press the pad of his thumb into your clit. You hissed at the friction, but Kunikuzushi only smiled, dipping his head low enough for his lips to ghost over your collarbone, then the midline of your chest, then the tender spot just below your navel. The last was accompanied by a slight groan, throaty and deep. You did what you could to block it out. This would be better if you didn’t think about it, if you just imagined he was trying to win you back after a fight, that there was a wilting rose in his other hand and not a knife already stained with your blood.

It was almost a mercy when his hands finally slipped under the hem of your boxers, doing away with your last layer of protection with only a slight laugh and a lilting smile. You did what you could to relax, to lean back and close your eyes, but Kunikuzushi’s weight was an ever-present anchor to reality, only made worse as he shifted lower, as he pulled your legs apart and threw them over his shoulders. He pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses into the inside of your thighs, his teeth ghosting over tender flesh as he sucked harsh bruises into whatever he could reach. This was his favorite part, by far. He’d always been clingy – possessive to the point of total, nail-biting, jaw-locking paranoia. At first, you’d been able to write it off as a sort of overeager enthusiasm that came with a new relationship, but he’d never stopped. He was always ready, always desperate to dig his teeth into your skin and leave as many marks as you’d let him – or rather, as many as he possibly could before you were able to pry him away. Even then, you’d tried to think of it as cute, just one of the quirks of your immature-but-loving boyfriend. Now, all you could do was hope it’d be over soon.

It took him full minutes to actually reach your cunt, for his tongue to lave over your slit. Instantly, you stiffened, clenching your eyes shut and attempting to ignore the heady sounds of his whimpering moans, the feeling of his tongue tracing patterns in your entrance. It was sloppy, messy, all drool and teeth and clutching hands, but warmth flooded into your core as the bridge of his nose ground into your clit, as his hands wrapped around your hips and dragged you that much closer to his mouth. Everything he did was dirty, but he knew you, knew your body, knew that you’d have to spread your legs as soon as his tongue thrust into you.

You arched your back as two fingers slid into your entrance alongside his tongue, scissoring you open while his attention shifted to your clit – his lips sealing around the sensitive bundle of nerves while he sucked gently. If he hadn’t been so vocal, it might’ve been more bearable, but no, he couldn’t seem to stop whining into your cunt, to stop sending waves of those awful reverberations from your clit to your core every time he whimpered or grunted or moaned. Before you could stop yourself, your hips were rolling weakly against his mouth as he nursed you through your sudden climax. When you fell limp, his mouth fell away, but his hand still cupped your pussy, his fingers still curling and thrusting inside of you.

He didn’t slow down, didn’t let up, not until you were crying out and clenching around him, not until you could feel the slick running down your thighs, soaking into your sheets. He didn’t stop until you were babbling – spitting out incoherent pleas for him to slow down before the overstimulation turned from overwhelming to agonizing. You were forced to endure another kiss to the inside of your thigh, the wet sound of his tongue running over his fingers, but he pulled away in a few seconds, finally letting you have just enough space to breathe. Even that was temporary, cut short by his lips crashing into yours. You could taste yourself on his tongue, as little as you wanted to. You could feel him panting against your lips, and it was all you could do not to scream.

He pulled away abruptly, grinning. “You’re a virgin.”

It wasn’t a question, but you found yourself shaking your head, denying it on instinct. “I never—"

“You didn’t have to.” There was a peck to the corner of your lips, another to your cheek. “I know everything about you. Your parents were too strict to let you date in high school, and none one’s ever lasted more than a couple of weeks with you before me. Since you wouldn’t so much as take off your shirt around me before our three-month anniversary, I’m going to assume you weren’t a total slut before we met.”

You narrowed your eyes, shoving gently at his chest. You just needed space. You just needed him to get away from you. “So?”

“So,” he leaned in, his smiling growing that much wider. “I’m going to ruin you.”

It was something about his tone, the dark glint in his eyes as he leered over you. Your heart dropped in your chest, and very distinctly, something very large and very sharp began to crawl up your throat.

You started to shake your head, but he was already edging jeans downward, already freeing his cock – the flushed tip leaking precum in fat, white pearls. His weight was enough to keep you pinned down as he aligned himself with your entrance, as he traced the head over the length of your slit, and his eyes never left your face, your expression painted with heavy strokes of horror and disbelief. He never wavered, never blinked, even as he thrust inside of you, bottoming out in a single uninterrupted motion. Even as you cried out, the sound more pained than anything else. Even as you felt a single, warm teardrop fall off of his cheek and onto yours. You hadn’t realized you’d shut your eyes, not until you forced yourself to open them, not until you found him cloudy-eyed and grinning above you.

He was crying, again.

Huh.

You thought he would’ve given up on that, by now.

He wasn’t gentle. He’d never been delicate with you, but right now, it felt like he was trying to be rough, to pin your legs against your chest and split you open every time he moved his hips, every time he found a way to hit something deeper and more sensitive inside of you. You tried to scream, but your voice caught in your throat, strangling itself into something more akin to a cracked whine and a few broken whimpers. The stretch, the pressure was more than you could take. You couldn’t stop yourself – going rigid underneath him, your eyes rolling back as your mouth fell open in a silent, agonized cry. Your reactions, however involuntary, only seemed to spur Kunikuzushi on, his pace growing more erratic and his breath now coming in quick, shallow pants. No matter what you did, it just made him worse.

You could hear him talking, distantly – little mumbled tangents forming between thrusts. “You’re just so—” He cut himself off with a long, wordless moan. “We’ll do this every day, until— until you know you don’t need anyone but me. Then, you’ll love me, and you’ll never have to—” He thrust deeper into you, letting out a fracturing laugh. “And then, I’ll rip out your tongue and cut off your legs if you try to leave. We’ll always be together. No one will ever, ever take you away from me again.”

You weren’t with him. You didn’t want to be with him. If it wasn’t for his immaturity, his manipulativeness, his fucking knife, this wouldn’t be—

His knife.

Both of his hands were on your thighs, his nails digging into your flesh, keeping your knees pressed into your chest. He wasn’t holding it. He couldn’t be.

Without daring to look away from him, you groped around the mattress blindly, your fingertips eventually brushing against something cold and metallic – his switchblade lying abandoned on the edge of the bed. You took it up before you could hesitate, gripping the handle tightly enough for the sharp corners to bite into your palm, for your hand to cramp and go numb by the time you found the strength to actually lift it up. You didn’t aim. You didn’t have time to, not unless you wanted to think about what you were doing, not unless you wanted to let Kunikuzushi win. Not unless you could—

The curved tip just barely made contact with the skin above his collarbone before you faltered, before he had time to catch your wrist in an iron-clad hold. You tried to let go of the switchblade reflexively, but his hand shifted to wrap around yours, to keep the blade pressed into his chest – applying just enough pressure to break the skin. “Do it.” Soft, drawn out, too eager to mean anything good. “I’d let you carve your name into me, if you wanted to. All you'd have to do is ask.”

You didn’t ask. You didn’t want to. You didn't want any of this, but Kunikuzushi pressed the blade in his skin regardless, letting out muttered confessions of love and loyalty as a thin red line formed in his flesh, as blood dripped down his chest and disappeared behind the loose collar of his shirt, blotting against the dark fabric. He guided your blade to his lips, next, making a small nick in the corner of his mouth before taking the switchblade out of your hand and tossing it onto the floor, out of your reach. It would’ve hurt less if he’d tried to hurt you, too, taken the blade to your skin after his own. If would've hurt less if he’d acknowledged that you’d tried to do anything at all.

You didn’t have much time to linger on that thought, though. He was already moving again, already making up for time lost by fucking into you like a man crazed. With no preparation, no warning, he jerked forward, his chest pressing into yours as he kissed you, as he forced his tongue past your teeth and smeared his blood over your lips. It felt like you were drowning in nickel, being slowly suffocated by some nameless, slick, oppressive force. It felt like you were choking, despite being able to breathe, to think as clearly as you’d ever been able to around him. It felt like you were going to die.

But, you weren’t. He’d never be so kind, he’d never let you have that kind of comfort, not when he was still grinding into you, not when his cock was twitching against the walls of cunt and he was groaning into your mouth without reservation. You could feel your poor overstimulated pussy clenching around him, your vision burning white around the edges as, for lack of anything more stable to hold onto, you wrapped your arms around his neck and raked your nails over his back, clawing into whatever you could reach. If he noticed, if he cared, it only worked to drag him that much closer, to leave him as deep as he could possibly be when he finally finished, when you felt something warm and vile flood into you.

He stayed like that for a long moment, silent and unmoving, his chest pressed into yours and his lips trailing from your mouth to your throat, settling just above your jugular. It was a small mercy when he finally pulled away and straightened his back, easing himself out of you and wiping the blood off of his face, his neck. You watched from a distance as he fixed his clothes, before pushing himself to his feet, never sparing you so much as a second glance. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Pack your stuff, and make sure you’ve gotten your shit together by then. I’m not letting a mess like you into my apartment.” He paused, lingered long enough to smile. With no sense of visible urgency, he walked to the side of your bed, retrieving his switchblade and kissing your forehead softly, gingerly, with a kind of tenderness you could only wish he’d found a few hours earlier. “I love you, babe. Even when you act like a fucking idiot.”

His grin pressed into flesh, cutting and cruel.

“And I’m so, so glad you’ve realized that you love me too.”

[swarvey]

screaming over paper rings. stardew and taylor swift?? PEAK ‼️ so, in a similar vein, i have a lil request

could you possibly write a one-shot with any taylor swift song of your choosing? i'd like for it to be x sebastian but i know he's not one of your favorites, so if that's uncomfortable i'd be down with haley. either is fine, i would just love to see what you'd come up with! your writing is wonderful, and i can't wait to see what else you write <3

- 🪩

when you've moved on | sebastian x gn!reader | part one

summary -> you're with alex now, but is he really the one you want? warnings -> none! seb smokes a cig and there's some swearing, that's ab it. just angst. heh. word count -> 1817

a/n: ahhh ty disco anon!! i'm glad you're liking the taylor/stardew crossover as much as i do <3 decided to do my take on the trope where they watch you move on with someone else in town, enjoy!!

part two -> elliott (tolerate it)

the way i loved you ->"but i miss screaming and crying and kissing in the rain."

"seb."

"hm?"

"see that?" you point up to the stars, eyes wide and bright. "that's orion's belt. if you look close enough, you can see his whole body."

raising a brow, sebastian squints up at the sky, noticing the three, shining stars all in a row next to each other.

"huh. guess you're right," he says, smiling lightly at your excitement at the stars.

you'd been ecstatic when he offered to take you stargazing, riding out to the spot where he'd kissed you for the first time. the picnic blanket beneath the two of you is soft, and although the evening spring wind is chilly, seb feels warm enough to fall asleep with your head resting on his shoulder.

"we should do this more often," you sigh happily, grabbing onto his arm and pulling him closer to your side.

he kisses the top of your head gently, closing his eyes. "whatever you want, sweetheart."

"seb?"

"yeah?" he responds, keeping his eyes closed.

"seb!"

"what?"

"sebastian, wake up!"

sebastian wakes with a start at the sound of his mother shouting, groaning as he sits up reluctantly.

scratching his head and yawning, he asks, "what time is it?"

"nearly eight-thirty, seb, you said you'd be up by eight," robin chides. "come on, we're going to be late for the festival."

he scowls. he's tempted to lay back down and cover his head with his blankets again, but he would rather not deal with more of his mom's antics.

"fine. i'll be up in a minute." as she heads back upstairs, sebastian groggily pulls on some warm clothing, trying to ignore the stinging in his heart. why, why was he still dreaming about you? he knows you've moved on, so why has he been cursed to see you every night? sometimes, he wakes up and forgets you're not his anymore, forgets about the fight you two had, forgets the sharp, hurtful words that came out of his mouth he didn't mean at all.

he'll never forget, though, the words you said back to him, an unforgiving amount of hurt and anger in your eyes as rain poured down on the two of you.

"i'm done with this, seb," you'd said, voice shaking and weak from arguing with him. "i've given you enough chances to prove me wrong, to show you actually care about me, but i guess i was wrong. i can't do whatever this is any longer."

then, you'd walked away, leaving him alone in the downpour in front of his house.

how could he have been so stupid? no one in his life has ever known him better than you did, and he still let you slip from his grasp. what an idiot, he thinks, scoffing at himself as he makes his way upstairs and joins his family.

though, as they enter the festival of ice, seb immediately regrets not staying in bed.

you laugh as alex pulls your winter hat over your face, grabbing a handful of snow and throwing it at him in retaliation. haley rolls her eyes as she stands to the side, annoyed as she pulls out her phone and begins absentmindedly scrolling. meanwhile, alex starts to chase you, grabbing you from behind and hugging you tightly before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

seb looks away. he thinks he might gag.

"hey, seb! you made it!" his blond-haired friend runs up to him like an excited kid, snow already scattered in his hair. "geez, did you just wake up or something? you look kinda rough, buddy."

"thanks," he replies flatly.

sam scratches the back of his neck, flashing an apologetic smile. "sorry, didn't mean to tick you off. come on, abby's waiting over there!"

sebastian keeps his gaze on the trees as he follows his friend, trying his best to tune out the sound of your laughter he once craved to hear. how did you end up with a douche like alex, anyway? he never understands why sam speaks so highly of him, and now you go off and date him?

"helloooo," abigail sings, waving a hand in front of his face.

"oh, hey," he greets, blinking out of his thoughts. "sorry, i'm still waking up."

she raises a brow, studying his face. "right. had another nightmare?"

"i guess you could call it that."

abby shakes her head, crossing her arms. "i'm telling you, sebastian, if you would just listen to me and move on, life will start to be much nicer to you."

"i have moved on," he snaps, though quickly sighs when he sees the knowing look she gives sam. "i'm sorry, really, but i'm fine. i promise."

"if you say so," she says, her tone unbelieving. he can't blame her for being worried — abby was the one who was most concerned about him after the two of you broke up, knowing how much he'd cared for you.

or, more accurately, how much he still cares for you.

"how about we go check on vincent?" sam suggests, obviously trying to lighten the mood. "the little guy was super excited for today."

as the three make their way over to find sam's younger brother, seb finds his eyes wandering over to you once again, unable to keep himself from checking on you. to his surprise, your eyes meet his for a split second, only for you to jump slightly and turn back to alex and haley.

did you miss him, too?

after the festival ends, sebastian finds himself lingering around a little longer, telling his friends and family that he'll catch up with them later. he walks over to the river, listening to the comforting sound of running water as he pulls out a cigarette and his lighter.

"i thought you quit?"

he whips his head around at the sound of your voice, nearly dropping the items in his hand into the water.

"i did," he replies after a moment, continuing to light the cigarette. "just felt like i needed one right now."

you wordlessly walk closer and stand beside him. he can feel your eyes burning into his face.

"well, how have you been?" you ask, rubbing your arm. "i heard you . . . haven't been sleeping well."

he huffs. "what, did alex tell you?" i told sam to keep his mouth shut.

"does it matter?" he doesn't have to look at you to know you're frowning. "it's been nearly a year, you can't let this keep dragging you down, seb."

he ignores the painful twinge in his chest at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue. seb. sure, almost everyone tends to use that nickname for him, but it just sounds so right coming from you. it used to make his heart warm every time he heard it, no matter the place or time; while doing chores, eating dinner, in bed.

even now, when you aren't his anymore, a part of him is glad to hear you still say it with the same tone.

"as i've been telling everyone else," he says after blowing smoke out from his lips, "i'm fine. there's no need for you to worry about me anymore, anyways — you got mr. pro over there to care for now."

"don't talk about him," you snap, a sudden defensiveness coming over your voice. "you don't get to bring him up."

seb scoffs, finally turning to look at you. god, you look just as breathtaking as he left you, snowflakes glittering on top of your hair and eyelashes. there's a certain glint in your eye he doesn't recognize, though, and he decides to test it.

"why?" he questions carelessly. "are you scared i'll be too honest with you?"

"what? i—"

"well that's too bad, sweetheart," he interrupts, his old nickname for you filled with an unfamiliar venom. "i'll be truthful with you, just like i always have been. i wasn't perfect with you, not at all — i ignored you and hurt you, over and over until you got sick of it and left, so i know i could've treated you better."

he sees your eyes begin to water, and for a moment, guilt overcomes him, but he goes on anyway.

"but there's one other thing i know," he continues, taking a step closer to you. he points behind him in the direction of the town. "you and him? you'll never love each other like we did. sure, we had our fuck-ups and arguments, but i have never loved someone like i did with you, and i know you feel the same."

"you don't know anything," you whisper, though the confidence you had before has vanished.

he huffs a sarcastic laugh. "really? you sure about that? tell me, does he know you always sleep in every saturday, since you're in the mines until late on fridays? or how you always go to the saloon, just to play your favorite song on the jukebox?" he pauses. "i bet he doesn't know anything about the stars, does he? have you even asked him to look at them with you?"

"stop!" you demand, fists clenched tightly as you give him the same look you had when you left him. "this is different, okay? alex and i are taking our time, so neither of us ends up making stupid mistakes like we did."

"as stupid as they were, that's what i liked about us," seb says, his voice a level gentler than it was before. "we weren't perfect, but we didn't pretend to be. it's what made us so real." he shakes his head, lifting his cigarette to his mouth. "but if you want to go live your high school daydream, then by all means, go ahead."

you scowl. "you know, i came here to check in on you, but i see now that you're as helpless as you were when i broke up with you."

he winces slightly at your harsh words, but remains stoic nonetheless. "go ahead and think whatever you want, sweetheart, but i think one of us is clearly more helpless than the other."

"fuck off, seb. get over yourself."

as you start to walk away, he turns to look at you once more, watching as you hesitate.

"i wanted us to work," you say quietly, void of any hostility. "i tried so hard, but you made it impossible."

"would you do it again?"

the question is slipping out of his mouth before he even realizes it, but he can't take it back now. he expects you to turn around, to storm at him and laugh at how he can even think that.

instead, you leave him with no response, hugging yourself with your arms as you head back towards your farm.

interesting. he throws his cigarette down into the dirt beneath him, putting it out with the heel of his shoe. he wonders why you didn't say anything.

that night, for the first time in weeks, sebastian doesn't dream.

[katz-rambles]

Hellooo again lovely writer ! This is a new day, so it means I have a new idea for you ;)

How about reader and one of the ghoul (your choice) being forced to shared a bed ? And now, what if reader had a spicy dream during the night and woke the ghoul sleeping next to her with her moans ? How would they react? 👀

The one-bed-trope, some forced proximity and a sprinkle of unresolved sexual tension, how could it go wrong !

Yess! I love the one bed trope smm. This may not be very good as I'm exhausted, haha. I chose Sodo/Dewdrop because this just seemed fitting for him.

1.1k words

(nsfw, wet dream, fingering, PiV, squirting, cumming inside, aftercare,)

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰

Sharing a room with someone, that's not too bad. You're not a stranger to sharing rooms with people, just not a room with one bed, especially not with someone you can't stop thinking about. You've read this in romance books but when it happens in real life you want to scream. This is not going as planned.

“There's only one bed,” You groan and place your bag on the floor, looking around for a couch or something that you could sleep on.

“Aww, you don't want to be close to me?” Sodo teases you, a smirk on his lips. You already know this is going to be a long night. You're tempted to pick your bag up and throw it right in his smug face.

“No,” You sigh and glare at him. You're already done with his shit and it's not even midnight yet. You stare at the bed and, for a second, you hope you can somehow mitosis the bed into creating another one. Yet it never does. Maybe you can trade rooms with someone, but everyone else is probably already asleep or trying to get to sleep so it would be pointless to try.

“Well, sweetheart, if you're not going to then I'm going to shower. No peeking,” Sodo snickers and goes into the bathroom. Maybe you will throw your bag at him. The water turning on pulls you from your thoughts, now you have to wait until he's done to get into more comfortable clothes, great.

—

The bed is a lot softer than you thought it would have been, for a shitty motel that is. You're laying on the bed on your stomach scrolling mindlessly on your phone when you feel the bed dip beside you. When you look over at Sodo you immediately regret it, not because he's ugly or anything, but because you're afraid you won't be able to look away, he's wearing some lose pajama bottoms and a thin shirt that basically leaves nothing to the imagination, his blonde hair is down and still damp from his shower that perfectly complements his charcoal skin. For a second you don't want to look away, trying to forever have this image in your head.

“Take a picture, sweetheart, it'll last longer,” He smirks when you realize you've been caught, he's enjoying watching you stumble over your words to find a response. “Shut up,” You snap at him, but your voice isn't harsh enough for you to actually be mad. You turn off your phone and pull the covers over yourself, the heat radiating from Sodo is enough to cook you alive so you ditch the idea and take them off almost as quick as you put them on. Thankfully, sleep comes quickly to you tonight.

—

“So good for me.. fuck.. so tight too,” Sodo growls into your ear and his thrusts don't stop or slow down. His face is buried in your neck and he groans when he feels you clench around him. You reach up to tug on his hair and he moans into your neck when you do. His hand goes down to rub your clit and he almost whines.

“Fuck! Sodo, please don't stop!” You cry and your back arches slightly, your hips move to try and match his unrelenting pace. You can feel the coil in your core getting tighter and tighter, and just as it's about to snap you get woken up to the feeling of being shook.

You're panting and you rub your eyes when you're fully conscious. “What?” You groan and look over at Sodo, internally hoping you didn't make any noise or you'll be done for. Your next words get caught in your throat when you fully take in his current appearance, he definitely heard you, his pupils are blown wide and he's biting his bottom lip, there's a bit of sweat on his forehead that causes some of his hair to stick to it, even through the darkness of the room you can make out the bulge in his pants.

“Sorry to wake you, but I can't help myself,” He groans and moves his face closer to yours, in a second you reach up and pull him down to kiss him. If you weren't already turned on, you are now. He grinds his erection onto your thigh and he pants into the kiss. When he breaks it you both know what to do, you grab your shirt and pull it off as he does the same, and he helps you get off your shorts and panties and he kisses you once again.

“Already.. so… wet,” He gasps between kisses and presses a finger into your folds and teases your clit. You whimper and he smirks and eagerly kisses your neck. You run your fingers through his hair and tug gently, this elicits a noise from Sodo that could make you cum on the spot. He presses a finger inside you and starts to pump them in and out, curling them up to press your sweet spot and you moan, a little too loud but neither of you care right now. He brings his head back up to your lips and kisses you again, he pulls his pants and boxers down and thrusts into you.

“Oh fuck. Does it feel as good as it did in your little dream?” He chuckles when you whine and turn your head away. “Shut up and fuck me.” You groan and he complies, his thrusts are deep and quick, yet he manages to find your sweet spot once again.

With every thrust his pelvis grinds against your clit causing you to moan.

“So fuckin’ tight..” He growls and grabs your thighs to lift them up around his waist, getting deeper than before. You can feel your orgasm approaching and from the moan he lets out so can he. Your walls tighten around him and he whines at the feeling. You can feel a gush of wetness from the noises he's making, you both already know that the rest of the band is going to kill you both from the noises you two are making but you both couldn't care less. You reach down to rub your clit and you feel the coil in your core get tighter.

“Fuck! Sodo.. please ‘m close,” You whimper through your pants and he speeds his thrusts up a bit, determined to make you cum. You wrap your legs around him and pull him closer to you and you feel a gush of wetness when you cum and he moans when you do. His thrusts don't slow as he gets closer and he cums deep inside you.

You're both panting and sweaty when he falls on top of you. “That was better than the dream,” You both laugh and he rolls off you. “Let's get cleaned up,” He picks you up and brings you to the bathroom.

Let's just say that the rest of the band will make sure you and Sodo never share a room again.

[taylor-titmouse]

Julia is sick of working late. She's sick of being disrespected, and most of all she's sick of her boss. Lance is a burned out, smooth-talking playboy, but he also happens to be the son of the CEO.  When Lance pushes her buttons once too often, Julia is tempted to put him in his place – but is it worth throwing away her career for a moment of satisfaction? Content: -F/M -dom -degradation -small penis humiliation -directed masturbation -power play 5k words,  EPUB and PDF format Only $3, Releases later tonight! you can go read the first two pages on the shop page!

i've mentioned a couple times now that my editor and the author of roger crenshaw: the dogs at duskfall @mortalityplays is now available for freelance work for people other than me, but i don't think i've made as big of a deal how he's ALSO going to start releasing his own smut shorts on the last friday of every month! he is SUCH a talented writer on top of being an excellent editor and it's my absolute delight to work with him on the cover for his first release. FINALLY i have a great answer when asked "is there anyone else writing smut like you?"

and since this was the first time in a while i went through a cover design process that wasn't just me making one for myself, i thought i would go into how it went!

The Prompt

R/L wanted something that didn't visually describe the characters, because he had deliberately avoided that himself in the text. these characters are archetypes, ideas of characters: a woman who works in an office and her playboy burnout boss. for an erotic fantasy scenario, not going into detail can be ideal, as it allows the reader to project their own fantasies onto the characters. but what does that mean for a cover, when showing off the characters is often the point?

The Thumbnails

it means silhouettes, babie! if you're a reader of romance you've probably seen this approach a few times. silhouettes allow you to give the impression of a character without actually specifying them. HOWEVER! that can only go so far. note the female silhouettes in the left and right thumbnails--one with a pony tail, one with her hair down. these two very minor design elements say completely different things about the character, and pin her design down into something specific. (there is a whole line of feminist thought about this, that there is no such thing as an "unmarked" woman, or rather a woman whose presentation does not say something about her, ie a woman not wearing makeup is not perceived as neutral the way a man not wearing makeup is).

so anyway including her in the cover in full doesn't work for the prompt, because how she wears her hair or how she dresses would say something about her that we don't want to say. thus: we chose the middle design!

a man in a shirt and tie are super archetypal, and """neutral""" enough to not say anything specific about lance, our male protagonist, other than he has a job and is of average size (which are of course not technically truly neutral, but for our purposes, are functional as symbols). and while a long, narrow, leg does still say something about julia, it is abstracted enough to simply represent the concept of "woman" without projecting an overall image of her in the reader's head. she has a leg, and she wears high heels. that's all you get!

The Sketch

now we can move on to the sketch stage! this is the point at which the palette and text are figured out. i tried a few fonts before landing on one that had the retro paperback all-caps feel that i liked, and i used what i believe to have been a risograph print texture from retrosupply.

we went with the text up top rather than at the bottom, because it lends weight to the shoe and balances out the blacks in the pants. it also allows the figure to take up more of the cover, which is ideal. honestly, not a whole lot to say about this bit that i didn't cover in thumbnails: which is the point of doing thumbnails in the first place!

The Finish

well you can just scroll up to see that one. the final colors ended up a little less saturated, a little cooler, to bring it home to the retro paperback look i was going for and tie the colors together. i'm very pleased with it and had a lot of fun. cover design is one of my favorite parts of putting out books, and it was especially fun working with someone else to bring their vision to life.

anyway, you should go buy this book! it's only three dollars and i want to make more covers for these! your purchases would prove that i am a very good investment as a cover artist >:)

[theemporium]

[REQUESTS OPEN]

a belated happy birthday to the biggest rafe sympathiser i know @1986harrington​ enjoy the shameless smut between the two hottest characters on the stupid boat show that brought us together :) it’s also severely unedited but you have waited long enough so hey ho ignore the mistakes

[4.7k] when sneaking around with boys from different worlds is all fun and games until you get caught. and they get curious. (smut)

.

It was wrong. 

You didn't owe either of them anything, and you never gave the impression that what you shared with each of them was exclusive. You didn’t even expect them to return the favour. 

But still, deep down, underneath all the pleasure and thrill, you felt a little bad. 

Not that that would make you stop. How could you stop? 

It was addictive. Something so primal and unexplainable about nights shared between the two boys, nights where neither of them knew about the other, nights where they thought they were the only ones to have you. No one would ever understand, you were sure there were a handful of names and phrases they would throw at you if they ever did discover your secret. 

But you didn’t want to stop.

You thought you were being clever with it, that you were getting away with it. You knew there was a risk, but that was a part of the thrill—the fact you could get caught. 

You just didn’t expect it to happen like this. 

It was a weekday, a simple Wednesday and the last thing you expected was a guest. You had been sat on your bed, phone in hand as you aimlessly scrolled through with your textbook open before you in some false pretence of studying for the test you had later that week. 

You hadn’t been bothered with your outfit—simple sleep shorts and a tank—when you heard three, consecutive raps against your window. 

Frown painted on your lips, you made your way towards the window to pull the curtains back, only for your eyes to widen at the familiar blond seated on the edge. You quickly unlocked the latch, pulling the boy into your room before he lost his balance on the thin slit of wood. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked, heart thundering in your chest and a smile unknowingly growing on your lips at the roguish smirk on his lips.

“I was passing by the neighbourhood,” JJ stated simply with a shrug of his shoulders. 

You raised your brows. “Were you now?” 

“I might have gone on a little detour,” he added with a wink, and you couldn’t even blame your body for the way you flushed in response. He was a pretty boy with even prettier charm, and god, did he know it. 

“My parents could hear,” you said, though it wasn’t a very convincing argument nor had it ever stopped either of you before. 

“Is that an offer to find a way to keep you quiet?” JJ countered, his fingers already instinctively reaching for you as they slipped beneath the hem of your tank and glided against your heated skin.

Your lips twitched. “Got any ideas?” 

“I can think of a few, princess,” he murmured as he ducked his head down, his lips against the skin of your neck and you couldn’t help but lean your head back with a happy sigh.

JJ Maybank was one of those boys that were so naturally pretty, that it hurt. The ocean blue eyes, the surf swept and tousled blond hair, the killer smile and the taste of sea-salt on your tongue. He was the kind of boy your mother warned you about, that pretty face that was so inviting but you knew had the power to break your heart. 

He was the definition of a pogue, and maybe that added knowledge just made him ten times more tempting to you. He was the last thing you should ever want, and yet the forbidden nature of it all made you crave him even more. 

Between the heated kisses and lingering touches hidden away in the shadows, knowing that JJ Maybank was the last person you’d want to be caught with was what made you keep coming back for more. 

He was bad news for a good kook girl like yourself, but then again, the same bastards that made those rules clearly had never tasted JJ Maybank. 

“Jay,” you murmured in a breathy sigh as he began to guide you through your room in small, shuffled steps until the back of your knees hit the mattress and you fell back against the bed. You barely had a chance to push yourself further up the bed when he was already crawling over, his lips pressing kisses on any visible patches of skin before he made it to your lips. 

“Say my name so pretty,” he muttered against your lips, and you just knew that if you pulled back now, you’d see a smug smile on his lips. 

“Maybe if you put that mouth to use, you’ll hear it a lot more,” you retorted, albeit in a breathless voice, but the snap was still there and it thrilled the blond as much as it thrilled you. To the world, you were a little goody-two-shoes, but behind closed doors was a whole other story.

“Making demands now, princess?” he mused as he pulled back enough so he could see your face, his fingers tracing down your jaw as he spoke. “Got any more orders, Your Highness?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded and flashed him an innocent look. “Take your damn clothes off, Maybank.” 

His grin was wide. “Your wish is my command, princess.” 

His moves were always quick and agile, kneeling at the bottom of the bed as he tugged the tank top he was wearing over his head and threw it on your bedroom floor. His hands moved to his shorts, but you slapped his hands away as you took over, undoing the button before looping your fingers through the material and tugging him back down over you.

“So impatient,” he teased as he moved to push the material of your tank top higher up your stomach. 

“I just know what I want,” you said to him with a certain spark in your eyes. 

“And what’s that?” JJ asked, eyes darkening in interest. 

“Want to know my dirty fantasies, Maybank?” 

He bit down on his lip, trying to hold back his groans. “Oh baby, there’s nothing more that I wanna know.” 

You grinned. “Then earn it.” 

His lips were on yours before you could even finish your sentence, the material of your tank pushed further up until it was tucked just beneath your tits. His thumbs brushed against the skin of your stomach, smiling in delight as your body shivered with the light touches. There were a handful of ideas in his head, so many ways he wanted to take you on these prissy pink sheets with your parents just down the hall, but he couldn’t quite choose one—he wanted you to choose, he wanted you to choose how he’d ruin you. He wanted you to choose—

“Well, isn’t this an interesting development?” 

Both of your heads snapped towards the door as the unfamiliar third voice sounded through the room. 

And much to your own fucking horror and embarassment, it was Rafe Cameron who stood leaned against the door, arms crossed over his chest and an unreadable emotion darkening those ice blue eyes of his. 

It shouldn’t have thrilled you as much as it did. 

“What the fuck?” JJ spat at the kook casually standing a few feet away, using most of his body to cover yours even if the sight was nothing Rafe hadn’t seen before. “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

Rafe raised an unamused brow. “I could ask you the same thing, pogue.”

The blond’s glare hardened. “I don’t think you can.” 

Rafe’s gaze moved towards yours, and you knew he wanted to hear you say it. He wanted to hear the words come out of your mouth. 

“Got some light you wanna shed on the situation, sweetheart?” he asked with his head tilted, and maybe it should’ve intimidated you but it didn’t. It really didn’t.

“I–” you suddenly sat up on the bed, not bothering to pull the tank top down even when two sets of eyes settled on the plain of your torso. “I can explain.” 

“That would be ideal,” JJ gruffed out, eyes narrowing at the other boy before he looked back at you.

You looked between the two boys, both so fucking different from each other and yet you craved them all the same. They couldn’t be more different, and yet the thing that connected them was you. You were all they had in common and, selfishly despite the moment you were currently dealing with, you didn’t want that to stop.

“Never heard you so quiet in the bedroom before,” Rafe mused, his words thick with lust, rage and something else that made you clench your legs together. “Then again, never thought you’d slum it down with a pogue so I guess there is a first for everything.” 

“Because your prissy kook ass is so much better?” JJ countered with a scoff.

Rafe’s brows furrowed together. “Yeah, actually–”

“Stop!” you hissed at the two of them, pushing yourself off the bed as you stood in the space between the two of them. “Both of you stop this pissing contest, it reeks of fragile masculinity.” 

This time it was JJ who spoke, something mixed between confusion, lust and anger painted across his face like he couldn’t quite decide himself how he felt. 

“What the fuck?” he gritted out. 

“Don’t give me that look,” you said with a scoff when you saw Rafe giving you a similar look. 

“One wasn’t enough?” Rafe commented. 

“I didn’t hear you wanting to be exclusive,” you snapped back, looking between both boys. “Neither of you.”

“So what? You open your legs for a pogue?” Rafe sneered. 

“Jealous?” you retorted and the boy’s shoulders tensed, which only made your smirk widened. “Oh, you are.” 

“I’m not,” Rafe muttered, though it wasn’t very convincing. 

“Jealous I didn’t come running to you, Rafe?” you continued to push him, hearing the blond behind you let out something between a scoff and a laugh. 

Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “You still did in the end, didn’t you?”

JJ chuckled. “Only when she was desperate enough.” 

Rafe’s tongue pressed against his cheek as he glared at JJ before his eyes found yours again. “So, who was it?”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Who was what?” 

“Who was better, sweetheart?” 

“Better?” 

You could feel the heat of JJ’s chest pressed against your back before you felt his lips brush against the shell of your ear. 

“He wants to know which one of us fucks you better, princess,” JJ murmured, his words feeling thick and sweet despite the snarky undertone. 

Your breath hitched and the blood roaring in your ears seemed very hard to ignore now as you stared ahead at Rafe, who had closed the distance until he was just inches away from pressing his chest against yours. 

“Answer us,” Rafe spoke so softly, but his words were a command.

“I–” you opened your mouth but no words came out. 

Rafe raised his brow. 

“Need a little reminder?” JJ’s voice was lower, rougher as his fingers skimmed along your neck as he pushed your hair over one shoulder. His head dipped down, tip of his nose brushing against your skin as he placed a soft kiss at the base of your neck. 

“I think she needs a reminder how well a proper man can fuck her,” Rafe said as though you weren’t standing right there, as though it was just JJ he was talking to. 

You could feel JJ’s breathy laugh on your neck. “I don’t think a kook prick like you could give her what she needs,” he murmured. “She likes it rough.” 

Rafe’s darkened gaze met yours. “Oh, I know.” 

Your body was buzzing, humming, thrumming as you tried to remind yourself that you needed to breathe and your lungs needed air. But it was hard when Rafe was staring at you like he wanted to devour you and JJ’s hands gliding up and down your arms was making you want to melt into his embrace. 

“Let’s let her decide,” Rafe suggested so casually like you weren’t seconds away from exploding. “Let the best man win.” 

JJ’s fingers circled around your wrists. “Hope you aren’t a sore loser, Cameron.” 

“I never lose, Maybank.”

You barely had time to process their words, let alone remind them that you were standing right there, before Rafe’s hands were on either side of your cheeks and he was pulling you towards him as your lips met his in a sloppy kiss. 

It was instinctive to let out a gasp, your lips parting just so slightly but it was enough for Rafe to slip his tongue inside you, a low groan of appreciation emitting from the back of his throat. He was intoxicating, and his kisses were no fucking different. 

“Kiss her like you mean it,” JJ muttered against your neck, teeth lightly scraping against the spot below your ear that he knew made your knees buckle.

Your hands reached back for him like you needed to know he was there, like you needed to feel them both to keep you sane or otherwise you’d lose your mind. But before you could even grip the belt loops of his shorts and pull him closer, he was slapping your hands away. A small whine climbed up the back of your throat, only to quickly die down when he gripped both your wrists in one hand, keeping them pressed against your back. 

“Shhh,” JJ cooed mockingly as you tried to fight his grip for a solid few seconds before giving in, the smug smile undoubtedly painted on his face. “Don’t worry, pretty girl, I know what you like.” 

Your breathing was close to panting when Rafe pulled away slightly, your head moving forward to chase him but his fingers pressed into your cheek and kept you in place. 

“Focus on me, doll,” he murmured, his eyes locked on your lips with a look that only thrilled you. “You hear me?” 

You nodded your head dumbly. 

“Good.”

It was too much. Too fucking much all at once and yet you never wanted it to stop. 

The bruising kisses, the passion and anger poured into these fucking kisses that made your brain stop working. You didn’t even realise kisses could affect you so much, and yet here you were, thinking you could reach heaven with his kisses alone. Or maybe hell. Whatever made him keep kissing you.

But then there was JJ, with his lips all over your neck and shoulders and collarbone. There was the way he was gripping your hands in one of his own, that small bit of attention and authority making a wave of pleasure rush down your back. There was the way his other hand glided up and down your body until his pinky was playing with the waistband of your shorts, just enough to tease you. 

The whine you let out was only swallowed by Rafe’s kisses. 

“Hm, always a desperate thing, aren’t you?” JJ whispered to you as his finger dipped beneath the waistband, teasing along the edge of your cotton panties. “Never took much to get you wet, princess.” 

You could feel Rafe’s smirk against your lips. 

“Bet you’re fucking soaking, loving all the attention,” JJ continued as his hand dipped beneath the barriers between him and your cunt, a breathy chuckle fanned over your heated skin as his fingers slid along your lips. “Oh princess, you are fucking loving this.”

“Please,” you breathed out between kisses.

“Want me to touch you? Want me to make you feel good like I always do?” he asked and he could feel the way your body shivered against him at his words. “How can I say no to my princess?” 

It was hard to focus on the way Rafe was kissing you or the way he nipped your bottom lip to get your attention. It was hard to focus on anything except the way JJ’s thumb pressed against your clit in slow circles, a choked whine leaving your lips as your body surged forward. 

“Is he making you feel good, doll?” Rafe’s voice was rough and hoarse as he spoke, your forehead pressed against his shoulder as JJ’s fingers worked against your soaking cunt until you were weeping for him, until you were begging to have him inside you. “Is he making you feel as good as I do?”

“I–” But the words were cut off by a pathetic moan when JJ finally slipped a finger inside you. Slow, far too fucking slow and you could feel the smugness oozing from him when you clenched around the single digit. 

“Fucking look at me,” Rafe commanded, his fingers tangled in your hair as he tugged your head back so you were staring up at him, eyes glossy and lips swollen, and god they had barely touched you and you looked like a fucking wet dream. 

“Shit,” you moaned, eyes fluttering close as another finger slid inside you, curling in a way that only JJ seemed to be able to do and your knees buckled in response. You were pretty sure if you weren’t sandwiched between the two men you would have fallen.

“Come f’me, princess,” JJ groaned in your ear, his grip tightening around your wrists. “Show the kook bastard what a good girl you are for me.” 

Your lips parted in a silent scream, muscles tensing and body locking as the pleasure washed over you. You could feel the heat of their bodies and your own, it was overwhelming and suffocating and still not enough and despite the fact you had white dots sprinkled in your vision you wanted more. 

You wanted everything they had to offer. 

“Cute show,” Rafe commented, his thumbs caressing the apples of your cheeks as he pulled you closer to him. “But that was nothing, Maybank.” 

You were pretty sure either of them could have asked for anything at that moment and you would have given them it. Your mind felt fuzzy and your legs still a little shaky and when you turned your head to look at JJ, seeing him slide the fingers that were inside of you into his own mouth, you were quite certain this would be the night you died.

“Take this off,” he murmured as his hands fell to her waist, tugging at the hem of her tank top as he did. He didn’t give much choice in the matter, not that you minded. Somewhere in your post-orgasmic bliss, the way Rafe made demands made your thighs clench together. 

Except it wasn’t your hands that pulled the fabric over your head. The rough calluses brushing against your skin made you shiver as JJ pulled the tank top over your head before making work on your shorts and panties too, the way the boy was so soft at undressing you made your head spin. 

But you couldn’t look away from the way Rafe was staring at you, with a hunger in his eyes you knew all too well and it sent a thrill down your spine. 

“Gonna do what I say, right, doll?” Rafe asked softly, almost like he truly cared what you wanted as he pulled you closer to him by your hand, guiding you as he walked back towards the bed. 

You nodded dumbly. 

You gasped a little at the sharp sting on the side of your thigh as Rafe pulled you to stand between his legs as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Words.”

“Yes.” 

“Atta girl,” he murmured as his lips twitched upwards. “Take a seat, darling, so I can show that dirty little pogue how you really like it.”

During your escapades with Rafe, you were pleasantly surprised by how much time the boy liked to spend between your legs. You would have thought of him as a selfish lover, someone who cared more about his own needs than his partner’s. 

However, it became very clear that the time he spent between your legs was purely selfish for him. No matter how much you moaned or whined or cried, the boy would pin your hips to the mattress until he was done with you. He decided when he was done. He decided how many times you would come before he finally gave you his cock like you’d beg him for. 

But this was new. 

You were used to being sprawled out on the bed, clenching the sheets between your fists as you cried out for him. Now, your thighs were burning as you hovered above him, not quite ready to commit but the darkened look in his eyes gave you a very clear idea on how quickly his patience was dwindling. 

“Thought you were a good girl,” Rafe grumbled, his hands squeezing the fat of your thighs as he tugged you down. “My obedient girl.” 

“Rafe–”

“Shut up,” he murmured before his arms wrapped around your thighs, closing any remaining distance between you both until you were sat on his face.

“Shit,” you gasped, still sensitive and soaking from JJ’s hands minutes ago but the feeling of Rafe’s tongue lapping against your cunt like a starved man was too good. The noises he made, the way his eyes rolled to the back of his head, even the way he fucking tightened his grip on your thighs like he was scared you’d disappear. 

This was about Rafe and his pleasure, nothing to do with you. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you repeated, mixed with breathy whines as your hips began to roll against his face, his nose nudging your swollen your clit that you couldn’t help but reach out to grip the headboard for support. There were days your hands would be tangled in his hair, but the buzzcut prevented that now—not that you were complaining at all about the haircut. 

“You look pretty with your tits bouncing like that,” JJ’s voice made you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder, eyes glossy and hooded as you whined helplessly as the man below you ate you out like it was a fucking sport. 

“JJ–” you choked on a whine when Rafe pinched your thigh, clearly not happy about hearing another man’s name on your lips.

“Look prettier when you’re bouncing on my cock though,” he commented thoughtfully, one hand turning your head so he could sloppily kiss you whilst his other one rounded your body and pinched your nipple between his fingers. 

The whine you let out was embarrassing. 

It was like you could feel them everywhere, both pairs of hands exploring your bodies in ways that you never wanted to stop. You couldn’t let them stop. Hell, if you had known that being caught by them would lead to this, you would have done it weeks ago. 

You could barely keep yourself straight by the time you came on Rafe’s tongue, you had tears in your eyes and your legs were shaking as the boy gripped your thighs, not quite ready to let you go yet. And the blonde behind you was no better, so lost in slow and lazy kisses whilst he cupped and groped your tits like it was the first time he had ever touched them.

But the whole night had been about you: them touching you, them pleasing you, them whispering the filthiest things known to man in your ear. And you were greedy and insatiable, and you wanted them to just let go. You wanted to know how fucking close they were to snapping. 

“I think it’s a tie,” you told them, still panting and breathless as you leaned back on JJ’s chest. “And you haven’t been fair.” 

JJ sounded amused, his face nuzzled against the crook of your neck. “Fair?”

“You’re both wearing far too many clothes,” you said nonchalantly. 

As soon as the words left your lips, you could almost feel a shift in the air. It was like the night had been leading to this moment, like it was some sort of twisted plan set up by the universe that was finally coming to be. It felt like you were finally getting what dirty fantasies and hopeful dreams had made you crave in the dark, lonely nights where neither boy was warming your bed. 

It shouldn’t have turned you on the way they moved your body like you weighed nothing, like you were a toy for their pleasure and amusement alone. It shouldn’t have turned you on the way their eyes glimmered with lust and desire as you pulled their boxers down. It shouldn’t have turned you on the way they fucking consumed you—and yet, here you fucking were.

“God, this fucking ass,” JJ groaned from behind you, his hips slapping against yours as he thrusted in and out of you, a steady tempo that just wasn’t enough. You wanted more, you wanted him deeper, you wanted him harder. But here he was, gripping the fat of your ass as he pounded into you from behind. 

But you couldn’t even beg or cry for more, you couldn’t bat your eyelashes and play him like you knew would have him doing anything you wanted. You couldn’t do anything with Rafe’s cock hitting the back of your throat, tears running down your cheeks and your cunt clenching around JJ as the boy slowly lost his control. 

“Look so pretty choking on my cock,” Rafe muttered between gritted teeth, fingers lost in your hair as he bobbed your head up and down. “My fucking girl is made for my cock, hm?” 

You moaned around his dick, unable to help yourself as you body lurched between the two boys. 

You couldn’t keep count on just how many times they made you come, and how many times they let you get close before pulling you away. Because despite their competition and differences and rivalry, the one thing the boys seemed to have in common was that they fucking loved to see you beg for their cocks. 

They loved that the little good girl kook was a slut, just for them.

“Taking me so fucking well,” JJ moaned, skin slapping against skin echoing through the bedroom and he couldn’t have been more fucking glad that your parents were out. He knew you loved it when he was vocal, and god, he loved it too. 

“Gonna take it all, sweetheart?” Rafe goaded, heavy breathing mixed with soft curses as he felt your tongue wrap around the tip of his cock. “C’mon, we know you can. Be our good girl, yeah?” 

“Take it all,” JJ said it like it was a command and it was your undoing, the orgasm completely wiping you out as your body shook and tensed as the pleasure washed over you. You could feel the boys following you soon after, you could feel their hands on you but you couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes. 

Not yet. 

Maybe not ever again. 

Maybe this really was the night that ended you. 

You could feel them shuffling around the bed, could feel a wet rag between your legs and you could feel a soft shirt with a familiar cologne clinging to it being pulled over your head. You could feel the duvet being pulled over your body as your head hit the pillow, and your arms blindly reached out. 

“Stay,” you whispered the word like it was forbidden—and maybe it was. “Both of you. Please.” 

Because the truth of the matter was that there would never be a world where JJ and Rafe wouldn’t be them: a pogue and a kook, two boys from different worlds who would never find a way to understand each other or put years and generations worth of rivalry behind them. 

But for you? They could bite their tongue and pride. Even if just for a night, even if it was just for a couple of hours. 

“You chose a winner, sweetheart?” 

A slow grin pulled at your lips as you felt both boys tense beside you, waiting and biding their time as they awaited your response. 

“It’s still a draw,” you murmured sleepily, nuzzling your head into the chest of whichever boy was on your right. “Guess another round is in order. Sudden death.” 

A breathy laugh could be heard from behind you. “Sudden death?” 

“I wanna be thorough in my research.” 

“Goody-two shoes my ass.” 

“You saying no?” 

“I never said that.” 

“Good, I hope those bodies of yours live up to their stamina then. Otherwise, I’ll be severely disappointed in the morning”

.

[odue-sp]

Asmodeus x Male Reader

The two sat at the table, Asmso was scrolling through the male's phone, as M/n watched on nervously. Just seeing the demon's neutral face was terrifying enough. His nails tapped on the wood table before slamming the phone down, the scream definitely broke.

"Tell me why your feed is full of men? And your likes are also full of men?" You look away before he reaches over and grabs your face. His nails grew out of anger and scratched your face a bit. "Answer me, slut." You shut your eyes as a last resort but he didn't like that. "Your comments aren't doing you any favors." He snarled.

He moved away and sat on your lap. "You think they want someone as worthless as you? You can even get it up," that's right, you sold your soul to him. You couldn't fuck anyone even if you wanted to. Your dick was his toy, and only his. He pushed the back of your head into his neck, you breathe in his scent. He was letting out some pheromones knowing you'd become eager and willing by just a simple taste.

"Asmo," he ignored your pleas, only giving out waves of toxic yet sweet fumes. Your sex was growing by the second and he pushed you back and sat on the table. His gaze staring down at you. You knew.

You lowered your head, sucking and licking the tight shorts that hid his own sex. The sounds echoed before he grabbed your hair and slowly revealed his hardened dick. It was much bigger than yours as you were just a mere human. Asmo never minded, he knew if he wanted that you'd let him fuck you but he preferred you to lead.

"Suck it, princess." He spoke sweetly but you knew better, he was degrading you and you didn't mind. Opening your mouth and throat to pleasure the demon who smiled at your efforts. "Such a slut for me. Maybe I'll ask MC to join us. I'm sure he'd love to fuck you while I ride your cock."

He grinned at your tearful look. You felt embarrassed by the suggestion. Asmo shoved you down his length, feeling you choke and gag felt like heaven as he grinned blissfully on your troubles.

"I know I'm not much to look at," you shook your head despite the tip digging down your throat. "But you know better, don't you? My little toy fantasizing about being fucked by some bulky humans?" He grew angry remembering the reason why this was happening.

Without missing a beat, he picks you up and trails to his room. Throwing you on his bed before crawling over you. "Only me." His pink eyes glowed as he wasted no time taking every inch in one movement. You threw your head back in overstimulation letting out choked moans. "As... Asmo... Uwak!" You shuddered trying to stay grounded. "Look how whorish you look, drunk on my ass already?" He grinned at the sight and rode you.

The brothers tried to help by trying to get him to eat or just orders but he didn't stop, not even when you cried and sobs into the pillow, he just shoved into your face to keep you quiet. MC even tried to help you...

"M...C—" you whined feeling the cock thrust into you as Asmo smiled happily at the situation. "M/n....I'm so sorry." MC groaned out as he couldn't refuse Asmo's tempting offer. He offered you on a silver platter. Every thrust and hop flooded you with endless pleasure before you looked at Asmo.

"Kiss... Me... Goodnight."

Asmo stared, his pink eyes now dimmed. MC was already tired out and was hugging you while sleeping. "There's a good princess." He whispered and deeply kissed you as he calmed for the first time and you for the unknown time... "Hic... You're so mean." You weakly cried out.

"Don't piss me off, princess."

[hobobobo-fett56]

It’s Bedtime Pumpkin: Lloyd Hansen x spouse!reader

Warnings: slight angst, y/n subtly not liking coffee, sleep deprivation

Excuse the grammar mistakes, I am very tired but I cannot fall asleep until I write down this idea

Insomnia was a bitch. Sorry, insomnia was making you it’s bitch. That, and your nightmares kept you from wanting to sleep even if you could.

Usually your husband would be home to wrap you in his arms and protect you from anything that dared disturb your sleep, but he was out on a job, and you didn’t know when he would be back.

So you had been up for a week, it’s not a big deal to you, you had developed a “routine” for when Lloyd wasn’t home, and you had almost perfected it:

1. Kiss Lloyd goodbye and make sure he has extra snacks in his bag just incase

2. Go to work, the busy rush of your job was an easy distraction from your exhaustion

3. Clean and throw yourself into as many jobs as you possibly can, your current hyper fixation should do the trick

4. Lots of sugar and food, eating kept you awake.

Rinse and repeat daily (except for step one of course)

It was unusual for Lloyds job to last more than two or three days, so of course the exhaustion was getting to you, but at this point, you had convinced yourself that sleep was the worst possible option, that it was life threatening. It was getting so hard to stay awake that you were tempted to drink coffee, but alas your distaste for the beverage won, and you were running out of ideas.

Currently it was two in the morning, the house was spotless, all of your work projects for the next two months had been finished hours ago, and you were out of yarn, thread, fabric, flour, chocolate and basically any art or baking supply you could think of so coming up with a fun new craft to be focused on was out of the question.

Now, in a last ditch attempt to stay awake, you were doom scrolling on your phone, from baking compilations to tumbler stories to some of the filthiest smut you could find, you were looking at everything to stay awake.

If Lloyd were here, he would have scolded you for not taking proper care of yourself, telling you that you need to find a way to sleep without him, and (as your therapist does constantly) suggest some form of anti-anxiety medication to help with your fears.

But he wasn’t here. In fact you couldn’t remember the last time you had talked to him, it felt like years although it had probably only been a day or so. You missed him desperately during the times that he was away, but you knew he loved his job so you were happy for him.

You had switched to instagram and were scrolling through reels when you heard some scuffling downstairs by the front door. It was so quiet that if you were asleep, you wouldn’t have heard it, but you of course were not asleep, just halfway delusional from lack thereof. Without thinking, you grabbed your guitar which you had been taking lessons for, and crept out of your room brandishing the instrument like a baseball bat. You got down the stairs and turn the corner only to scream in fright and drop the guitar when you ran straight into your husband.

He in turn, screamed in surprise causing you to jump and fall.

Immediately he had his arms wrapped around you and was holding onto you tightly before you could hit the ground.

You could hear his rich laugh “honey I’m home” he said still laughing while he pulled you up so he could face you. You began laughing too, finding the situation quite comical.

Lloyd checked his watch “why are you up so late pumpkin? Are you ok?” He asked

Just the question sent you into hysterics. From laughing loudly to sobbing, your body crumpled to the floor, relieved that you could finally rest.

“Woah woah woah, what’s going on here pumpkin, hey sweetheart what’s the deal?” Lloyd crouched down to you and you tried to calm down.

“I’m so tired, I’m so so so tired, I just want to sleep, but I couldn’t” his face softened at that, and he easily picked you up off of the floor.

“Come on then, it’s bedtime pumpkin” with that he was carrying you both up the stairs and placed you into your shared bed.

He kissed your hand before he left your embrace for at the most fifteen seconds (the utter betrayal) to strip down to his underwear so he could crawl into bed with you.

Thankful he had chosen to not wear a shirt as he pulled you into his chest, and gave you as much skin to skin contact as he could, you breathed a sigh of relief. His body was radiating warmth and safety. You finally felt like you could relax.

“Are we gonna need to have a talk about your sleeping habits, baby?” Lloyd broke the silence.

“Mmm probably, but can we do it tomorrow, I’m tired, and I missed you so much” you mumbled

He kissed you forehead “sure pumpkin, go to sleep, I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“Thanks bubba” the soft rhythmic rise and fall of his chest lulled you into a deep peaceful sleep, unknowingly to you, Lloyd was just as tired, and crashed as hard as you did. Neither of you could sleep without the other.

The end.

[littlelalu]

Dangerous Games | Milo Manheim (Smut)

Note: Hello everyone! I have been lacking in these I know! Had a lot going on. School, work, and family have taken over my schedule. I hope you enjoy this. I have another Halloween theme I am working on and I will post it soon. Hope you all had a fun and safe Halloween! 

It is currently 1:11 am as I am writing this. I need some sleep because I need to wake up to get ready for work at 6. 

WARNINGS: Alcohol / Smut / Cussing

Y/N = Your Name

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

I have not attended a Halloween party since my senior year of High school. Milo’s friend is throwing one tonight and Milo wanted to go. This is also our first Halloween together.

I checked my reflection one more time. I noticed how my angel costume hugged my curves better than I thought. It was mainly a short white dress with high-knee socks. I was showing a little bit of cleavage, too, which I never do, but I wanted to try something new for this Halloween. I adjusted my clipped-on wings and halo headband before grabbing my phone and bag from my room.

"Are you almost ready?" Milo's voice called from our living room. I could practically hear the amusement in his tone, knowing he was just waiting to see what I’d chosen for tonight. He didn’t know what I had picked out.

“Yes,” I said as I made my way to the living room.

Milo was scrolling on his phone, but I saw he was dressed as a vampire. I honestly thought he would have gone as a Zed, although his mischievous charmed personality was perfect for a vampire.

“Ready to go?” I asked him.

Milo looked up, his eyes widening as they traveled over my outfit. He stayed quiet for a bit. Finally, he managed a crooked grin. "Wow... you look… well, you don't look like any angel I’ve ever seen."

I could feel my cheeks warming up. “Guess I’m a little more of a naughty angel tonight.”

He laughed, his gaze still going up and down my body. “You look incredible.”

I stepped closer and adjusted his collar. “Well, clean up pretty well yourself, my handsome vampire.”

"Careful, I might just be tempted to skip the party and keep you here all night."

I laughed, pushing him away gently. "Let’s not make me regret choosing this costume."

His eyes sparkled, and he held out his arm. "Fine. Let’s go"

I wrapped my arm around him as we walked out of our apartment. He walked me over to the passenger side and opened the door for me. I got in and he closed the door. He walked over to his side and got in.

I saw Milo entering the address on his phone and connecting it to his car. He went on Spotify and clicked his playlist.

He began driving as we sang along to his music. He eventually rested his hand on my bare midthigh. He will give it a little squeeze occasionally.

We arrived at the party.

“If it gets too much for you, let me know and we can go home.” He said to me with a soft voice. 

He knows my social battery runs out fast during parties.

“Yes, babe. Thank you” I said and kissed his cheek before we got out of the car and walked to the door. 

Milo opened the door to his friend’s house. People everywhere. Loud Music. Drinks in almost every corner of the house. I have not attended parties like these in a while. 

“MILO!” A tall guy with brown hair said. 

“Hey, Man!” Milo said as they did their little handshake. “This is my girlfriend, Y/N. Y/N this is Mason, my best friend”

“Hi, Mason! Nice to finally meet you” I said with a smile and stuck my hand out.

“Damn Milo! You didn’t tell me your girlfriend was this hot!” Mason said as he pulled me into a hug instead.

“Watch it,” Milo said and shot him a playful glare. 

Mason laughed. “Well, we got some food and snacks in the kitchen. Drinks are everywhere so help yourself. “

“Thanks, man,” Milo said. Mason left to join the party again. Milo grabbed my hand “He wasn’t wrong though…”

“About…?”

“I got a hot girlfriend,” he said and winked at me.

I blushed again. “And I got a hot boyfriend,” I said.

“Let’s get some drinks,” Milo said and led me to the kitchen.

“Holy shit. He has a little bit of everything” I said as I noticed bottles of beer, vodka, rum, wine, etc. 

“Yeah. What do you want to drink?” Milo asked.

I looked around at all my options. “I am keeping it basic and getting some Jack and Coke”

“Diving in the hard stuff already?” He joked.

“Haha, I guess. It will help me loosen up a little”

Milo served my drink before serving himself a cocktail. Then he led me to a small hang-out area in the house. His other friends were there. He went around introducing me to his friends. 

After an hour of laughing and joking around with his friends, and maybe a couple of drinks, we finally had the courage to get up and dance. 

Milo led me to the middle of the crowd of people who were dancing. The lights were flickering orange, red, purple, and green, casting an eerie glow. Suddenly “Feel So Close” by Calvin Harris pulsed through the speakers. Milo’s hands found my waist, pulling me closer to him. Our bodies were moving in sync with the beat of the music. I decided to turn myself around now my back was facing him. I started to sway my hips against him. Milo pulled me closer to him. I felt him tighten his grip on my waist. 

“I didn’t know you could move like this” Milo said against my ear.

“Theres a lot you don’t really know about me” I said and turned back around to face him. 

His eyes looked lustful. “Come with me” He demanded. Milo grabbed my hand and led me upstairs.

“Where are we going?” I asked in the quiet hallway.

Milo dragged me to a room down the hall. He opened the door and rushed us inside. “Mason’s guest room” Milo responded as he closed and locked the door.

“What are we doing here?” I asked him with a soft voice. 

Milo pressed me against the wall. “You were playing a dangerous game down there. Moving your hips like that”

“I was just dancing,” I said innocently. I battered my eyes at him.

“Oh love… That was not “just dancing” and you know it. You know what you were doing to me.” Milo said in a deep low voice.

“What exactly was I doing?”

“You were driving me crazy.”

“And? What are you gonna do about it?”

Milo leaned closer to me, our faces inches apart. “I’m gonna teach you a lesson.” He kissed my lips and then led me to bed. “Sit”

I sat on the edge of the bed. I felt his hand on my neck. He made me look at him. He leaned closer again. His eyes turned dark. 

“You think you can get away with what you did so easily?” He laughed devilishly.

“I think I can,” I said with a smirk.

He flashed me a smirk. “Oh really?” Milo kneeled in front of me. He spread my legs apart. I had a thong on so he could see everything. “I guess you prepared for me.” Milo began to eat me out.

“Milo” I moaned as it caught me off guard. His tongue flickered around my clit. His warm breath against my thigh. I felt him insert one finger as he ate me out. “M-milo… w-were gonna get c-caught” I managed to let out.

“We’ll be fine.” 

I laid back on the bed now. My hands gripped his hair. He let out small moans when I would pull it. 

“Milo... I need you in me now!” I said desperately wanting to feel his warmth.

He stopped eating me out and began undoing his pants. “Turn around” 

I flipped around. I put my ass up for him. 

“I’ve never seen you wear this before,” he said as he played with my thong. He then moved it aside and I felt his tip going up and down my entrance. “Holy shit, Y/N…. You’re so wet”

“All for you, baby”

Milo pushed his dick slowly into me, making us moan in pleasure. Eventually, he picked up his pace. I wanted to feel him deeper in me, so I started to throw my ass back onto him.

“Fuck Y/N,” he said. He spanked my ass, making me moan his name. He put his hands on my waist, guiding my pace. “Show me how badly you need me.”

I kept throwing it back on him. Milo began pounding into me as well. This doubled the pleasure. I felt myself getting closer, but he pulled out.

“I hate it when you do that,” I said.

“Oh… Is someone frustrated?” Milo taunted playfully. He flipped me over, so I was facing him now. He lifted my dress a little higher. He had my legs over his shoulder.

“Milo please…” I begged him. 

He let out a small laugh. I felt his tip on my entrance again. This time, he didn’t waste any time. He slammed right in. I let out a yelp. He placed his hand on my neck again. “You know you did wrong now?”

“Yes baby” I moaned. Milo leaned in and kissed my lips. His hand is still on my neck. I kept moaning into our kiss. 

I felt his other hand down my clit moving his fingers in circles. He knows this drives me crazy. Each thrust and rub made me close to climaxing. 

“You were a bad girl,” Milo said. 

“Fuck Milo…” I said as his dirty talk plus his actions drove me even crazier. “I’m a close baby”

“Finish on my dick baby,” he said. I gripped the sheets as he pounded faster, hitting my spot. I felt myself getting tighter around him. I finished on his dick. I moaned out in relaxation now. 

Milo kept thrusting until I felt him twitch. “F-fuck… Y/N” Milo moaned as he released his cum inside of me, filling me up. 

He pulled out and lay next to me for a bit. We were panting, trying to catch our breaths. After a minute, Milo turned to look at me. I looked into his big brown eyes. “So did you learn your lesson?”

I giggled. “Yeah… I need to mess with you more often.” I joked.

“You can try baby… but I will always teach you a lesson.’ He winked.

“I’ll let you try”

“You also need to wear something like this more often at home too.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you look fucking hot. Plus, easier access for me.”

I laughed. “Don’t be an asshole.” I

He laughed and kissed my cheek. “C’mon… let's clean ourselves up before heading back out there.”

“Do you think they know we just fucked in here?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. They can’t hear because of the music and they’re too drunk right now”

“Fair enough,” I spoke.

Milo and I went to the bathroom, which thankfully was inside the room as well. We cleaned ourselves off and I retouched my makeup. Milo helped me fix my hair. 

“I love you, Y/N,” he said as he looked at me to finish up retouching my makeup.

“I love you too babe,” I said. He gave me a quick kiss on the lips.

“Shall we go back now?” He asked.

“We shall,” I said.

Milo and I sneaked back downstairs and pretended like nothing happened. He was right though; everyone was too drunk to notice we weren’t there.

For the rest of the night, we danced again and played some games with his friends. 

[elisela]

‘I missed you’ + sterek

west coast swing sterek, wild about you, long distance relationship

—

Somewhere in the air over Colorado, Derek gets cold feet.

It’s insane what he’s doing, actually. It’s just—no reasonable person would buy a last-minute ticket halfway across the US just because they miss the guy they’ve been dating for all of six weeks. Even if he and Stiles talk and text so often that Derek feels like it’s been twice as long, it’s just not … it’s not him. It’s not something he would usually do, and the rush of adrenaline he’d felt buying the ticket and driving to the airport is starting to fade, leaving anxiety and doubt in its place.

He blames Kira. And Jordan, who’d made a considering face and said, “Actually, I think you should go for it,” when Kira suggested he go meet Stiles out west. Lydia had called out her agreement behind him so she’s also on Derek’s list of people to ignore for the rest of his life if this turns out badly; even Allison hasn’t escaped potential blame, because she’s the reason he has a rolled up, ratty poster in his carry-on bag.

This is a mistake. He should just grab a hotel in Anaheim for the night and fly back to St. Paul in the morning. Maybe call Cora and see if she’s still in San Diego, but if she’s not he’d have to explain why he’d asked and he’s not up for that. Another point to the absolute insanity of this decision—he hadn’t even thought to book a hotel before throwing clothes into his bag and leaving.

He needs to never listen to his friends again.

—

A notification pops up on his screen as he’s scrolling through available hotels, then a torrent of them—all the texts from Stiles he didn’t get while he was in the air. Derek hovers his finger over the screen for a few wavering seconds before tapping on it, watching as the screen fills with four hours worth of Stiles’ thoughts, questions, and right at the bottom—

Stiles Stilinski [2:34pm]: Sorry for all the messages I didn’t give you time to respond to

He frowns, swiping away the text from Lydia that drops down in order to respond.

Derek Hale [2:34pm]: I didn’t have service, sorry. Not ignoring these—composing my essay about the validity of pepperoni and pineapple in my head right now, you’ll get the fully edited version later tonight.

Stiles Stilinski [2:35pm]: Heads up that the peer review board is going to be striking that one down as soon as it’s submitted.

Derek grins at his phone and navigates away so he’s not tempted to spend hours talking instead of actually making a decision, then clicks on Lydia’s text so he can put off making said decision for a moment longer.

Then he stares.

Lydia Parrish [2:35pm]: Did you know Jordan’s never been to Disneyland? Unbelievable. No time like the present though, right?

He’d ask if it was a joke, but Lydia had apparently anticipated that and had sent a photo along with the message, Jordan’s outline silhouetted against one of the large airport windows.

Derek Hale [2:37pm]: I didn’t need a babysitter.

Lydia Parrish [2:37pm]: Of course not. I took the liberty of booking you a room at our hotel. The confirmation is in your email. Lydia Parrish [2:38pm]: Coincidentally, it’s the same hotel the team is staying at tomorrow night. Lydia Parrish [2:38pm]: Our flight doesn’t get in until much later tonight, I’ll text you when we land. Lydia Parrish [2:38pm]: Just know we’re doing this because we love you and support you, but also because we knew there was a 90% chance you backed out before the game.

Well—she wasn’t wrong. He sighs, pushes off the wall he’d been leaning against outside the Starbucks, and opens his email as he makes his way outside to where the line of taxis wait.

—

He buys Lydia and Jordan tickets to the game—another thing he’s putting firmly on his questionable decisions list, if only for the teasing that will occur once they realize what he’s brought with him. He goes to Disneyland with them in the morning, takes pictures he’ll share on his Facebook later, and picks up a pair of Yoda ears he thinks Stiles would get a kick out of. Halfway through the day he gets a text—Stiles complaining about an extra mandatory practice, followed by a half-hearted threat to trip and injure himself to get out of said practice. But he really must have to focus because he doesn’t text again until later, just as they’re leaving the park and heading back to the room to get ready for the game.

Stiles Stilinski [3:54pm]: Do you watch my games? Stiles Stilinski [3:54pm]: I should actually be congratulated on my restraint because I’ve been wanting to know if you’ve changed your mind about hockey for weeks but I held back. Stiles Stilinski [3:54pm]: There’s no right answer but there’s definitely a wrong one so you know. Tread lightly. Or lie.

Derek has not really changed his mind about hockey, but it’s not like he’s watching the games for the hockey aspect of it.

Derek Hale [3:55pm]: I watch most of them. Some of them start too late for me though.

And then—inspired, he texts again.

Derek Hale [3:55pm]: Do you want me to watch tonight?

Stiles Stilinski [3:55pm]: Derek Stiles Stilinski [3:55pm]: I kinda always want your attention Stiles Stilinski [3:55pm]: In case you hadn’t noticed

—

Surprisingly, there’s no teasing. It’s the opposite, in fact.

“This,” Lydia says, pointing at where Derek’s unrolling the Marry me, Stiles Stilinski sign, “is romantic. Jordan? I hope you’re taking notes. You could learn a thing or two.”

Jordan grins and rolls his eyes, even as Derek shoots him an apologetic look. “Got it. You want a sign asking you to marry me.”

“Ha, ha,” Lydia says, sinking back into her seat. “I do want some of those fish tacos though, if you needed ideas.”

“You can both go get the tacos,” Derek says, because players are starting to appear at the tunnel for warm-ups and he’d like them both gone. Or there and quiet, but he knows that will never happen.

“Oh no, we’ve got too many people to send videos and second by second reports to,” Lydia says sweetly. “Speaking of—I’m pretty sure that’s him, so—no, Derek, don’t cover your face with the sign, Jesus.”

Derek’s stomach is in knots. It’s too much, it’s not enough; he wants Stiles to come over and give him the same wide smile he’s been used to seeing every day and also wants him to skate by without seeing him at all. His hands feel sweaty as he grips the poster, plastering it to the glass in front of their seats, and he looks down at the concrete floor like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen the moment he sees recognition dawn on Stiles’ face.

“Derek,” Jordan says quietly, warm hand patting Derek’s back, “he’s smiling, man. Look.”

Stiles is less smiling than grinning maniacally, and he all but throws himself at the glass. “Derek!” he yells, and the knot that’s been in Derek’s stomach since Colorado vanishes. “What are you doing here?”

Derek grins back helplessly, and the words come easy in the wake of Stiles’ obvious joy. “I missed you,” he calls back.

Some of the exuberance slips off Stiles’ face, and Derek is suddenly looking at a smile that’s softer, much more private. “I missed you, too,” Stiles says.

—

Stiles Stilinski [1:38am]: You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me

Derek Hale [7:35am]: I know

Stiles Stilinski [10:16am]: Nvm I take it back

Derek laughs when he picks his phone up, leaning back when he feels Stiles slide in behind him in line for coffee, a kiss being placed on the back of his neck.

You’re the best thing that’s happened to me too, he writes, and hits send.

[howlingday]

Wight Fright

A new villain has entered the fray! And this one is more dangerous than anyone else Ruby Rose, aka The Red Rose, has ever faced before! Worse yet, this deranged foe maintains a secret identity by eluding capture every time he's defeated! Just who is he...?

--------------------------------------------------

Roman: Look, buddy, I dunno who you are-

Wight: Of course you don't! That's the point of the mask! And here I thought you were the genius criminal mastermind...

Wight: Or you were, CRIME KING. So step down before I start sharing secrets!

Roman: You clearly don't know who you're dealing with. Neo? Take out the trash.

Neo: (Smirks)

Wight: Oh... Tsk, tsk, tsk... Afraid to get your hands dirty, Roman~?

Neo: (Leaps at him)

Wight: (Catches her, Tosses her out window)

Roman: Alright... So what do you want?

Wight: So the whole destroying you and taking over your position as the leader of the criminal underworld wasn't obvious enough? Well, darn...

Ruby: Excuse me! Is this an all-access hole or do I have to make my own entrance?

Wight: Oh, goodie~! Our hero has arrived~! Just in time to watch me wipe out her greatest foe... Or, well, second greatest foe.

Ruby: Aw, did this henchman turn on you, Roman~?

Roman: I don't know who this idiot is... Not yet, anyways, but I'll find out soon enough.

Ruby: Well, until then, I'm gonna pretend he's one of your goons, anyways. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Wight: Hellooo~! I'm standing right here~! Really, you're both SO rude!

Ruby: Oh, right, I'm so sorry! You're here to make Roman Torchwick's life miserable and I still haven't said thank you! I guess my only excuse is that YOU'RE HOLDING INNOCENT PEOPLE HOSTAGE. It's really confusing to my little, flower brain.

Wight: Hm... Yes, this is quite the dilemma... But perhaps the Wight Fright can offer a solution? Join me, and together, WE CAN RULE ALL OF VALE!

Ruby: Like, the city or the whole kingdom? Ah... Nah. Sorry. I make it a personal rule of mine to not team up with anyone dressed in all white. That, and completely unhinged.

Wight: Oh, well... It's your loss... OF LIFE~! (Throws bombs)

--------------------------------------------------

Wight: (Tapping away on his scroll device) With guards all wrapped up, kept tight and close, I hurt, or help, my dear, little rose~!

Wight: I'm in a rhyming mood this episode~!

--------------------------------------------------

Wight: See, I'm not like those other buffoons playing supervillain. They all think they can distract the flying flower, instead of doing what REALLY needs to be done.

Ilia: But... But I don't wanna mess with Rose! She helped my best friend!

Wight: Oh, don't worry! You'll get over that little qualm soon enough! Unless, of course, you want to keep wearing rubber boots and gloves for the rest of your life~?

Ilia: (Throws lightning)

Wight: (Catches with yellow dust) Oh, please! Your unique molecular change intrigues me, and I'm tempted to make this change permanent just so I can learn how this happened! You're a gambler, aren't you? Would you bet on duration or frustration~?!

Ilia: ...

Wight: There's a good girl~! But don't worry! You'll get your life back... AS SOON AS YOU FRY UP THE RED ROSE. Oh, and do try to keep this a secret. I like to give anonymously~!

--------------------------------------------------

Ruby: You can't hide from me, Wight Fright. Because I know who you are behind that mask!

Wight: We all wear masks, Red Rose. But which one is your true self? Your face or what you wear over your face?

Ruby: I know you're Jacques Schnee!

Wight: HAHAHAHAHA~! AM I~?!

Ruby: (Wraps cape around him)

Wight: Ooh, nice molecular netting~! (Phases out) NOW TRY MINE~!

Ruby: (Caught in net, Can't escape)

Wight: So what do you think of my Phantom Fisher~?! HAHAHAHA~! Now for a little scientific experiment~! What breaks first; my Phantom Fisher OR YOUR BONES~?

--------------------------------------------------

Wight: What's the matter, Rosey~? Feeling off your game?!

Ruby: Nah, my game's good, Witty! I'm just trying to figure out the rules!

Wight: Rule one; Rose gets PLUCKED~!

Ruby: Rule two; Ignore rule one!

Ruby: Rule three; Bring The Wight Fright INTO THE LIGHT! (Rips mask off)

--------------------------------------------------

Whitley: (Looks out window, Gasps)

Jacques: (Flying around as Wight Fright)

Whitley: (Turns) Dad?

Jacques: Son, that's clearly an imposter.

Whitley: ...Right. Right, of course. Except for one thing... I heard you apologize to The Red Rose last night.

Whitley: Jacques Schnee NEVER apologizes! (Throws vase)

Emerald: (Illusion drops, Sneers) I didn't sign up for this.