#God I really hope I got my phrasing right with this one

[nocaffeineforlevi]

Honestly I think it's wonderful that despite Danny Phantom being an animated full color show where every character has a Canon appearance, it is still a fandom with insane variation in fan depictions of the characters.

Part of this is due to the character designs having so much room to be even cooler, or the character low-key being wronged by the artstyle (I love you Tucker but you were just not meant to be drawn like that.)

But then there's also the thing that even I noticed when watching Danny Phantom- the lighting in the show makes Danny's skin color change. Like... quite distinctly. I know it's just lighting but Sam is still very light skinned when the ghost lighting comes into play and Danny... just isn't.

There isn't anything wrong with this obv and I'm not trying to be weird by pointing this out, but it's one of those things where you look at fanart of Danny and that pasty white boy and that heavily tanned white boy and that ambiguous boy and that mixed boy and that poc boy are all equally valid interpretations because the show decided it wanted to have funky lighting. And I think that's wonderful honestly.

[lymtw]

Ex Bf Toji

Yes, you and Toji used to live together, but falling out, splitting up, breaking up, and any other phrase used to signify the separation of two lovers, typically means no contact, for however long. Toji did the moving and you stayed where you were for however long it took to feel okay with not seeing him every day.

He didn't cheat. Toji is many things, but he is not a cheater. He saw no reason to, just like he sees no reason to forget you.

He snuck three things of yours into his luggage, to really keep you with him, because you'll get them back at some point, anyway. He took one of your used shirts, an old photo of you and him, and a pair of your underwear. It'll take three days to get you back—he's sure of it. He won't give all of these things back to you in one go, nor will the three days be consecutive. He's smarter than that. They'll be spaced out as he sees fit. When you least expect it, he'll call or text you to let you know about something that he "accidentally" brought with him.

Truthfully, he felt like an old, abandoned dog, the first few weeks that he spent apart from you. He constantly checked his phone, hoping to receive messages from you. He knew it was delusional for him to expect you to text and call, yet he still waited. He moped around his motel room, unsure of what to do, because you were the one who usually planned everything. You were the one who pulled him along with you everywhere, hand in hand. He never lacked excitement or interest around you and he felt safe, but two months later, as he sits on the bed in the same room with the most unnecessary and foul patterns, there's a gross feeling in his gut. Things are too quiet and he absolutely hates it. The silence gives him headaches sometimes and he devastatingly misses your chaos in those moments. He's stuck thinking about you, alone. He doesn't even feel like leaving his room to buy beer to make him feel less or enhance his emotions—whichever comes first.

You know he got it bad for you, when he preferred to use your underwear over and over to get himself off than let some other girl touch him. A third month passed and he still longed for your touch so damn much. He felt like a horny teenager with the way he treasured the garment he stole from you and touched himself to pictures and videos on his phone. Pictures and videos of you. Dirty ones that you would send him through messages, followed by innocent hearts and winky faces, as well as his own personal collection of ones he took.

He misses your smell, your taste—god, you were everything. How could things get so bad that you ended up apart from each other? He could really use your attention right about now. You don't even need to touch him, your company would suffice.

Your voice comes through the speaker of Toji's phone, his name moaned out shamelessly loud as you cum, your phone's camera capturing the whole thing for him. His heart drops to the depths of his stomach at the sound and he ruins the fabric of your pretty, blue panties, deep moans of your name flowing freely.

Toji is just as shameless as you in that video. He swipes off the old video of you and scrolls back down to the bottom of your conversation. It's a good thing you haven't blocked his number.

Hey, I accidentally brought these with me.

[Images Attached: 1]

I'm in my room if you wanna come get them.

He's the devil for keeping his cum stain out of the picture, because had it been in there... He's not sure you would have accepted to come get your missing pair of underwear.

I'm off in 20. Room 723, right?

You got it, doll.

You hate that you know where he's staying. You hate that you don't tell him to stop calling you doll, but most of all, you hate that temptation got the better of you. This will be the second time you go see him because he has something of yours.

The first time was a month ago, and it was about a shirt. One that you didn't even know you were missing until he texted you about it getting mixed with his stuff. You didn't reply because two months into your break up still felt too soon to be in contact with him, but he called. He called and kept calling until you answered, and every time he called, your heart would start racing at the sight of his name displayed on your screen.

Your first mistake was answering. His voice made you nervous, in a first date kind of way, the way it was so calm and steady while talking. It was like he was calling on his way home to you from a job. You did your best to be mature about it, but your nervousness shone through with every 'uh...' and 'sure, that should be fine' instead of 'yes'.

When you went to go see him, your stomach swarmed with butterflies at the sight of those dark, fern-colored eyes. You were so nervous and Toji picked up on it because of how you made it your job to speed up the process of retrieving your shirt.

He invited you into his room and your second mistake was accepting his invite. You felt strange being alone with him again. Anxious? No. Uncomfortable? Not that, either. More like homesick.

Toji didn't make it any easier with the gaze he had set on you. He observed your face—your eyes, your nose, your lips. He couldn't stop himself from continuing down the path to your body. Your neck, your chest, your waist, your hips—all things he wanted to put his hands on. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and he could feel his heart thrashing in his chest. Having you so close was a rush. His adrenaline skyrocketed every time you looked into his eyes. He couldn't focus. He felt jittery. At some point, he couldn't take it anymore. With a final stuttered breath, he reached for you, and pulled you into him for a kiss. An aggressive one, that left you breathless and conveyed just how badly he needed you.

You didn't know what was going on, but the feeling was far from unfamiliar. The feelings brought on by this spontaneous gesture, you've felt them more times than you can remember, each time so special. It's the reason for why you struggled to push him away. You struggled to maintain the boundaries that worked to prevent this very thing from happening. You were long gone the moment he put his hands on you— the moment he spun you towards his bed and laid you down. It was selfish on both ends. You were both lonely and touch deprived. It shouldn't have gone further than kissing and some over the clothes wandering of hands, but there was a clear deficit of self control, and because of it, your bodies familiarized themselves with one another, again.

You're now standing outside his door, there to pick up an old pair of underwear that you could have just asked him to throw out. You couldn't lie, part of you wanted to see him, just to make sure he's doing alright since the last time you were there. It's been a little over a month since then. Maybe he has a new girlfriend. Even if he doesn't, you don't want the situation to be misread. You're not together anymore and there's no chance of a reconciliation any time soon. It's just not meant to be, for now.

Toji opens the door and the butterflies start their fluttering in your guts all over again. You don't want to listen to them or your racing heart or the sudden throb you feel between your legs, but he's shirtless.

You clench your jaw to prevent yourself from drooling and remember that you're there for one thing only, and it's not for another fuck with your ex.

"You sure you still want them?" Toji asks, when the silence gets to be too much. He unfolds the blue material to reveal the creamy substance that litters the gusset.

"Uh... yeah, sure." You feel your face grow warm. "They'll be good again after a wash." You take them out of his hands and fold them back up before putting them in your bag.

He leans against the doorframe, eyeing you up and down. He's not being subtle, if he's even trying to be.

"I was thinking of you," he says, once again breaking the loud silence. "You know, when I got them dirty." He nods towards your bag.

"Oh. That's..." you stop mid sentence, unable to find a way to end it. "It's fine."

"Wanna come in? You hungry? Thirsty? Tired?"

"None of that. I should get going anyway. Still need to get groceries for the week." You do your best to avoid letting your eyes trail down his body and hope that he doesn't insist. It'll be so hard not to give in.

"I'm sure you have enough to last until tomorrow. One more day without a fully stocked fridge couldn't hurt."

You sigh. Why does he always have to make it so difficult to turn him down?

"A glass of water would be nice."

He hums, satisfied by your response. He takes a few steps into his room, allowing you to walk in. The second you shut the door, he's right behind you, his front flush against your back, pinning you to the door. He bombards you with his touch.

"Knew you'd come, mama. Fuck, I missed you." He's kissing your neck, pulling up your shirt to feel your soft skin beneath his rough palms.

"T-Toji, what are you doing? I'm not here for this." He ignores you and keeps kissing your skin. "We can't do this, again. Last time was..." He's stretching the collar of your shirt to expose your shoulder, where he presses more kisses. "I-It was the last time. We can't."

"We can," he counters, sliding his hand down the front of your pants and into your underwear. "I miss you, baby. Don't you miss me?" He purrs into your cheek.

A sharp gasp leaves you with a brush of his fingertips against your clit. Your hands go to the door to keep you stable.

"I'm not fucking anyone else. Are you?" He asks, watching your reactions to the languid motion of his fingers against your clit.

"Mm-mm," you hum, eyes shut as you shake your head against the door.

"Say it," he mutters, into your ear, pressing his lips against the spot beneath it. His free hand rides up your torso, going up towards your chest. It goes beneath your bra to grope at your breasts.

"Fuck, Toji... No, I'm not sleeping around."

"Yeah? That's good. I'm glad."

"You were an asshole," you say, your voice low. "I shouldn't even be l-letting you touch me." You feel like you're crumbling. You're trapped between him and the door, as well as stuck between pleasure and rationality.

"You know i'm sorry, and you're an angel for letting me touch you after so long. Don't run off so fast like you did last time." His lips go back to devouring the skin of your neck, littering it with marks that will make you think of this moment when you look in a mirror.

"F-Fuck, i'm gonna cum. Gonna-"

Your legs go wobbly and you press your hands more firmly against the door to try and hold yourself up. Toji's arm tightens around you, supporting you as he works you through the intensity of your orgasm. Your whimpers and moans are heaven sent. So sweet and entirely dedicated to him.

"Come on," he mumbles, pulling you up straight, onto your unsteady legs. He turns you around so that he can hoist you up by the backs of your thighs, and as if on instinct, you wrap around him. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, your legs around his waist. It's so strange to feel his warm, bare skin against you, again. Your face is buried into the crook of his neck, like when he would pick your sleeping body up from the couch and carry you to bed.

He sets you down and pulls your shoes off, throwing them somewhere in the room, carelessly. With impatient breaths, he's back on you again, kissing you, and feeling up the body he grew accustomed to holding, but was now deprived of.

"Fuck." He pauses. "Take it all off, baby." He presses chaste kisses onto your lips as he pushes your shirt up, further directing you to undress yourself.

You feel ridiculous for having followed his directions so unquestioningly, but there you are, naked for his eyes, hands, and mouth.

"What are you doing?" Toji asks, confused at the sight of you on your stomach, your face buried in the pillow.

You turn your head to the side, to not muffle your words. "I don't wanna look at you."

"Why's that?" He traces your spine with his fingers, lidded eyes following the invisible trail. "Don't tell me you're still feeling guilty over last time."

You shake your head, wordlessly. You have nothing simple and quick to respond with.

"I wanna look at your pretty face."

You shake your head, again, and he knows he's going to have to melt away your stubbornness. You're not like this. You know he doesn't fuck you like this, ever. It's the first unfamiliar thing to occur since you started talking and since you agreed to meet up and it doesn't sit well with him.

His hands start at your hips and ride up your waist, merging onto your back, going up towards your shoulder blades. He knows of your weakness for when he says things straight into your ear. He has confirmation of this from just a couple minutes ago, when he had you against the door. It brings out a range of emotions from you, but ultimately, it gets you to mellow down a little.

"Let me love on you properly, mama," he starts. Your heart races at the feeling of his breath against your ear. You're throbbing with every deep-voiced mumble and his weight on you again. "Wanna take care of you, pretty girl. Must be so tired after a long day, huh?"

You sigh, releasing some of the built up tension in your body and nod.

"Yeah... I know, doll. Let me make it better."

Just like old times. You miss those days when your schedules aligned and you got to meet at home once you both finished work. It was always a race to see who got there first, but there was never an actual winner when the first thing you would do was shower together. Toji went in before you every time to rinse off the nastier splotches that littered his skin and you joined in on his mark. All the weariness and tension melted away when the water ran down your bodies. These were moments where you were so in love with him. Time slowed down through pressurized squeezes of his rough hands on your weary, smaller muscles, and your softer hands on his more defined and prominent, yet, still aching ones. There were also those delirious, casual conversations that bounced between being so tired that you could sleep together through the rest of the day, but also being so hungry that you could eat a family pack dinner, together in one sitting.

That is why you don't want to look at him. All those memories will come back, again, at the sight of his handsome face. You miss him, too. Your love for him hasn't been completely disposed of, but there's a reason for why you're in his room and not your shared home. Your schedules were unaligned for too long. You barely ever saw each other. You only saw him for brief periods of time in the morning and at night and your days off didn't coincide with his. Date nights became a rarity. Maybe once every couple weeks, you would go out to a place with a peaceful and quiet atmosphere, so that you could get a few hours to remember that you still love each other. Suddenly, he has spare time and it's so hard to deny him when he wants to spend it with you.

"Baby, please," he says, following his words with a kiss to your temple. You let out a deep breath and take a second before you start wiggling under his weight. He scoots off of you and allows you to do what you need to do. Once you're on your back, he wastes no time crawling onto you, again, to begin his worshipping of you.

That warm feeling you used to get around him is slowly seeping back in with every kiss he plants on your face and your neck. The way his hands smoothly glide over your body strangely makes you think of more aggressive times, when he would be so impatient, handling you so swiftly, just wanting to mold his body into yours. The scratches and crescent indentations his blunt nails would leave on your skin from the intensity of it all—you can't forget them.

He nears your soft, warm, blank chest. It's not like he didn't trust your word, but now he has visual evidence of how you weren't lying about not sleeping around. If things hadn't fallen apart between you and him, your chest would be littered with his fading marks on it. You're long due for a round of semi-permanent kisses.

His lips mouth at your chest, wet kisses being spread all over it. You instinctively let one of your hands come up to the back of his head, your fingers coursing through the dark locks of hair. He tries not to react so desperately to the feeling, but your touch is addicting. He doesn't want you to stop. No one has touched him like this since you and it really shows. Between the endless contact of his lips on your skin, layered with soft sighs and the constant caressing of your body, you can tell he's just grateful for being able to have you like this, again.

"You miss my chest?" You ask, acknowledging the amount of time he's spent on the area. He's been leaving marks left and right, between your breasts, on them and beneath them, too.

"All of you, not just your chest," Toji responds, before latching his lips onto one of your nipples. Your other one is handled by his fingers until he gives it a turn in his mouth, his fingers going to the one he just released. He loves being able to feel how your chest puffs and dips with every breath, and how it stutters with the swirling of his tongue over your buds.

"Toji," you call, breathily. Your hand lowers to the nape of his neck, meeting the tips of his hair that graze it.

He releases your breast with a quiet pop, pressing one more kiss to the glistening peak before tending to your call of his name.

"I know, doll. Feeling sensitive?" You nod, in response and he cracks a grin. "It has been a while... and I don't blame you, but you don't answer the phone enough." His kisses start, again, down your body—starting between your breasts and traveling down your abdomen. His lips paint your stomach, unintentional heart resembling marks formed through short-lived stinging sensations. "Can't do this for you if you don't pick up the phone. Just for a few minutes," he purrs, kissing above your navel. His hands cup around your hips, his thumbs massaging the area while he trails his mouth even lower down your body. "And if you don't wanna hear my voice, just answer my messages, mama. It's so fucking simple to get me next to you."

You shudder when his breath fans over your pelvis. Goosebumps rise over your skin all over again and your heart drops when green, lust filled eyes hold your gaze, pinning you down. You squirm beneath his unwavering attention, losing the eye contact battle when his hand goes to your thigh. You see the faintest sign of a smug grin once his eyes refocus on your body.

"How'd you get this gnarly bruise?" He asks, lightly running his fingers over a purplish yellow splotch on the lower part of your outer thigh.

"I ran into the corner of a table. I was in a rush."

He hums, disapproving of your reason, but nonetheless leans forward to kiss it. It brings him back to when he would walk into a room right on time to catch you groaning in pain and flipping off the coffee table while muttering curses, after ramming your knee into the corner of it, or when you would open your mouth in a silent scream after knocking your elbow into something and hitting your funny bone. He really considered putting guards on all the corners in the house, because of the constant bruises he found on your pretty skin.

"You gotta be more careful, doll," he says, kissing the blemish once more before continuing up towards your inner thighs. "Can't have you wearing this pretty body down with so many bumps." His breath grazes the space between your thighs, again. His attention goes from your glistening cunt, to your unsteady chest, before landing on that needy expression on your face that makes his cock twitch.

"You look so pretty." He drags his fingertips through the wetness of your slit, watching the adorable way your stomach quivers at the contact. "So wet over the way I kiss you up," he says, hypnotized by the way your slick connects his fingers to you with every up and down gliding motion. "You're precious, ma. Look at that... You're drooling so much, already." He drags a knuckle through your slit.

"F-Fuck." You shudder beneath his teasing touch. "Please. Toji-" you cut yourself off with a moan when his mouth attaches itself to your throbbing clit and his middle finger slowly sinks into your slick hole. Your thighs twitch in Toji's hold, the pleasure intense with all the fresh stimulation offered by him.

"Sweet as ever," he murmurs, pulling his finger out of your now twitching hole, to suck your juices off. He watches your face contort as two fingers stretch you out, now. Whimpers and moans are released with every curl of his fingers and with his tongue going back to your clit, you can't help all the squirming you're doing. Toji knows your body as well as he knows his own. Those hips rolling against the mattress and your back arching is a sign of your quickly approaching release. The fact that it's happening so fast is endearing to him. You really haven't been touched in a while and he loves being the only one you've allowed to replenish your level of physical intimacy.

You don't even warn him when you cum. Your notice is a sharp gasp, followed by the sweetest moans he's ever heard. Your overload of wetness coated his fingers and dripped onto his palm. Toji watched through dark, lidded eyes, as your chest heaved and your brows pinched with pleasure. Your bitten up lips parted to release heavy breaths and whines of satisfaction. He stopped before the overstimulation could make its way to you, pulling his cum coated fingers out of you and lifting his mouth from your clit.

While he did enjoy being a little mean and overstimulating you back when you were a couple, he knew this was not a moment for that. He said he was going to love on you and he planned to follow through with that.

"Fuck." You sigh, extending your arms above your head, before stretching your body. You groan as your chest rises and your back arches before releasing the tension, a giggle homing into Toji's ears once you settle again. Within seconds, he's face to face with you again, his body invading the vacant space between your legs. His hands go to your wrists, crossing them above your head.

"What are you giggling about?" His nose is centimeters from bumping into yours.

You giggle even more at his proximity and the sly smirk that plays on his lips. "Mm... just came all over your fingers within like two minutes," you mumble.

"You did, huh?" He says, squeezing your wrists affectionately.

"Mhm," you hum.

"That still doesn't break the record," he adds.

"No... It doesn't." You say, through a laugh.

A tension-riddled silence follows, longing looks exchanged during the stillness of the moment. Toji uses his control to lean forward the rest of the way to kiss you. The kiss is soft and slow, despite the way he keeps your wrists pinned, a visual that shows your surrender to him.

He hums against your lips, breaking the lip lock with a quiet smack. "Can I put it in?" He asks, leaning back to see your response.

"Yeah, okay," you say, blushing, but nodding to double confirm.

He releases you so he can remove his boxers and finally release his aching cock from its confines. He's been hard this entire time, but your needs were put ahead of his because, like the last time, he initiated this.

Toji sighs, feeling his cock throb and twitch at the thought of being in your incomparably soft and warm walls, in just a few seconds. As he drags his tip along your slit, he can't help but think about how this would be the first time he has sex since you last let him touch you, a month ago. He might cum as quickly as you did, maybe even quicker.

He keeps a hand on your stomach, rubbing as an act of comfort, as his other hand guides his tip into your hole. He pushes in, keeping his focus on you as he slowly feeds his length into you.

"Fuck, doll. Doing so well. Almost there."

You never get used to the initial stretch. It's not unbearable and you know it's worth it, so you deal with the short amount of discomfort.

"Oh fuck, it's in," he says, mentally relieved that he didn't cum early. You both let out sighs.

After a couple minutes of getting comfortable and picking up a gentle pace, things were good. Quiet sounds of pleasure took over the room. This time isn't as aggressive as the time before. Last time, things happened in a flash. One moment you were just talking, the next you were being fucked incoherent, and before you knew it, you were getting dressed and leaving Toji's room with the most guilty feelings.

This wasn't that, at all. He wasn't slamming his hips into yours or pinching your waist between his hands. His thrusts were paced, like he wanted this to last a while, and he touched you with the gentleness of someone who, wholeheartedly, isn't over you. Someone who still holds an immense amount of love for you.

You're not faring any better, than him. You find yourself wanting to bring him closer. You truly want him all over you. The second you extend your arms towards Toji, he's leaning closer towards you so you can touch him. Your hands make contact with his shoulders and he gets immediate goosebumps. He's working to suppress the groan that's paired with the chills that run down his spine, when he looks at you from this proximity. You let your hands glide up to the nape of his neck and you pull him into you for a kiss. Your cunt flutters around him when his lips move against yours in synchrony, his hips continuing their languid pace. His kisses always leave you breathless, so you end up having to be the first to bail, when you can't compete with his lung capacity. He continues kissing your face, groans released into your cheek and jaw, while you gasp and whimper over his gentle precision.

"T-Toji... Toji- Fuck."

He hums into your neck, his lips brushing against it immediately after. "Miss you... so... fucking much," he pants. "Please..." his voice lowers, and his lips move towards your ear. "Please, baby."

His arms cage you in and you feel smothered by him, like you're drowning in him. He's all you know in this moment. His body, his voice, his touch, his smell. All you can do is feel as he thrusts into you, repeatedly reaching that part within you that renders you the most perfectly behaved angel for him. He can feel the way your chest jolts with every hitch of your breath. He can hear your stifled hiccups up close, as he murmurs needy words into your ear.

"You..." he pants, a subtle groan caught by your ears. "You heard me, right, pretty girl?" He presses a kiss to your earlobe, awaiting your response. You nod, a sultry hum being the only sound you manage to let out. You clench around him, briefly, but long enough for his hips to stutter. "Fuck..." he sighs, burying his face into your neck, again. His hips pick up their pace a little, luring a sharp gasp and a moan out of you. "I-I need you back with me. Miss you lots," he says, muffled by the delicate skin he nibbles on.

"I-I know. I know, Toji. You're not the only one."

"So fucking come back to me, already. What are you doing?"

"Gonna cum. I'm gonna cum," you blurt, writhing beneath him.

"Keep squeezing me like that and you're gonna make me cum," he grunts.

"T-Toji, please," you whimper, the sensation of your nearing orgasm growing stronger. "Toji," you cry out once more, before your wetness gushes out, coating his unrelenting cock.

"Shit," he hisses. He barely has time to watch you when he's on the verge of spewing into you with every clench of your velvety walls. A few seconds pass, and with stuttering hips, a tensed abdomen, and gritted out, breathy curses, he fills you up with his cum. Ragged breaths are released into the air, his chest rapidly rising and falling with every inhale and exhale. He pulls away from you, his eyes glued to you as you work on recomposing yourself.

You're lucent in his eyes. The layer of sweat that coats your neck brings attention to the harsh marks he left on your previously untraced skin. The prettiest blush remains on your face, and those slightly parted lips look so appetizing. The sight is hauntingly beautiful.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," you tease, feeling him still silently watching you.

He snickers. "You're gonna let me take a picture of you like this?"

"Nope. I was kidding," you say, smiling as you sit up. Toji catches you eyeing your pile of clothes and speaks up before you start reaching for it.

"Can you not get dressed, yet? Stay a little while, yeah?"

Your heart drops at the question. You tell yourself over and over that you won't be spending the night with him, in an attempt to convince yourself that after the worst that can be done with an ex has already been done, this is nothing to worry about. What's another hour spent lying next to him in his bed?

You thought that's all you would be doing together, but then you ended up showering together. His attempt to help you get cleaned up made you crave another round, which he happily indulged in. After that was when you finally lied in bed together and you really didn't want to leave by the end of it all. It was already nighttime and you had gotten so comfortable, almost forgetting that you weren't home with him. Everything smelled like Toji, even you. He kept you in his arms as you discussed the future of things between you two. A weight was lifted off his shoulders when you implied that there's still a chance.

You did decide to drive home that night and when you got there, you sat in your car, just thinking about what happened, for way too long.

The third and final day came some weeks later. You got better at responding to Toji's messages and his phone calls. Things seemed like they were rekindling between you two.

Hey, can you come see me today?

I'm not in the mood for sex, if that's what you want me there for.

You know that's not the only reason I want you. Come over.

I won't touch you if you don't want me to.

Say something.

Respond.

Oh so you don't want me to get there safe? I'm. DRIVING.

Fuck, doll. Scaring me for nothing. Drive safe.

On the drive to his room, you thought about the conversations you've had with Toji on the phone, these past weeks. Some were short and straight to the point, while others didn't allow you to put your phone down for more than three minutes. His indirectness was usually the cause of longer conversations. He didn't want to seem overbearing, so instead of saying he missed you, he would ask if you had eaten. Instead of saying he missed spending leisurely time with you, he would let you know that that one cheesy movie you like is playing on one of the TV channels.

It was sweet until nighttime came and the messages started straying from innocent longing. Conversations where he was telling you about how much he missed sleeping next to you, turned into him saying that he couldn't sleep because he wasn't holding your chest and smelling your hair. Minutes later when your phone rang, you panicked. You wanted to hear his voice, but you knew better than to try and hold an innocent conversation with him when the messages that preceded the call weren't innocent. You let the phone ring for a few seconds, but the second you heard him, you felt so many things. His voice was so deep and he sounded tired and your heart was beating way too fast. You were feeling things that contradicted everything that made you hesitant to answer his call. With every word he spoke, your mind flooded with sinful thoughts that made the space between your legs viciously throb. Maybe you were glad he was feeling this way from the start, because his voice, his words, and the sounds he made alike, all ended up getting you there.

Muscle memory got you to Toji. You were zoned out the entire time, remembering those texts between you and him, that had you giggling to yourself like when you first started dating. You were in shock when you turned into the parking lot, realizing that your mind was so occupied with Toji, that the drive seemed shorter. You walked right up to the door with the, now familiar, bold 723 on it. A few seconds went by before the door opened. Toji held the door open for you shutting it when you made it into his room.

The first thing you noticed was that he had tidied up quite a bit. It almost seemed like he had just arrived to the room, no clothes on the floor or empty food containers on the counters, but his bed wasn't made and his drawers had unfolded clothes hanging out of them. He's been like this since you lived together. It's just a habit that refuses to die.

"You made a copy of this photo?" You ask, picking up the picture frame that rests on his nightstand. You both looked annoyed in the picture. The photographer kept pestering you to get your picture taken on your date and you had politely declined so many times, but he kept insisting, so you and Toji decided to just get it over with. The photographer said 'smile', and he laughed nervously when you both kept a straight face. He gave up and snapped the picture like that.

"Nah, that's the original. It followed me here, like your clothes."

You snicker, eyes still focused on the way Toji put his arm around you in the picture. "Clothes seem a little more reasonable to haul along by accident, but this was in a box I keep hidden on the top shelf of the closet."

"It's not really hidden if I found it so easily."

"People who don't snoop around wouldn't find it as quickly."

His hands go to his pockets. The urge he feels to hug you from behind to look at the picture with you, is heavy. "It's not snooping if we used to share the closet. When I was packing my stuff, I tried not to leave anything behind, so of course I was gonna check every crevice of the house."

You put the picture down and turned to look at him.

"That was pretty selfish of you. Taking my things, but not leaving a scrap of yours behind."

"Yeah? That was selfish of me?" He grins. "You wanted me to leave something behind?"

"At least a button or... I don't know, one of your sweaters."

"A button or a sweater." He hums like he's in thought. "That's a big jump, doll." He sits down on the edge of his bed with a sigh, a small lump of his blanket flattened by his weight.

"We made a big jump, Toji. One minute we were doing stupid shit like that." Your hand aims towards the picture of you and him. "The next..." you take a deep breath and your brows pinch slightly. You don't want to get emotional. Just thinking about crying in front of him makes you anxious.

His eyes soften, slightly. The mood has shifted and you're tense. It's not how he thought this would go, but he's going to try and make it better anyway. This is it. You have to reconcile by the end of the day.

He pats the spot next to him on the bed, successfully bringing you closer, even if you were off from where he wanted you.

"What we did was hard," you start, again. "You think I didn't miss you as soon as you left home? Or that I was living happily without you, when I didn't answer your messages or calls?" You shake your head. You're trying to hold back your more distracting emotions, but your eyes are starting to feel watery. "No. My head hurt for so long, I didn't want to see anybody, and the worst part was that I couldn't stop thinking of you. It was the epitome of a crushing break up... and I needed you, but I wasn't sure if you would be around. It's what tore us apart in the first place."

Silence fills the room. You feel dumb for spilling your heart out like that. You fold your hands in your lap and hope Toji has something to say in response to your word vomit. Anything, at this point, to slaughter the increasingly, discomforting stillness in the room that is making you want to cry even more.

"I didn't know you missed me, 'til you started meeting me here." He turns his head to look at you. You're still looking down at your lap, fidgeting with your folded hands.

"Yeah, that's not something you say to someone who just became your ex. It would have made things harder on us."

There's another gap of silence while Toji calculates his words. Watching you continue your anxious mannerisms always made him nervous before. It's no different now.

"What if I said I have time for you, now?" He keeps his eyes on you, hoping to see a glint of light in your expression. "Things can go back to the way they were before."

"That sounds good and all, but will things stay that way when we start getting comfortable again? Say... a month from now?" He immediately nods in response. "How about three months from now? My days off are always gonna be the same, and yours-"

"I'll mute Shiu on your days off. No jobs on those days."

You look at him, unfolding your hands. You're not as nervous anymore, now that the talking is back and forth. "You always make exceptions. You've done it before, Toji, and I just don't want to feel second to your work, again. It's the only thing I kept myself out of when it came to you, because I know how... abnormal it is, and look where that got us."

"Listen, i'm serious about making time for you. I've been doing pretty good so far, don't you think?"

He has been. Otherwise you'd be spending your day off cleaning your place and figuring out what to make for your dinner for one. You were off the day before, too, and he called you halfway through the day, on his way back to his room.

"Yeah. I guess you are doing a lot better," you admit.

"Good enough to give it another go?"

You're the one who goes quiet this time, uncertainty coursing through your mind. You really want things to work, but it's scary. Words and these little check ins are all you can go off of, for now. You don't know how it'll be if you officially get back together.

You nod. "I think so. It's been a few months, now. Things do seem better."

He slowly released the breath he held in after asking the question. "Really? You mean that?"

"I do." You give him a soft smile that he feels he hasn't seen in so long. He can feel his heart accelerating, like a kid being returned their favorite toy after being grounded.

"Can you show me you mean it?"

"How?"

"You're sitting so far from me. Come closer," he says, patting his thigh.

"What?" You laugh. He has to be joking. You're literally two feet away from him.

"Come on. Sit with me."

He doesn't seem to be letting go of this, so you scoot even closer to him. With the assistance of his hands on your hips, he uses them as leverage to lift you onto his lap, to bring you as close to him as he can. He looks you straight in the eyes, his green ones so brilliant and warm, you would think he's about to profess his love for you for the first time.

"You got me. What is it, Toji?" You're blushing due to the gesture, a reaction that makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

In one swift movement, his face is buried in your chest, his bulky arms lowered to wrap around your waist. Your eyes slightly widen at the spontaneity of the gesture, instantly softening when he starts talking.

"I felt like I was going insane, mama. I didn't wanna go." He pauses, the warm scent of your perfume working to calm him down. The back of your shirt is tightly wound around his hands. You can feel cool air against the slivers of exposed skin—a contrast to the warmth of his breath on your chest—but you hold him close. "Let me come home or stay here, just don't stray from me."

The mood shifted, again. He felt small and vulnerable, but he needed you to understand that he had feelings about leaving, too. Had things gone the way he planned them in his head, he wouldn't be uttering his sentiments into your chest. You would be watching a movie together, while cuddling and kissing, and overall, making up for the deep affection that was missed during this period of separation, but you have a strange way of making him want to be entirely honest with you.

You cover him up while he clears his mind. This is between you and him. Nothing else matters when it's Toji rambling on about how you've ruined solitary life for him. He can't do it anymore and you're entirely to blame, because you put him on to your hugs and kisses, and you tell him all the things he needs to hear and sleeping is entirely possible with you. He's addicted to you, and it's not hurting anyone, so he can't find a reason to give you up.

You sat in that position for a few minutes. Silence returned, but instead of it being awkward and uncomfortable, it was entirely welcomed. Toji was so comfortable. He could have fallen asleep like that, but you shifted in his lap and pulled him out of his idle state. He was entirely at ease when he lifted his gaze to look at you. Your expression was gentle on his eyes, unspoken forgiveness so clear.

"Come home, tomorrow. No, today. I was thinking about how you're not packed and you still have things scattered. I can help you get it all-"

He cuts off your rambling with a kiss, then another, and then one more. "Nah, i'll come back for my things, tomorrow. I just wanna go home with you, ma."

[dearsnow]

BIRDS OF A FEATHER

- phoenix and her girlfriend set you up with a wso they insist will be right up your alley. (robert “bob” floyd x fem!reader, fluff, reader is meant to be similar to bob, ie quiet, sweet, and nerdy, mentions of being drunk/having sex but nothing explicit)

word count: 2,003

a/n - this fic is parallel HEAVY, so don’t be surprised if you see the same phrase passed around. it’s truly a mindlink esque situation lol. and it’s 100% self-indulgent because the reader’s personality is so similar to mine (i am nothing if not a self caterer)

“Nat, I’m really not sure.” Bob tries to protest. “You know I’m no good with dating and stuff. Who’s to say she’ll even like me?” Natasha pats him on the back, firmly enough for him to know she means it.

“You guys are birds of a feather. Trust me, she’ll like you.”

“Jamie, I just don’t know.” You frown. She’s trying to set you up with her girlfriend’s friend, claiming that you’d be the perfect match, but you know you’re not the most amazing when it comes to meeting new people. You’re slightly awkward at best, socially anxious at worst. “He probably won’t like me. And if we’re really so similar, don’t you think it’ll be stiff and weird because neither of us can say the right, flirty thing?”

“You don’t need to be ‘flirty’ to have a good connection. Not every relationship is going to be like Natasha and I, all fire and flame. Sometimes it’s slow, and slow is good. It’s exactly what you need.” Jamie chides, putting a soothing arm around your shoulder. “Trust me. Birds of a feather, right?”

You shift uncomfortably in the booth you’re sitting in, Jamie’s hand rubbing the side of your arm comfortingly. It’s ten minutes before your supposed double date, and Natasha affirms that it’s about five minutes before he shows up. “Bob’s always early,” she stated, “so we can be even earlier to give you some prep time.”

You’re quiet. Shy, even, and you don’t have the best track record with social events. You’ve never really had a date that understood why you don’t want to get roaringly drunk and have sex in a bathroom and whatnot. The two girls, one in front of you and one by your side, have assured you that Bob will be different. He’s quiet too, but he stands up for himself. He’s strong and capable, with a humble attitude and the slight southern charm that you can bring home to your parents. If he’s really so great, though, what the hell is he doing going out with you?

Bob can see your booth through the door of the diner, and he steels his nerves quietly. He’s got this. He’ll make it a nice dinner, a nice experience, and he will not, under any circumstances, fuck it up. He owes you that much. He knows he’s probably not what you want in a guy. Natasha described you as hardworking, kind, and a good listener. He can’t help but think that you deserve much better than him.

He takes a breath and pushes open the door, the flowers in his other hand a little damp from his sweaty palms.

When he finally rounds the server stand, he can see you. And you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever had the pleasure of setting sights on.

He’s royally fucked, he thinks.

Oh my god, he’s so hot. You smile at him and curse a bit under your breath, careful to not let anyone hear. He’s everything you imagined and more, with sandy colored hair, bright blue eyes, and glasses that look like they’re just a little crooked. If you were bold, you’d reach across the table and fix them as he sat down. You’re not, though, so you just fidget with your hands under the hard wood.

He clears his throat and hands you a small bouquet of daises, sliding into the spot across from you. Nat gives a little self-satisfied smile from next to him. “Hi. I didn’t know what you liked, so I hope that’s okay. I’m- I’m Robert by the way, or Bob, whatever you prefer.”

You think your cheeks will split open from how hard you’re smiling. It’s such a small gesture, but the blush on his cheeks tells you that it’s earnest. “They’re perfect. Thank you, Bob.” You introduce yourself with the next breath, and he shakes your hand like it’s a business meeting. His palms are warm and just a little bit damp, but when his fingers curl around your own like they were meant to fit together, you couldn’t care less. “So,” you begin, somewhat shyly, “you’re Natasha’s WSO?”

When Bob hears your quiet voice, he knows he’s in deep. “Yeah. She’s a great pilot.” His praise earns him an elbow from Natasha, a silent ‘talk about yourself, dipshit’ evident in the action. He smiles nervously. “We do a lot of the weapons bits so the pilots can fly safely. How about you, what do you do?”

“It’s not as important and exciting as your job, that’s for sure.” You laugh before explaining exactly what you do.

“Honestly, that is important and exciting. I’m sure you excel at it, too,” Bob offers, somewhat bashfully. What makes your head spin is that he seems like he means it. He’s sincere, wonderfully so.

As that statement quirks the corners of your mouth up, Bob’s heart explodes. You’re charming and beautifully sweet, with a pretty smile and dashing eyes to boot.

Jamie enters your conversation carefully, like she wants to help but isn’t forcing anything. Natasha pipes in a few times, but overwhelmingly, it’s you and Bob. Neither of you have ever spoken so much in this type of setting before, and it’s great. You bounce ideas and jokes and quips off of each other like you were meant to. You feel like you were meant to, because everything just comes so easily with Robert Floyd. You’re finally talking to someone who understands every bit of you, polishing the hidden parts of yourself until they shine. You never thought you could feel this way with another person.

“Wait, have you read this book called For One More Day?” You ask, finding every opportunity to drag out a subject you enjoy so deeply. “It’s really sad, like a fictional memoir, but I think you’d enjoy it. The whole story is basically an ode to loving your parents while they’re still around.”

“I haven’t, but I’ll be sure to check it out the next time I go go the library.” Bob says, giving a slightly lopsided grin that makes your heart scream. “It seems right up my alley though. I like non fiction books, mostly, but I could go for a change every once and a while.”

Your food is almost forgotten in the midst of the conversation, and his is too. “When you do read fiction, what genres do you go for? I have a million recommendations, so help me narrow them down a bit.”

Bob will never admit this to his friends, but he’s an avid reader. He’s a sucker for a true story or anything about dogs, however, he’d read anything you could ever think to tell him about. He has already made a mental note to check out For One More Day and is currently making more notes as you list off more dog-central books. You, as you’ve told him, go for more of the fancy prose-d, heavy drama-d, and emotion-filled stories. It’s nice to see you like this, talking about something you’re honestly passionate about. The light in your eyes makes you look like a ray of sunshine.

Jamie grins at Natasha from across the table, utterly and unashamedly content that her plot has worked. Natasha rolls her eyes. “Alright, you two,” Nat says, “can we move on to something more exciting? Like planning a second date, maybe. One where Jamie and I can be happy at home while you two nerd out.”

Bob’s face reddens and you give a small, sheepish smile. “I’d like that.” You say.

“Me too.” Bob adds. Natasha can firmly say that she’s never seen him so happy, not even after a successful flight. It’s like he’s finally found the thing that made him tick, like you reached into his chest and wound up the gear box in his heart. “I’m free this Friday, if you’re up for it.”

You tap your fingers on the tabletop, thinking. “This Friday… this Friday is when I’m doing a book reading for the kids at our local library at lunchtime. We could have dinner after that, though.” You want to spend the entire day with him, but if a few hours is all you’re given, you’ll take it. You’d take anything.

Bob’s hands move to touch yours, just barely. His warmth radiates out, perfectly soothing your nerves. “If you want, I can make lunch and help you out at the book reading. I like those kinds of things, but I don’t want to impose.”

“You absolutely should.” You breathe. “You wouldn’t be imposing at all. In fact, I think the kids would really like it if Mr. Naval Aviator read a few books to them. You’d be like a superhero in their eyes.”

You’re a bit astounded by how much Bob’s face flushes. If you thought he was a bit pink before, he’s got a drunk man’s glow now. And you were being completely, one hundred percent honest when you said that the kids would like him. They’d love him. Micah’s father was in the Navy when he was younger, so there’s one connection, and April loves airplanes with a passion. It would be amazing.

“Then I’ll be there. Here’s my number, so you can text me when and where.” Bob slides a little piece of paper over to you, one that he must have written a bit ago, because his pen is securely clipped to his pocket. He likes you so much he wrote down his number while you were (probably) explaining your love for reading, or crafts, or small animals? You’re going to swoon if he keeps this up.

Natasha eyes where your hand is touching Bob’s. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out. Now eat your food.” She gestures to your half-touched plates. You and Bob both stutter a little, completely having forgotten what you’re going to have to pay for.

The rest of the evening goes amazingly. You talk about so many subjects that by the end of the day, when the sun is slipping below the horizon, you feel like you’re floating on air— light and unburdened by the way you’ve been able to express yourself. Bob insisted on paying for your meal, and though you protested, a little part of you feels giddy that you’re worth spending money on. Bob walks you to your car, tucking your flowers into the cup holder between your seat and the passenger side.

“I really enjoyed that.” He muses. “I really enjoyed you. I thought Nat and Jamie were kinda full of it when they told me about this whole double date, but I’m glad they weren’t.”

“Me too, oh my gosh. I was totally expecting some stuck-up Navy nerd, but I’m glad it was you. I enjoy you too, Bob, probably way too much.” You’re standing by your door, but you feel like you can’t leave just yet.

He looks at you with something you hope to think is affection in his eyes before glancing down towards your lips. “I’ll let you get going. Text me anytime.”

You hesitate, staring up into his ocean blue eyes. Before you can stop yourself or tell yourself it’s a bad idea, you take the collar of his shirt in your hand and kiss him.

It feels right. His hand coming up to rest on your waist, his body pressed against yours as he stabilizes himself on your car, it’s everything you’ve always dreamed of. His lips work in tandem with your own, like they’re collaborating on some sort of secret mission, and he kisses you like he loves you.

His pupils are blown up and he’s panting just slightly when you pull away. He misses the feeling of your lips on his as soon as it ends, the tingling sensation working its way down his face. “T-Thank you…?” He whispers. You laugh, the sound music to his ears. He can hardly believe that that just happened.

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Definitely.“

You give him a small peck on the cheek and step into your car, so happy you think you could explode. As you pull out, and as he waves at you from the parking lot, you make an effort to remember to thank Jamie and Natasha.

Who would’ve thought that you really would be birds of a feather?

Taglist: @seitmai

[gotham-daydreams]

Not Tonight

[Platonic! Yandere! Neglectful Batfam × Gender Neutral! Sibling Reader]

[Warnings: Mentions of Neglect, Reader generally not having a good time.]

(Not proofread. Not too much Yandere shown. Mostly angst with Reader. Set up(?))

2nd chapter here. Chapter 3 Pt. 1, Pt. 2. [Series Masterlist]

๑۩۞۩๑————————————————————๑۩۞۩๑

How many times have you heard them say that? How many times have you tried to do something with them, to share your passion — or even just have some coffee with them, only to hear them say that phrase time and time again.

"Not tonight."

Well, what if you didn't ask them during the night? What if you asked them in the afternoon, or just when they were already up and about?

"Sorry! I can't right now, patrol reeeally kicked my ass last night. Besides, I have some other things that I have to get done, but maybe next time! For sure!"

Okay, right. That makes sense. Sometimes their line of work can be tough and draining, especially when someone is trying to run Gotham to the ground that night. So what if you just try to ask them when they aren't so busy? It may really limit the times you can ask... but you'd still try. Maybe it could also help if you asked for smaller things, like if they'd just like to spend a little time with you before going out again, or if you could just hang around them for a while? Nothing big, and anything was fine. Even if it was just sitting next to them, and having some small talk. Or maybe just the sitting part if talking was too much.

You'd take anything at all.

"I'm actually heading out right now, so I can't stick around. Go ask someone else."

"Can't you see that I already have enough compang with Titus here? Go bother Drake or something, I don't care."

All you could hear was snores past the door when you went to ask. So you moved onto someone else, hoping for a yes as your heart began to squeeze.

Someone had to agree eventually, right?

You begged the Gods as you traveled down the long halls. The chills of reality creeping up on you.

"Sorry, I'm going out to hang with some friends, but maybe next time!"

"..." She just looked at you before shaking her head, and taking her leave.

"I've got something to do at the moment, sorry, but hey, maybe you could ask your old man? Oh! Or maybe Alfred. That's a good idea."

Dick was out in Bludhaven, and you didn't want to bother Barbara considering how bisy she must've been the other night. So, you had no other choice. You asked, heart bleeding from how hard it squeezed.

"Not now."

Simple, to the point, and sharp.

Bruce's words were as cold as ever, and yet the echo in the cave only seemed to make the gap between you and him feel so much bigger. Even as you just nodded, eyes pointed to the floor. Taking your leave with a soft sigh that barely escaped you.

The elevator ride was longer than you remembered. The cold chill in the air grew freezing even as you stepped out, and now stood in one of the many halls in the Wayne Manor. Portraits and pictures decorated the walls, their painted and photographed eyes staring at you. Their gaze far from soft, but at least it was present. At least they, in that way, felt present.

You swore the only times they ever smiled at you that wasn't faked, or just for the sake of appearances was in those paintings and photos. Honestly, it was also probably the most times they've even looked at you too, and as sad as it is — you did say you'd take anything, right?

A 'no' or 'maybe' was part of that anything, technically. It's just not what you were hoping for.

Sighing again, you stared up at one of the portraits, eyes shinging under the lights as everything you refused to say made itself so clear for a moment. You didn't want much, and never asked for more than what you were given. You didn't think so anyway.

You always followed the rules, you did more than just excel in all your classes no matter how hard it was for you to understand certain things, and you even tried to get into things your family seemed to enjoy without pushing too hard.

You studied up on all the pets Damian had so that you could not only care for them properly, but maybe even take care of them with him some day. You played games and read reviews on games you saw Tim play just for a chance that maybe you'd get the opportunity to play with him. You picked up boxing and have even been practicing your aim with an airsoft gun, and have also been going to certain place when you could to practice using real guns and learn about them just so you'd maybe be able to have a conversation with Jason, and even connect with him in some way. You even read nearly all the books in the library just to have a sliver of hope for something, anything.

You learned sign language in three different languages and tried to find out what Cassandra was interested in, just to have some kind of interaction with her. Even writing on small note cards in serval other languages in hopes she'd give some kind of response, even if you forgot to put your initials and such more than several times. You participated in gymnastics in hopes of getting closer to Dick. You tried to find out what Barbra was into so you could also hold up a conversation with her if given the chance. You've tried to match Stephen's energy and do things she likes and have even taken up material arts as a means to maybe be a little closer with everyone!

Yet it never seems like enough.

Your schedule was so packed and filled with activities and extra lessons of all kinds, just so that you could feel like you had something in common with someone in this family. So that, when given the chance, you'd be able to form a connection with one of them and your efforts and sacrifices wouldn't be in vain. Though that still had yet to happen.

You weren't even a vigilante as you tried to persue your own passion and dreams, and yet that one single thing seemed to be keeping you away from everyone else. The one thing you were unwilling to do for them just seemed to make the gap between you and the rest of the family grow bigger. They're constant and continuous dismissals only seemed to further that point.

Just... what were you doing wrong? Was you not being a vigilante and constantly putting yourself at risk every night really putting that much of a dent in your relationships? Did your dreams really get in the way of that? Just because you didn't want to put yourself in danger? Just because you wanted to pursue music instead?

You took up art despite not being super interested in it before. You've been reading all of your life. Your stretched, ran, exercised, cooked, cleaned, organized, sang, wrote, danced, and even sculpted. You picked up almost any hobby someone could have under the sun, even if it began to feel like a chore and a job to you, just so that you could have something, anything in common with this family.

Though now you've gone through countless 'hobbies', and dropped many more since nothing seemed to be working, it... it still didn't feel like enough. Like you had to be doing something more despite having lost countless hours of sleep, just to go through the list of hobbies you had written down that you had left to try. You even took up some sports you were somewhat interested in, and yet nothing clicked.

Though is that really surprising when no one noticed how many times you snuck out for lessons and practice, or how long you were out? When you'd even forget to return to the Manor sometimes, and anyone still had yet to notice you were even gone in the first place?

... You couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped you. It was broken in every way, and yet empty all the same. Maybe you were finally taking after Bruce, but you wouldn't get your hopes up.

You looked up at the painting as if it'd give you all the answers, and yet dismiss you at the same time. The disappointment you felt was normal to you at this point, but the aching pain that came after was always the hardest part. Yet you still stared at the painted faces as if they were your real family, and the people close to them. Looked at the calculated and skilled brush strokes as if they'd give you what your family couldn't. What they refused to give you at every twist and turn, no matter how much you tried to accommodate to them. To do things for them. To just feel worthy enough to stand by their side. To be closer to them.

Though in the end, it is only that. A painting. A well crafted piece that, no matter how skilled the artist, could never truly capture how distant and vague they felt when you were the one standing to the side. No matter how much experience the painter had, they'd never be able to express and show how this poor excuse of a family felt to you, because they were only like that around you.

Maybe you'd feel special if it didn't make you feel like you were wasting your life living like this...

Eventually, you were able to tear you eyes away from the painting. The moon beginning to rise as you were sure the Manor was becoming more empty than it usually was, as more of its visitors and residents left.

The painting itself was nice even if it was one of many that didn't include you, with the number of photographs without you in them being much higher. Honestly, it used to be one of your favorites despite how bittersweet you feel about it now.

You still remember that day, but that would be implying that you forgot the others.

Regardless, you managed to pull yourself away from the spot you had been stuck in for the few moments you were trapped inside your own head. You tried to make yourself feel a little better, and give yourself some reassurance that maybe tomorrow would be different some how, and if not? Perhaps the day after, and the day after that.

Yet it all failed as you passed by more and more memories. Some were events you had participated in, sure, but the pictures made it look like you were never there in the first place. Heartwarming moments littered the halls, but you only recall seeing them from a distance — or being aware that the moment had even happened only when you saw the picture be put up.

It was like the very universe was trying to send you a sign with your constant failures and your family's persistence, intentional or not, to keep you at a distance. You didn't even know if it was appropriate to refer to them as your 'family', and maybe it wasn't considering things, but you still weren't sure.

You had been fighting for a chance to talk with any of them about anything at all for the longest time, because you wanted to be a part of this family. You wanted to spend time with them and really give this 'new life' of yours a chance, but now that 'new' part of this life had worn off. It was hard and honestly more draining than it was rewarding at this point, but you still wanted to give it a try.

Sure, it had been years at this point and now you were just about to go into college, and when you had first arrived here you weren't even middle school, yet little to no progress had been made — you never gave up. You haven't given up. So maybe you could try for a little longer? Just... a little bit, not too much this time, and figure something out?

You almost felt a little sense of hope return to you, no matter how redundant and helpless this situation felt and seemed. Yet it all came crumbling down again when you passed by one of the rooms, and saw something taped to the door.

It was a flier for your performance. One that would be happening soon.

Since your siblings began to pay less and less attention to you as time went on, with your conversations with them growing even shorter, you opted to just tape fliers of your upcoming performances on their doors. Though only the performances you'd thought they'd enjoy, and just hoped that they would show up, if they wanted to, when you stepped onto that stage and approached the instrument you'd be playing for the evening.

You tried texting and other forms of communication at first, but those quickly stopped working and so you just opted for this, and of course it was just as effective as the others.

Alfred was really the only one who listened to your music when you performed, and you only knew that because you caught him playing one of the live performances you had done on the television one day. He not only going out of his way to record the performance, but also trying to find the channel it was broadcasted on.

Ever since you've tried to give him the correct channel number when you do live performances, but that still didn't feel like enough. You loved and appreciated Alfred from the depths of your heart and soul, but what would it take for one of your siblings or close family friends to notice you like that? What would it take for your supposed father to even care to listen to your music? To watch a performance? To not turn you away?

It was only in that moment did a new emotion fuel you. Crawling it's way up your spine as you carefully took the flier in your hands, looking it over before ripping it off the door.

This. This one small thing was all you wanted from them. Over everything else, you just wanted to see one of their faces, one time when you looked out to the crowd when you performed — but every single time, all you saw were strangers.

Every charity event, every gala, every party- that's all you were surrounded by, strangers. Even when you caught small glimpses of them, they were always doing something else, and completely off in a totally different world than your own. That distance along creating a large void-like gap between you and them, and yet it only ever continued to grow. Even when they stood next to you, it was like you couldn't be further apart.

The reality of everything was crushing. Near deadly as you could feel your chest and lungs tighten, with your fingers digging into the paper enough to tear it apart, and reaching your palms as they formed crescent moons, soon drawing blood. Yet nothing could compare to the weight of your heart, and how heavy it felt to carry in your chest.

As you finally moved on from the door, your mind raced. Memories and flashbacks filling your head as every word and notion flashed before your eyes. Barely even paying attention to where you were going, but not caring enough to pay attention.

Every dismissal and excuse thrown your way. Every head shake and blank look. Every confused look, and realization that you were standing there the entire time. Every birthday that passed with the same wish never being granted. Every celebration spent on your own. Every message left on read. Every note ignored. Every time you were forgotten. Every time you were left behind. Every time you brought yourself home, and every time they never noticed. Every night wasted, trying to come up with different things to do only for all of them to turn out fruitless. Everyday that 'maybe' never cones true. Every time you looked out to that sea of strangers, hoping to see someone you recognized, only to find none. Every hour you wasted trying to do something for them while they never once thought of you.

Maybe you'd cry if you could. Then again, maybe not.

You already had spent too many tears over failures you recovered and grew from, and hardships you faced and fought. You've already cried just a little too much during those night you just couldn't handle being so alone, in such a big place anymore. Besides, you've cried enough over people who've never once thought of you. Who never once tried to make time to even see one of your performances, or even allow you to spend a few minutes in their space.

You've given them enough, you think. Especially since after you spent years trying to just make it two thirds of the way — they couldn't even reach that one third of the gap you couldn't. They didn't even try, at least not anymore, and after you had tried to make it easy. Yet, you only hurt yourself in the end.

They never cared about you, and maybe they did once upon a time, but good does that do now when you're trying to go out of your way to make things convenient and easier for them, only for them to skip out on you anyway. No text, no call, no message, no indication, nothing. Just pure silence.

Maybe you were asking for too much, but was it really so bad to want to be loved? And by the people who are supposed to be your family no less?

Hah, who are you kidding at this point. You've just been living in a house full of strangers, and you're the only one who hasn't seen it yet. They've already long since cast you out, and it's only now have you come to truly realize it.

Especially now, as you stand in front of the foot of the door to the music room. Staring at the knob as if it'll turn itself.

You weren't surprised, honestly. Playing music had quickly become an amazing outlet for you, and you had always come here to seek out what little your family couldn't give you; comfort. So it was no wonder that as you collapsed mentally, you had subconsciously brought yourself here.

And yet, only one thought entered your head in that moment.

'They don't deserve to hear my music.'

Perhaps it was now that you decided they had lost the privilege to do so. After all, ever since you had started having performances, even ones in front of wealthy crowds, your 'family' had seemingly been avoiding them like the plague. Never daring to even attend one, for whatever reason, and sure you could understand why they didn't attend the ones you performed at night — but they couldn't use that excuse anymore. You have strictly been playing during the after noon, and at sunset at a push, for over three years now. You've been playing in front of crowds and releasing music for four.

So, you turned away, walking off to your room as your thoughts still stormed. Anger fueling you as you barely remembered storming into your room, collecting any valuables and belongings you had and stuffing them into a bag or two. Not caring about clothes, and only what you deemed important and meaningful to yourself as you just grabbed and shoved everything into a bag if you could.

You could clearly tell now that you obviously weren't wanted, and that no one here even wanted to do the smallest things with you. That even asking to just spend a few minutes with them was too much. So you were doing the only sensible thing, and getting the hell out of here. Moving so quickly that your breathing became uneven, but you didn't stop until you had packed everything you needed, or was important to you in some way.

You only really had a second thought about all this when you were at your window, just about ready to jump out until you paused for a second.

Looking back at the door to your room, you couldn't help but hesitate. There was only ever one person in this entire Manor who treated you like family, and actually put in effort to not only be with you, but to indulge themself in your passion. That met you at the half way mark, and even went a little over sometimes. Since even if everyone else had ignored you — Alfed was there, even if despite all of his efforts you still couldn’t handle this, and maybe that was also your own fault in some way.

You still didn't want to stay, you couldn't anymore, but shouldn't you at least say goodbye? Maybe? After everything... at least he tried.

...

You settled for second best.

Quickly, you grabbed a flashcard and wrote down something before pocketing it and moving back to the window. You may not have any equipment for this kind of thing, but you still managed to scale and work your way around the wall, and managed to reach the window to Alfred's room.

You took a little peak inside, and when you saw that he wasn't there, you opened up the window just a bit, place the small note on the windowsill, and closed it. Then, you skillfully and carefully made your way down, and snuck off to Gotham City. Making your way to a friend's place as you crashed there for the night.

Never once did you look back.

Nor did you ever feel inclined to.

------

Later that night, when Alfred read the note, all it said was:

I'm sorry, Alfed. - Y/n

Just with that alone, it was like he understood everything despite the little that was said. All he could wish you was luck, and that you'd be safe wherever you went.

Suddenly, just like that. The nights where melodies would lull the residence of the Manor to sleep, and bring a temporary, mellow peace to all who heard such a tune, were long gone...

Guess they'll just have to find it, and bring it back.

--------

Kind of rushed at the end there, hope it isn't too bad for a first post. There's probably a lot of mistakes, so apologies for that.

[allfearstofallto]

Make Me Your God, I Can Give You Everything

Yandere! Scaramouche x Broken! Reader

Part of {Mai Playlist}

“Do you love me?”

“Yes, my lord Scaramouche,”

“How much?”

“More than anything, my lord Scaramouche,”

“Would you kill for me?”

“Happily, my lord Scaramouche,”

“Would you die for me?”

“If it would please you, my lord Scaramouche,”

Like a broken record repeating the same phrase over and over, you spoke your words with little emotion, hardly even a change in cadence. You looked at him, but your eyes had lost that familiar glimmer, that light that he'd come to rather enjoy, even if it was annoying. That light was perseverance, it was hope, it was your drive and will, but now it was gone and you often just looked more like a doll than he did.

“What’s something that would bring you joy?” He asked. Typically, he wasn't one to spoil you, but the last few weeks of you just being so docile and…empty. It had him worried. He wanted that spark back, that light in your eyes. He wanted you back.

“You, my lord Scaramouche,”

“No,” he spat back angrily, “What will really bring you joy? What will make you happy?”

“Anything you offer me is a gift enough, my lord Scaramouche,”

Annoyance caused him to stand swiftly from his chair and march over to where you sat, still as a board and posture straight, just like he'd drilled into you many times before. When he raised his hand to strike you, you didn't even flinch, making him lower it in surrender. You were still as beautiful as the day he got you, still as soft and your voice still as sweet. But you were hollow. Had he truly broken you down so?

He slumped back in his seat and sighed out longingly and you still barely moved. He made a motion with his hand for you to come closer and without a word, you did, “Sit. Join me,” he ordered. Promptly, you sat on his lap, the weight of your body comforting him. You were still in there, somewhere.

“I didn't want this,” he mumbled, his face pressed into you back, arms wrapped around your waist.

“You didn't wish for me to sit here?” You questioned, preparing to stand, but he pulled you back down with little resistance.

“No. I didn't want you to end up like this,” he squeezed your waist a bit tighter, making you let out a shallow breath, “Why couldn't you just love me as you were before. Why did it have to come to this?”

“I do love you, my lord,”

He pushed you from his lap and you crumbled to the floor, still, with little resistance. You didn't look scared or shocked, you didn't even look hurt from the way you'd fallen. Just there. He remembers the last time he'd done something similar to you. You spat at his feet in defiance. Mentally, he cringed at how hard he'd punished you that day. One of the many days of punishment that led to you becoming what you are now. Empty.

“I'm…I'm sorry,” he struggled to get the words out. Eyeing your face he saw something different, the slight raise of your eyebrows, before they fell again. But it was something. It was you, even for just a second, “Is that what you want? An apology?”

He kneeled before you and took one of your feet into his hands, his cold hands traced the soft skin of it. Scaramouche hadn't taken a knee for anyone in years. No one except his creator and the Tsaritsa herself. Both archons, but he put you on a similar pedestal. A kiss was pressed right against the toe of your foot and he felt your body jolt.

“Come back to me,” he pressed another kiss to your foot, “You'll be worshiped, not broken again.”

[planete777]

BAD INFLUENCE 2・⁠｡♪ LN4 [+ OP81]

( lando norris x fem!reader ft. oscar piastri)

READ PART 1!

IN WHICH. oscar never knew getting high with lando and y/n entailed... this. but he's not complaining.

WARNINGS. 18+, MINORS DNI!, threesome, oral sex (m & f rec.), referenced tit job, face sitting and anal (m rec.), a bit of sub!oscar because it's my roman empire, high hotness pt. 3574144, unprotected in v sex, reverse cowgirl, doggy style, squirting, realisations (they love each other, your honour), they're just nasty omg what have i written 😭

NOTE. PART 2 HAS ARRIVED!!! many of you asked and so i have to deliver amirite?!?!? credit to @mariahcarreyyy for the main smut scene idea!! i hope it's good enough for ya <3 enjoy luvss.

has now been edited.

‧₊˚✩彡 taglist @laciijane @ferrarrigirl @norrizzandpia @mimi-luvzyu @multifandomwhore-003 (use askbox if you'd like to be added!)

"gonna suck you off so good, osc," lando moans in his ear, breath warm and words dirty, "you like that?"

and as oscar begs him to, he thinks that maybe getting high with lando and y/n isn't so bad afterall.

-.-.-.-.-

oscar feels fucking spent.

his cock lays limp, yet tingles with the undercurrent of arousal, and honest to God, if he fucked once more, he may never cum again.

thing is, he had thought the same 2 orgasms ago, and roughly an hour prior, but, as if the weed trickled a steady flow of dopamine into his bloodstream, the more they fucked, the more he hungered for another orgasm.

had his cock sucked completely dry by his teammate (how the fuck is lando this good at giving head?) as y/n sat on his face and he had all his prayers answered, before another climax was scooped out of him when y/n gave him a good tit job. never had he thought seeing his cum drizzled upon a girl's boobs like icing would be that cathartic, but it only gets worse when lando, the fucking nerve of that man, licks every drop like it were the remnants of a melting popsicle.

"your mouth, lando," oscar had whined out in absolute despair because, one day, it's gonna wipe him out like he never existed.

his teammate only smirked, lips oiled with spit and cum, before dragging his tongue up his girlfriend's neck, eyes hooked to oscar's, and shoving his tongue down y/n's throat. the noises were downright pornographic, pumping more blood to oscar's dick, and they ended up fucking, reverse cowgirl, as the girl wanked oscar off. he swore his dick would fall right right there and then, everything felt too good that there had to be a compromise, but he was yet to figure what that was. if there even was one.

wished he could say they were done, sated to the point where alarms for their flight tomorrow would be like whispers in a rainstorm. however, no matter how many breaks in between they took (consisting mostly of getting more high and sharing one spliff, which made it all hotter), a seemingly innocent make out would lead to one's mouth on another's crotch, or one's cock deep inside another (oscar had never, you know... bottomed, but fucking hell, lando's got some cock on him).

with a throbbing hole, and an equally throbbing dick, inert just minutes before, oscar has the dire need to squeeze one more orgasm before he allows himself to lay at fate's mercy.

a clammy body, flush against his own pink skin, wrings themselves out of his gentle hold and sits up, "you're hard again, baby?"

it's not really phrased as a question, but rather an interesting observation, and y/n trails a hand to grab his dick. it hurts, a dull pulse of ache bouncing through the skin, but it feel so so good and oscar's head is thrown back, mouth open as a heavy moan breaks through.

lando, from y/n's other side, watches intensely as she slowly jerks oscar off. his sternum elevates and sinks in a rapid succession, legs open wide to fully accomodate the hand working between them, and lando is fully mesmerised by it all.

shy, quiet oscar, who could have a man compelled by his hole alone, and besotted by the wonders of his mouth. lando wouldn't mind a throuple, not at all.

a sloppy kiss is left on the skin of y/n's jugular, "you want him?"

he can see the curve of his girlfriend's smile, pushing against her smooth cheek, and she knows what he means.

you want him for us?

"yeah," her hand slows, and oscar whines, lando giggles at that. so desperate. "not letting him go now."

then she's taking her hand off oscar completely, pushing her body into his to whisper, "wanna fuck me while i suck your mate off?"

and oscar's eyes glitter as they snap open and his head nods so fast, it nearly tumbles off his neck, lando's sure.

he's moving, sitting up and looking at the both of them with red, lidded eyes, and they hold so much, that lando wonders how one could retain it all.

y/n is smiling and wiggling onto her front, and it galvanises lando to bare his legs wide, cock hard and weeping precum. she gives it a small teasing lick and sparks zap through his dick, causing a hand to fly to her hair. he pulls ever so slightly, just as a warning, and she's smirking, giving the head a kiss.

"how do you want it?" oscar asks from behind her, calculative. she opens her legs more, pussy glistening, "any way you want to, baby."

he hums, kneading the flesh of her ass softly in confirmation, and grabs his dick to prod at her hole. it's tentative, almost adoring, before he slides in fully, soft and slow. he's so sweet, so gentle, as if it's his first time doing such a thing, and y/n can't withold the moan that pushes past her lips.

"oh fuck, oscar."

he's whining, hands tight around her waist.

lando pushes her down on his dick, saliva lathering his skin beautifully, y/n's nose deep in the tamed bush of hair. she allows herself to breathe, eyes shut tight, but then oscar's moving, so slow and slow deep that she choking on her moans, and lando's cock.

he pulls her off just slightly, but she slides him back in, dick thick and hot in her throat, and lando's moans are whorish.

"yes, baby," he's whining, "just like that."

oscar feels his orgasm creep on him too quickly, tries to think of anything that would slow it down, but the sight before him is so nasty, he loves it. lando is completely gone, fucking into y/n's throat like it's his last ever head, two hands in her hair. he's redder than oscar's ever seen him, curls stuck to his forehead like glue and muscles straining as he pulls his girlfriend on and off his cock.

"fuckkk— shit, i'm gonna cum," he groans out, hand moving to rub into y/n's clit. she's writhing, legs shaking as she slobbers all over the dick in her mouth and lando's face turns pained with pleasure, unmoving, as his eyes roll to the back of his head.

oscar can't stop his orgasm anymore, and it tumbles over him like a tsunami, hips snapping as he fills y/n deep. the sound of high pitched moans cry from lando's mouth, body trembling with the intensity of his climax and just as oscar slowly dwindles from his high, y/n is clenching around him so tightly and a gush of wetness splashes against his thigh.

his head whips down to see his legs drenched and oscar— he's mesmerised.

"shit, y/n," it's an awed whisper, "you're squirting?"

his voice sounds fucked out, and lando's eyes are sliding open, curious. the sound of liquid falling onto the bedding is so damning, and oscar pulls out to watch as her pussy clenches and pushes more out.

it's beautiful, what he's seeing.

"oh my God."

lando gently pushes her mouth off his dick and y/n's sobbing, back arching as she convulses.

"let it all out, baby," lando caresses her cheeks, "look at you being so good for oscar."

and at that, oscar figures he could get used to this, for as long as times wills.

[velvetures]

Hello loves💕 I still can't get over your writing I'm obsessed!!

I would love to request Roommate König x fem reader. König hears you fucking some guy on the other side of the wall and he can tell you faked it so once the dude is gone he's got you over his shoulder and is walking you to his bedroom to fuck you right. I love the idea of her trying to get him to confess to her and trying anything after months or years of mutual pining, her last resort is to make him jealous.

Overheard

a/n: I'm so sorry for being so slow my love... I always have the worst self-confidence with nsfw reqs. I constantly write them, delete them, and start all over... (this is like... the 8th full-draft retry) So I hope you'll forgive me if this isn't up to standard. Also, I know this trope has been covered by some really talented writers and I hoped to do it justice, and not feel like a carbon copy of something better. (ps. This shit is too long... but I knew if I deleted anything, I'd delete the whole thing over again.)

tw's: 18+ ONLY, nameless hookup, alluded unprotected sex w/side character, unintentional orgasm denial, the reader is mentally not in the best place for sex (disconnected), voyeurism, jealously, fem-oral receiving, fem-fingering receiving, dirty talk, König being a bit of a loser, König omitting his lack of experience, aftercare.

His mom kept saying it was about time to settle down. That the biological clock, normally pushed on women, was ever-present and ticking against his favor. But his sweet, innocent, mother didn’t know the depth of his awkwardness. Not even the slightest idea that her well-mannered boy, turned praise-worthy Colonel was nothing but a bumbling fucking idiot when it came to speaking with women. In the field, sure. He could give orders, discuss tactics, and even bullshit with the best of the best… but if a woman was among those? Oh hell. It was like trying to talk to a brick wall with a randomly developed stuttering issue.

He didn’t understand where it came from either.

It wasn’t like his mother was one of the overbearing types that made dating impossible, and nor did he exactly have the worst time when he was younger with women being interested. It was just… after they showed interest, that became the struggle. Relaxing wasn’t possible. Not when he knew that a woman’s perception of him was far higher than that of any man. Believing that even the smallest of gestures and phrases could earn him an immediate dismissal, and his name or photo being sent in some group-chat to be berated after a first date. He didn’t blame any of the women though… he knew what he looked like. What he sounded like… and God, how miserable his personality was compared to what his career and position would lead others to assume.

A shred of truth could always be found in his mother’s warning though.

He’d gone years without any meaningful relationship where the softer, side of a woman could be found. He found bastardized ways of getting a taste, but he could only allocate so much money a month to porn sites and camgirls without feeling like a total sleaze. The Colonel felt much more confident mapping out a prospective warzone than the contours of a woman’s body, and fuck… it made him more than a little embarrassed to admit. Enough so, that when you mentioned that your rental agreement was coming to an end, and you were trying to find somewhere new to stay, he offered for you to just move in with him.

He owned. Which made the idea of ‘rent’ or you paying it almost unquestionably stupid. It made the deal a little sweeter -in his mind- for you to agree, and then he wouldn’t have to be quite so personally diligent on logging onto online portals to pay utilities. That is, if he could get you to move in. And while in his own mind and body, every synapse screamed that he was being unrealistic, you hadn’t caught on. He’d looked just as stoic and cold as ever when he propositioned that you just start moving over your things into his house. Save money… it’ll be easier for you; He’d said, hard eyes glancing over your face. You thought saying ‘yes’ was anxiety-inducing? König nearly passed out in his office after walking there on numb feet and weak knees.

In the week following, he brought you a small ring of keys, and you started moving your life into his, one cardboard box at a time. And every night after returning from his on-base duties, he would have to physically restrain himself from opening up the taped flaps and getting a peek at the unattended items sitting by the front door. At the time, he thought it was nothing more than unchecked curiosity and instinct to feel-out a new situation. Just simply wanting to learn more about you before you started sleeping over. Merely the soldier in him. But box, by box, that curiosity didn’t dampen down. Even when your items began making their way out of their containers and enmeshing with his around the house.

Tea cups in the kitchen cabinet next to his thicker, coffee mugs. Throw blankets rolled and stacked in the far corning of the couch he rarely sat on. A little rug you’d tossed down in the kitchen in front of the stove with a little floral print that he’d been utterly possessed to not get any stains on while cooking, or by taking off his boots before walking inside. And while never claiming to be a ‘minimalist’ man, he learned right away that his house was nothing short of a hotel when it came to personality.

You’d brought at least five full walls worth of decor. Little trinkets and cute things from all over the world you’d been sneaky enough to stuff into the pockets of your gear. And all of it, had initially been shoved into an empty linen closet he’d been perfect happy with you claiming as your own since it was ‘on your side of the house’. That was, until he found himself noticing that you’d put more than “storage” things away, and had silently refused to put them where they belonged.

On the damn walls.

“I don’t decorate well anyways..” It’d been his excuse… or at least something along those lines. Maybe a little bit more gruff. Guarded. Because even in his own home, he had the tendency of walking around like someone was going to sneak up behind him.

So one week, while he was away, you took the permission and ran with it. Buying the picture hanging kits, and everything else needed to begin covering the Colonel’s walls with your amassed collection of utterly unnecessary, but brain-scratching decorations, art, and collectable junk. Spending a good half hour walking around the halls and rooms with a little smile of accomplishment on your face seeing the colonel’s house feeling more like a home. Totally unaware that he’d been checking the security cameras dotted around, watching you scale a shitty stepladder, climb the kitchen cabinets, and struggle to lift the more heavy items. All the while, growing more and more intrigued with this new arrangement. Debating whether he liked it or not. Rapt attention making the instinctive suggestion that you’d make a good wife far less perverse than he should’ve felt it to be.

Missions took precedence though. And it kept both of you busy more than not. Fully living adjacent instead of in a more dependent role. But there were decidedly small decisions that needed to be made. Like who was in charge of buying groceries, and getting essentials that you both used. König ended up just leaving cash on the counter once a week so you could take care of his end for him. Saving the trouble of a second loaf of bread being bought, or doubling up on paper towels after a miscommunication lead to fifty rolls of the shit needing to be stored somewhere. You did the job more than credibly, and it got you out of the house too.

Which was good, because you rarely left.

Not unlike him, you preferred your time spent in calm situations. Either reading reports, answering emails, and other related tasks before just closing that tab on your laptop and opening up an new one to watch a show or scroll on your phone. You appeared to thrive in his house when you could curl up like some little bird in a nest and just rest. Developing almost permanently sleepy eyes when you came through the door, and a softer tone of voice that took some getting used to. König didn’t exactly understand it. Why your demeanor changed so much within the house, and how it got substantially much more noticeable when your schedules aligned for both of you to be there at the same time.

A solid seven months or more passed before he got his answer. And from your late-night scrolling nonetheless.

Some woman, blabbering on about her husband, and all of the ways that he effected her life once she moved in with him. And, honestly, König wasn’t listening all that much. Having just begun sitting on the other end of the couch with you, since it was where you spent your evenings after dinner. And, it’d become a little bit of a new experience. Just being halfway close to you. Interacting, but not. A safe way to enjoy your presence without any expectations. But that woman on your phone caught his attention when she made the joke about being tired all the time. Tired. Sleepy. All the fucking time. He had to stare down at the TV to keep his head from snapping in your direction.

Apparently it was chemical. Some little thing in the back of a woman’s mind that men didn’t have the complexity to experience the same way. That this woman -and you- were so mentally focused for such a long time, that when the right person was around you, and created a safe space, it acted like a the strongest sleeping pill in existence. Flooding you with dopamine and melatonin to the point that your pretty face got even sweeter with those deep, sleepy looks and constant yawns at all times of the day. Getting a glimpse of you tapping the screen twice, and then tapping at your keyboard to leave a comment only reinforced his inquisitiveness. From the moving boxes, to watching you on cameras while away… and now realizing that you acted so sweet and docile around the house because of him..? He didn’t know how to control himself, and still find a way to keep figuring you out.

Wanting more…

Needing a chance to find out if things could go further than just living in his house.

Dating wasn’t a walk in the park for you either. Call it a hazard of military work. Computers and filing paperwork was more your speed than the guns and blood that König was accustomed to, but it still limited the amount of men who were interested. Especially in the long-term.

It really came down to the uniform and lack of free time that could be allotted to the guys that you did have the fortune to meet. They wanted to take you on dates, and your superiors preferred you stay late to take minutes for a meeting. They always suggested you take a vacation, since it was clear just how tired you were on a daily basis. But vacations were practically a laughable dream you knew wouldn’t come to fruition until you finally were sent the retirement packet everyone in the service dreamed of. But.. on the rare occasion, you did have the energy to entertain a man for a night. Just. One. Night.

Thankfully König was out.

Such good timing considering you’d spent nearly a week, taking your sweet time to wring orgasms out of yourself just for the sheer frustration of getting them, and still not feeling satisfied. Instinctively missing the warmth of skin on skin and the dynamic of having someone else provide and take pleasure from you. Even getting on the app had felt more like a shopping trip than a chance to go on a date. Looking through photos and bios with nothing more on your mind than someone big enough, and pretty enough to make the ordeal worth it. The guy who answered back to your painfully blatant request for a good fuck, didn’t ask any questions either. Just asked politely asked if you wanted to go to him, or vice versa and gave you ample time to get yourself ready before the knock on the front door.

Your mental ruined any chance of having a good time though.

The poor guy sucking at your neck and grunting soft praises was nice… but you couldn’t get into it. Feeling tense. Going through the motions. Foreplay becoming an act of forced moans to reassure the guy genuinely trying to make you feel good, and unable to even make eye contact for a slightly guilty feeling that pervaded your thoughts. Hell, you even refused to have missionary, just to make sure that your facial expressions didn’t have to constantly match the fake whimpers and whines.

John… Joe… Jacob… whatever his name was, he was honestly a sweet guy. Giving your clit attention, no just shoving his cock in you without prep, and actively checking in without making it overbearing. On another day, you’d have really been trying harder to impress him. Give the impression that you were interested in him for more than the sex you couldn’t surrender to. Hope that he liked you enough to stick around. But deep down, you thought better of it. Withholding your feelings to ensure that when he left you alone for the night, that you wouldn’t hate yourself.

König, on the other hand, came home a bit earlier than expected. Walking in the door quietly to expect a silent house, and you sleeping in your bed or on the couch after waiting up for him. Only to be stunned with wet, skin slapping and familiar, pathetic, whimpers getting overrun by deep grunts and low, almost whispered sounds from a man.

God… you were getting fucked.

His whole chest tightened in embarrassment and his face felt hot. You’d never been quite this comfortable… at least to his knowledge. Plenty of nights he had overheard the faint sounds of you getting off alone… soft little moans and gentle hums of a vibrator filtering down the hallway to him. But he’d never heard anything quite that… loud. Even when you fucked yourself on a dildo -he’d always been too curious not to listen intently- the slick sounds of your cunt always made louder noise than your voice. As mortified as he was hearing it… part of him knew something was wrong. Like his whole body was stiff, realizing that you weren’t enjoying it. Faking it… for some unknown reason.

Why couldn’t you say something? Surely you could ask him to… to do something different right? To let you use a toy? Or… or touch your clit? Whatever it took to help you enjoy yourself. But those pinched, almost broken moans starting grating on him within seconds. Stalking towards your bedroom door quietly, and leaning against the wall. Eyes closed and his breath getting heavier with each imagined scene in his head that developed. Picturing him doing all the wrong things… Touching you… tasting you… and living out his own pleasure without the slightest idea that every sound out of your mouth was a fucking lie.

König’s jaw clenched. Resisting a sudden desire to bang on the door or make some other loud noise that would bring this all to an end. Even his fist clenched at his side flinched towards the bedroom door, as if he was insane enough to actually bust in.

What would he even do?

The question rang out a bit too harshly in his mind.

He didn’t have the first idea how to… do better. To make you feel good, or any woman really. Plenty of jealousy rose in his throat at the thought of that bastard fucking you, but he hadn’t even touched a pussy in years. And the last time he did it, he was, pathetically inexperienced. Using his huge fingers to try and prep his partner, but not hitting any of the right spots. Accidentally taking a clinical approach, and it left him feeling like a damn gynecologist instead of a good fuck.

He couldn’t please you, no matter how much he wanted to…

The sobering thought forced him to back away from your bedroom door. But pride alone forced him into the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a glass of scotch in his hand. The last -and unavoidable- line of defense before the front door. No doubt in his mind that if nothing else, he’d get a good look at the man you’d brought home for a disappointing night of sex. Wanting to at least humiliate the bastard for a few seconds. Because while he knew himself to not be an acceptable partner, the guy currently riding out his high in your bedroom wasn’t going to know it. And seeing him -in his daily fatigues- and his hood, would give any man a moment of pause.

You felt sticky. Hot. And more than a little achy in all the wrong ways as Jeff… Josh… whoever the fuck he was, removed himself form your bed and began pulling on his jeans. Watching cautiously as he excused himself into your bathroom -sweetly- offering you a wet washcloth and a too-shy smile for a man who’d just come all over your stomach.

You didn’t bother putting on pants to walk him out to the front door. Too disappointed and stuck in your own head to see König standing in the corner of the kitchen. His dark eyes glaring daggers at your… ‘guest’ who was much more observant, and stood stock still. Shirt in his hands, and forced to raise his gaze more than normal to get the best look at the terrifying man looming in the shadows. It took you far longer than it should’ve. To trace Jonah… Josiah’s… gaze, and recognize your roommate. And even longer to remember that you weren’t wearing pants.

“Hey man…”

You had to give what’s-his-name credit for being as casual as he sounded. Because in all honesty, you were just as taken aback. Shuffling to stand behind the guy just enough that your bare pussy and ass weren’t totally out for him to see.

“Evening…” König sounded… bored? Not his normal tone. “Heading out already?” The guy you were using as a shield, just nodded his head. Looking a bit apologetic, but still anxious.

“Yeah, man…” He pulled his head over his shirt, patting his pockets for the jingle of car keys before glancing back at you with an truly apologetic smile, and a clear unpreparedness for the situation. “I… uh…. thanks for… letting me come over…”

You can’t manage more than a nod. No smile, no reassuring touch to him… nothing. Just a silent acknowledgment and the subsequent scamper over to the couch to grab a blanket to cover yourself up.

Shit… König fucking waved bye…

He didn’t expect you to come out. Nor to get his first-ever look at your pussy. And god it’d taken a lot of restraint not to just stare at you and memorize what he could get get a look at. You just looked soft. So fucking small and soft… A slight sheen of sweat on your face and the roots of your hair damp from the erotic affair.

Too bad it was all an act.

“Thanks for letting him come, huh?” He can’t resist… the guy just hadn’t been cautious enough to not fuel the fire of jealously in him.

Seeing you wrap that blanket around you tighter, avoiding all eye contact, and even turning your side to him a bit… it makes him smile under his hood. An amused one. A sickeningly happy sort of feeling rising in his gut where you appear vulnerable under his gaze. You’re already much more expressive just talking to him than you’d sounded with that bastards cock inside you.

“Didn’t think you’d be back for a while…” Your valid excuse falls a bit flat, especially when those dark brown eyes scan your entire body. He lifts his tumbler of scotch under his hood, nodding before taking a long drink. Feeling a secondary burn that soothes the heat building everywhere else in him.

“I can see that…” He chuckles lowly. To him, it sounds unsure… and maybe tinged with anger, jealously. But on your face, he’s clear that you don’t recognize it. Far too embarrassed to see that there’s just as much uncertainty flooding him as well. “Could hear it too…”

He literally sees your shoulders sink. The wave of embarrassment. Part of him loves it. Knowing you’re experiencing some of the same things he is. That you to, know what it’s like to leave a bed feeling like things didn’t go right, and there’s a guilt that hardens like sediment in your gut. Yet the other half, resists pushing harder. Using this same, defensive, and chastising tone. To give you just a bit of respite, because, he’s not really mad… he’s just fuming with jealously.

“If I knew… I wouldn’t have…” You can’t manage much more. Both of you knowing damn well this wouldn’t have happened if you knew what his arrival was going to be. You always kept so good to his schedules… and not just because this was his house. But because you were so genuinely sweet around him.

“Been so loud?” He suggests, downing the last gulp of his scotch and pushing away from the counter. “Speaking of that…” His gaze lingers on your throat… those faked moans echoing in his mind.

“I didn’t know it was common practice for women to walk their fucktoys to the door… especially when he doesn’t make you come.”

If your stomach was twisting before, there wasn’t a doubt now. And god… you couldn’t tell if it was that he was home, or his voice, or just the edged-feeling of your aching pussy; but König was making you squirm. More than he’d ever done before… and you’d gotten yourself off to the thought of him plenty of times before when no other fantasy had done the trick.

“I finished.” You defend, tightening the blanket around your waist and tucking your bare feet under the excess material pooling on the floor.

König’s eyes blacken, and he laughs lowly. It’s the closest you’ve seen to his behavior when he’s interrogating someone. His power of knowing all the right answers and just dangling the freedom to lie right in front of your face. Maddening, to say the least. And enough to make your thighs flex together.

“I’d like to believe you…” he begins, making leisurely steps closer. “Yet, I’ve spent more nights than I care to admit hearing you come… and what I just hear… is nothing close to the real thing.”

“It’s different with—when it’s not just me.” You gape at him, trying to find anger at the audacity.

Searching for something other than a feeling of arousal knowing that despite your muffled cries into pillows, he’d still heard you at night. Still listened, and if nothing else, knew what your true pleasure sounded like to call you on bullshit. He shrugs, massive hands resting on his hips. Watching them sway a little as he keeps getting closer. Testing the boundary lines you no doubt had. Pushing and prodding at weak spots, and wondering if he can set foot on the living room rug you stood at the center of.

“Different, huh?” The fake acceptance doesn’t last long. “So if I asked for proof… you’d have it?”

“Proof?” You choke out. “What kind of proof could I even give you?” There are plenty running around in your head, all of them raunchier than the previous. But you’re almost desperate to hear him say it.

“Sweetheart, you’ve got the wettest fucking cunt I’ve ever heard,” He growls softly. “You never finish yourself off without making the slickest goddamn noises. Can hear it from down the hallway like it’s playing off my phone.” He adds, voice getting gritty, eyes lowering towards your hips and back up.

“Show me, that is… if he really did make you come.”

Air in your lungs evaporates. God it’s criminal how fucking lewd anything could sound coming from his mouth. And your dry pussy is pathetically getting wetter by the second. Fluttering muscles twitching with each filthy admission he makes. You’re already resorting to putting pressure against your clit by flexing your legs, trying to deny the feelings. Excusing it all by the still-lingering desire for release and not König. Not moving, and a miserable lack of a response forces him to approach faster. Stepping onto the rug serving as a mental barrier for you.

“Embarrassed?” He asks, head tilting a little and stretching the hood to pull away from his chest a little. Putting a bit more of his chest on display in that tight t-shirt.

You shake your head defiantly.

“Oh? Okay then… you should be able to show me then, right? Pretty girl like you, wanting to get fucked… Should be more than willing to brag that you got satisfied. That he left you satiated…”

Your face burns. Debating how to answer. If it’s even smart to try and test your voice in the first place.

“Nothing to see… got-got cleaned up…” God the miserable truth that your no-name partner’s cum was the only thing needing cleaned off of you hits like a punch to the gut.

A massive hand grabs at the blanket in your grip stops all possibility of lying anymore. A warning. Gentle, for sure and meant to be just a small test of consent. However, you too far into this to not want more. He’s just hitting all the right buttons, whether he means to or not.

“How about I… check for myself?” He asks lowly, free hand -covered in a glove- sliding up under his hood and returning into sight with the achingly sexy sight of a huge, scarred hand. His meaning isn’t lost on you, and it’s almost like your cunt floods in anticipation.

“Slide my hand between your pretty thighs, and see just how good he treated you…” He murmurs, trailing fingers down the two sides of the blanket pulled together. “Let me see if that pussy is fucking drenched like she deserves to be.”

“König.” You warn softly, eyes darting down to his hand and back to his eyes.

Not the slightest bit worried about him touching you. Not at all. But about what would happen after all the tension faded. What would come of your relationship if you fucked… or, just made things complicated in general.And he pauses, looking to you a bit cooler. His breathing still heavy, and laden with emotion.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

You’re desperate to think of a way to explain yourself, but the most basic, stupid, comment comes out of your mouth.

“I don’t want this to end badly.”

He straightens just a bit. But his hands don’t move. And while from your perspective, it seems he’s hesitating on whether or not to continue, that’s not what’s got him stuck mere inches away from slipping his fingers between your folds.

He’s worried you know. That you’ve caught on to his inexperience, and are merely defending yourself from a second bad experience in one night. And god it makes this throat burn. Desperate to defend himself and prove that while -yes- he’s more than a little bit lost when it comes to the manual process, he’s still going to be the most teachable fucking man you’ve ever met.

“I’ll listen so well…” He eventually mutters, stepping just a bit closer. Voice lowering and a hint of desperation entering it. “Can—can give you everything you want… Just need to tell me…” he adds, unable to look you in the eyes.

It’s not exactly what you were expecting to hear, but it still strokes that burn between your thighs. Especially when his hands grip your hips through the blanket wrapped around you. Groping softly, massaging at the fat over your muscles and feeling hungry just to touch you.

“I… I don’t want things to be awkward afterwards.” You try to reexplain. Hoping the clarification will help him see why you hadn’t already leaned into his commanding touch.

“Awkward,” he repeats, as if it’s a foreign idea. Like it’d never crossed his mind. “Don’t plan on ignoring you anymore… Not—Not after hearing that… and knowing… fuck…”

“He couldn’t have listened… please tell me you tried to tell him what to do… what you wanted,” His rambles get more panicked. Like every thought in his head is equally important and he can’t take the time to pick one and let me even answer. “Should’ve asked what your pussy needed… how to make you feel good… make those pretty sounds..”

You’re half dazed just watching his breathy words fan the material of his hood to react to his boot kicking your feet apart. Wide hand sliding between your thighs and groaning. A deep, guttural sound that reminds of him being winded. And really… he probably should be. Because your inner thighs are dry to the touch. The wetness he’d been creating still not enough to make much fuss over. But he’s not satisfied with that alone. Immediately curling a finger to spread your lips, feeling the thick, slick of new arousal that had been nothing, if not his doing.

“Ohh, you poor baby…” He sighs lowly, head rolling back at the mere sensation of your pussy under his fingertips. Feeling you a bit anxiously, yet getting a buzz in the back of his skull when your hole pulses against his prodding touch. “Left you so fucking hot…”

It’s a fast movement but he’s got you off your feet and dropped down onto the couch in one swift move. Your back arched in the slumped position and the blanket that’d been covering your -pathetic- modesty, fluttered open on both sides of your hips. Leaving your core exposed to his hungry and heavy-lidded eyes. Letting out a little whine of a sound when he slowly drops to a knee; tracing his hands down your inner thighs like he was scared of touching you too harshly.

“König, please…” You gasp out, watching his thumb run over your swollen labias. Pinching your fat lips together softly and inadvertently putting delicious pressure on your swollen clit. He curses under his breath, free hand grabbing your thigh with bruising strength.

“Tell me how to please you,” He commands, eyes flashing dangerously wide in the icy moonlight streaming through the living room windows. “I need to make you come.”

His desperate, and knows you can see it. His whole body shakes seeing your flushed pussy a mere foot away from his face, and nothing but opportunity and his hood preventing him from burying his face in it. Watching as you shyly reach for his wrist, guiding his hand where you want it. Extending his fingers and whimpering when your motion for him to rub small circles over your clit sends those to-intense waves of pleasure through your pussy.

“Like that… just like that…” You’re able to praise with a shaky nod of your head.

Rocking your hips in tandem with his movements and nearly crying out in relief when he diligently keeps the same pressure to you despite your little twitches and grinds. Allowing you the freedom to plant your feet on the edge of the couch and simply feel. König’s lost in it. Lost in the sight of you. Your pretty mouth gaping open and your hips chasing the touch he’s providing. His breath catching when you cry out or give a weak praise for his work. Like you’re enjoyingwhat he’s doing.

But god he’s happy to stay right where you want him, how you want him. Feeling his knee dig into the harsh floorboards, and ignoring it with a refreshed feeling of duty he’d long lost as a soldier. Never had he been given such a pretty fucking prize to work for. Nothing as sweet as seeing your cunt drip from his rough fingers rubbing soft, almost too-soft circles over it. Not even realizing that he’d spent almost fifteen minutes just rubbing your clit lazily when your hand reaches back down. Happy to direct him yet again, especially when he doesn’t even need a verbal direction to do exactly what you want.

“Fingers,” You whisper through panting exhales. “Give me your fingers…”

Your little hand grabs his pointer and middle fingers, spreading your own slick over them like a goddamn professional before guiding him down to your aching hole. Letting go just long enough to feel the thick digits press though that first little ring of tightened muscle. Forcing your eyes open to witness his mostly-hidden expression as he sinks knuckle deep inside of you.

“So fucking pretty,” His head shakes a little, lost in the creamy slick gathering at the base of his fingers as he curls him up towards your pelvis just a little. Subconsciously scared to do the wrong thing, but desperate to keep your cunt flex and mold to his touch. “Tell me, sweetheart… show me what she needs.”

You’re too possessed to chase your high to not listen. Readjusting your bent legs on the couch to gently lift your hips and sink them back down. Slowly getting used to the feeling of his thick fingers, already deeper than your no-name partner. Groaning when they bump into your g-spot just hard enough to make your clit burn. Grinding against his hand and keeping one hand wrapped around his wrist just to try and ground yourself to the present situation. Lost in the rhythm of fucking yourself -quite literally- stupid within mere minutes. Beginning to hear that vulgar, sucking sound of your pussy gripping his fingers and utterly drooling over his palms.

König’s helpless to so more than sing your praise. “That’s a good girl… so good for me. Using me like a fucking toy.”

It’s the best he’s felt in a long time. Watching you take from him. Too absorbed to even think about anything other than yourself. Not in enough control to even worry about the true moans and yelps escaping you. Real pleasure wracking your body and burning every nerve ending.

“More… please more…” You cry softly, hips slowing to a painfully sexy grind as you squeeze the tendons in his wrist with your thumb.

König takes a little more initiative than he’s normally comfortably using, but adds a third finger. Slowly pumping them in and out, little by little, to help you adjust. Watching as your eyebrows pinch together in focus. A low growl rumbles in his chest, his mouth practically watering as your cunt sucks him in.

“Let me taste it, baby…” He huffs, head flinching forwards before backing off, repeating the action a couple more times. “Wanna help… just—just let me taste you…”

You clench around his fingers when he rests his cheek against your inner thigh. Big, wide eyes pleading with you so innocently like he isn’t stretching your hole wider than the biggest of your toys can with nothing but a few fingers. Forcing you to slow the roll of your hips, a shaky hand reaching out to cup his face through the mask. Rubbing a thumb over his hidden cheekbone with a little whimpered hum. Pulling his head closer to you, hissing when the hem of his hood merely grazes your clit.

“How’d you want it?” He asks, head down and pulling his mask up so you’re stuck. Forced to merely feel his mouth so close to you, and not see the shape of his mouth.

“Lick-lick my clit… s-soft…” You whine, eye shutting when the hot fan of his exhale his your fevered skin.

Holding his head steady with one hand, you almost coming up off the couch when his tongue makes one, long, lazy, lap between your folds. Gripping at the material of his hood just tight enough that he ends up ripping the whole thing off. Tossing it to the floor with an aggressive snarl that rumbles against your clit. Sparks of pleasure forcing your thighs apart and jerking your hips back up. Chasing his mouth. The rough texture of his tongue, and the slight graze of his teeth against your slicked folds.

Your orgasm approaches fast from there. Between his fingertips stroking you deep, and the new rhythm of his tongue lapping your slick up to massage your clit, it’s hard to even warn König that he can’t stop for risk of ruining your long-awaited release.

“König… K… oh… fuucckk…”

Your back arches tightly, both hands grabbing harshly at his hair with an unintelligible shout as you come. Jerking wildly and one of your feet losing it’s hold on the edge of the couch. Trying to fight through the shocks of pleasure, and groaning curses with a hoarse throat. Feeling König’s free hand latch onto your thigh to keep you from running away too far from his still-working lips and tongue. Sucking up the wet drips of release trying to drip down his hand.

“Slow, slow down.” You whimper, pushing at his forehead just a little. The pressure too much. The stretch of his fingers still satisfying but overstimulating.

Your so fucking grateful that he doesn’t fight you on it, or force you to try for another. And maybe it’s just the mere sight of you. abdominal muscles twitching, forcing your upper body to do baby-curls with each flex of your pulsing cunt. Toes curled and an all-over buzzing sensation making it hard to even make sense of where your limbs are in relation to the rest of your body, much less König or the couch your hardly laying on.

“You okay, sweetheart?” His softened voice almost gives you emotional whiplash, especially when he bends over you forehead resting against yours softly.

Gently removing his fingers with murmured apologies when your little winces mar your pretty features. Both hands sliding up your sides to help lift you back onto the couch, moving to sit himself next to you just long enough to reposition your body on his lap. Pulling that blanket back over your bottom half and maneuvering your cold, tingling feet between his thighs like he can tell they’re freezing. He presses soft kisses all over your forehead and nose. Rocking you softly and squeezing at the muscles in the back of your neck reassuringly.

“You needed that… needed to feel good…” he murmurs almost lovingly.

You nod dumbly, laying your head against his shoulder. Letting out soft nearly unconscious whimpers and a soft repetition of his name in cum-drunk appreciation.

“Told you I could listen… could be good for you,” He adds, almost like he’s reassuring himself of the idea. “Wanted to be better than him. Needed to prove it.”

He holds up your weighty head, stabilizing it with care and a sickeningly sweet look of devotion in his eyes.

“You’re never going to fake it again, sweetheart.”

reblogs & comments are always appreciated <3

[heartfullofleeches]

[Request] Reader caring for a sick Remmy [Dollmaker Yan Oc]

Warnings: None.

Words: 1.1k

-

“Remmy isn't home right now…. Please come back later.”

Could this day get any worse?... Weeks, months even, building up the courage to ask you to hang out with him. It wasn't like he asked you out on a date or anything, not yet anyway. He still needed to test the water a little longer, make sure the signals he had picked up from you weren't figments of his imagination. All that time, all those embarrassing hours spent in front of the mirror practicing what to say given any outcome - flushed down the drain in one night. 

Remmy could hardly open his eyes the morning you were intended to meet. You didn't even recognize him over the phone at first. In his heightened state of delirium from the fever racking his weary mind, he hoped the same would happen as you continuously rang his doorbell - demanding in the softest voice you could manage for him to open up.

As if he could be that lucky….

“And where, pray tell, would someone hacking up a lung over the phonean hour ago be right besides the hospital? It's not that far away. I can head over right now and check.” 

….

“Open this door right now, Remiel. You're not going to flake on me twice today.”

Did you have to phrase it like that? Kicking a sick person while he could barely stand was cruel - even if you did come to check up on him. 

“O…okay…. Remmy is- I'm going to unlock the door, just…give me a minute to clean up my room. I have some stuff out I really don't want anyone to see…”

The muffled shuffling of plastic splices between the click of the lock as Remmy unlocks the front door. 

“60.”

“Crap.” 

Hobbling away from the front door, Remmy clings to the hallway walls as he makes a break for his bedroom. The straight path twists and bends as his stress levels skyrocket from the very real fear of you finding out what he had stored. There wasn't enough time for him to hide everything. His top priority were the worst offenders - items he couldn't excuse as being a result of his relatively harmless hobby. Doll clothing fashioned after clothes you'd yet to wear for the public eye. Others you never owned and probably would never wear, unless they were for a partner or to make yourself feel good. Pictures of you hung up on his walls. So much to bury in such little time. 

“They can't see that…That one either. God, they'd kill me if they saw-”

“Saw what?” 

A hoarse yelp claws its way out of Remmy's aching throat. Standing in his doorway, you balance two separate bags in your arms - awaiting his response. Remmy hurriedly pulls the corners of his blankets over the space beneath his bed. 

“I…threw up a bit ago. Guess I'm feeling worse than I thought when we spoke over the phone.” 

In the blink of an eye you're by his side. Remmy flinches as you press the back of your palm against his forehead.

“Oh, Rem….” Concern oozes from your words as you set your bags down, taking hold of his arm. You're burning up. Come on. Let's get you back in bed.”

“You don't have to go through all this for me, Y/n. Really, I'm-” His sentence falls short as you scoop him off the floor, sitting him up on his bed. Were you always this strong - or had he always been this easy to carry? In that moment, Remmy felt just like one of his dolls. His head spins at the very thought. You take the opportunity to gently ease him down against the mattress, rolling the discarded sheets up to his waist. You pick up the plastic bags, setting them on the small table in the center of his room as you rummage through them.

“Got some chicken soup from this dinner down the street. If you can't keep anything down, maybe the broth will be a good place to state. Oh!- picked up some ginger ale too. That might help with your stomach too. Cough drops, cough medicine…. Do you prefer liquid or pills?” 

Remmy turns his head away from you as he coughs into his fist. “...whichever…whichever you brought is fine.”

“Well,I actually bought both, but I can just return the other on my way home later. I'll go grab you a cup real quick.”

Heading for the door, Remmy’s meek voice calls out to you - barely about a whisper. “Y/n?”

Hand on the doorframe, you gaze over your shoulder at him. “What's up? Need something else while I'm in the kitchen?”

“No…” Remmy shakes his head, the pressure of a headache hammering at his skull. “Agh… Remmy… I just wanted to thank you…for this. You really didn't have to come over…” 

A smirk tugs at the corners of your lips. “Don't think I did this for nothing. Gotta make sure you're well enough for our date next weekend. The park is nice and all, but that's where we always go. I expect to be taken somewhere else for our first date.”

“Date?” He couldn't have heard you right. But, you said it - twice. You disappear down the hall before he can properly question you. Was this all a dream? The conjurings of his ill mind as the sickness took hold? This felt better than anything he could imagine- Your hushed voice as you reenter the room confirms it. You wiggle your arm behind his head, helping him sit back up just enough to place the cup to his lips without him choking while swallowing. A part of him wished this was a dream. One that he'd never wake up from if he had the choice. Another dream come true was waiting for him once he got better.

“Remmy?...Rem?”

Soda spills onto your hand as the weight of his head crashes upon your shoulder. Did he…. fall asleep? Just like that? You hadn't even given him his medicine yet. At least the sleep will be good for him. You should probably go put everything else you brought up to pass the time until he wakes up. 

“Mmm…”

Remmy’s face scrunches in discomfort as you part from his side, lowering his head onto the pillows as you stand. Your foot touches something soft beneath his bed. You reach a hand underneath - completely forgetting about his earlier warnings as your fingers wrap around the squishy item. A doll with instantly identifying features stares back up at you as you drag it from its prison. Funny - you don't remember wearing this shirt around Remmy. You only bought it a few days ago. You planned to wear it today before he told you the bad news.

Shrugging, you raise Remmy's arm - tucking the doll against his chest. His face melts into that of peaceful bliss, body curling around the doll as his other hand strokes its face as if on auto-pilot. You press a kiss to his forehead - shutting off the lights in his room as you depart for a second time.

[14dayswithyou]

Meowdy Saint! ^^ lolol hello hello o/ hope you are doing good!!

So this masterpiece of a game has been invading my mind with ZERO chill lately which directly translated to me coming up with a TON of questions orz I really didn't realize how many I ended up compiling lol

If you don't feel like answering this many please feel absolutely free to ignore this ask or only answer the ones you like the most, the last thing I want is for you to feel overwhelmed! ^^

ALRIGHT LET'S-A GO

-do Rendacted's memories remain intact when he resets the day or do his wipe too with everyone else's? Also is there an in-universe answer for why he has these glitchy powers or is he just Built Different™?

-if angel made it VERY clear that they would be mad asf and prolly even start hating and leave Ren/[REDACTED] if he were to hurt their friends(or killing people bc this man needs to chill fr), would he listen to them? Bc I know that if he touches Violet, Elanor, Kiara or god forbid Moth I'm personally deleting his kneecaps 🥰

-since it seems to me that Ren/[REDACTED] is only kinda meh at cooking I was wondering if he actually made the not burnt pancakes in day 3 or if he had some store bought ones that he passed off as his own lol

-does he know how to give massages? :00

-during day 1, how did Ren come up with a book on the local flora?? It seems like such a random topic to pick when put on the spot without already having a genuine interest in it lmao

-if I understood correctly Maple should be Jae's dog right?? Did you have a specific breed or age in mind when creating her? I got curious because in my head she automatically popped up as a young australian shepherd to match with Jae's hyperactive dumbass energy lol❀⸜(˶´ ˘ `˶)⸝❀

-staying on the dog topic lol, in day 1 when angel gets up from the couch to get Ren the inflatable mattress(iirc) and he follows right behind them i immediately thought he acted like a puppy lmao. So would he mind being called 'puppy' as a pet name?

(I am not sure if this⬇️ questions falls under character deaths, if it does I really apologize and absolutely feel free to ignore it ^^)

-from an ask from last year it seems [REDACTED] would ultimately kill angel if there was ultimately not way to enter in their life?? Gotta say I was very taken aback by this, would this still be the case after a year of building more to his character? (Ok I went back to check the ask again but I can't for the life of me find it anymore maybe I dreamt it up idk😭😭 im really sorry if that is the case jdkslajdl)

-uuhh I know there is already a lot in this ask(im seriously sorry orz), but I was wondering if we will eventually get an SFW alphabet for Ren/[REDACTED] for the folks who don't care about the nasty 👉👈

-THIS IS THE LAST THING I PROMISE 👹 will there be a guide to get all the endings? I'm not sure if there is one already and in that case I missed it 100%

Also I find it ironic how the fandom is trying to find out every single aspect of Ren/[REDACTED]'s character the same way he must do with angel lmao

ALRIGHT THATS ALL IM SO SORRY FOR ASKING SO MUCH THE REN BRAINROT HOURS ARE SO REAL IM LOSING BRAINCELLS orz Remember to take care of yourself drink water and take breaks!! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

(Also sorry if some phrases don't make sense, english isn't my first language as I am 🤌 lolol)

✦゜ANSWERED: Under da cut because this got long >:3

-do Rendacted's memories remain intact when he resets the day or do his wipe too with everyone else's? Also is there an in-universe answer for why he has these glitchy powers or is he just Built Different™? Ren's memories remain intact!! I mean... He remembers each time you get a bad end and sometimes says something different... >:3 There is also an in-universe reason as to why he has his abilities — I won't spoil anything, but his real name (along with River's and one other character) have a reeeeally big tell. But what this tell is is for me to know and you to find out >:3

-if angel made it VERY clear that they would be mad asf and prolly even start hating and leave Ren/[REDACTED] if he were to hurt their friends(or killing people bc this man needs to chill fr), would he listen to them? Bc I know that if he touches Violet, Elanor, Kiara or god forbid Moth I'm personally deleting his kneecaps 🥰 Ren (and by extension [REDACTED]) knows not to harm anyone if he knows you won't like it — and even then — he won't actively show that murderous side of him in the first place. To Angel, Ren is just a timid, normal guy.

-since it seems to me that Ren/[REDACTED] is only kinda meh at cooking I was wondering if he actually made the not burnt pancakes in day 3 or if he had some store bought ones that he passed off as his own lol Ren is actually good at cooking, he's just a bit out of touch since he doesn't normally cook for himself! It's normally microwave meals or takeout for him... ^^; And yes, Ren did burn and burn the pancakes in Day 3 — he was distracted by something on his phone :3

Bonus cut Day 3 content: I took out the scene where Ren started to profusely apologise for burning the pancake because he often had to cook when he was younger. Given the dynamic of his family and the environment he grew up in, Ren didn't have much room to make mistakes ;n; I cut this scene out because I felt bad ksgskd So y'all get to have flustered, happy Ren instead!!

-does he know how to give massages? :00 If that was one of Angel's interests or desires, then sure!! ^^

-during day 1, how did Ren come up with a book on the local flora?? It seems like such a random topic to pick when put on the spot without already having a genuine interest in it lmao Someone else likes flora too, and it sure would be funny if Ren (eventually) starts to mimic certain traits and interests of the person you have the highest affinity/relationship points with in order to make himself look more appealing… >:3c

-if I understood correctly Maple should be Jae's dog right?? Did you have a specific breed or age in mind when creating her? I got curious because in my head she automatically popped up as a young australian shepherd to match with Jae's hyperactive dumbass energy lol❀⸜(˶´ ˘ `˶)⸝❀ It was mentioned in Jae's lore post (I'll link it here once I find it), but Maple is a Labrador! (Leon would be Jae's Australian Shepherd hehe) In my mind, Maple is only 2 or 3 years old, but that wouldn't really fit the official timeframe... ^^; Jae adopted Maple during high school so he wouldn't feel lonely at home, and it's been over 6+ years since then.... hgdshjg

-staying on the dog topic lol, in day 1 when angel gets up from the couch to get Ren the inflatable mattress(iirc) and he follows right behind them i immediately thought he acted like a puppy lmao. So would he mind being called 'puppy' as a pet name? Angel affectionately calls Ren a puppy during the scene in Day 1 where they meet up after work, so that nickname definitely could work!

-from an ask from last year it seems [REDACTED] would ultimately kill angel if there was ultimately not way to enter in their life?? Gotta say I was very taken aback by this, would this still be the case after a year of building more to his character? (Ok I went back to check the ask again but I can't for the life of me find it anymore maybe I dreamt it up idk😭😭 im really sorry if that is the case jdkslajdl) aaa I think you might be mistaking that ask for something else? ;v; [REDACTED] would NEVER harm Angel in any capacity, and they're a very patient person. Even if it took decades for Angel to fall in love with him, they'll wait.

-uuhh I know there is already a lot in this ask(im seriously sorry orz), but I was wondering if we will eventually get an SFW alphabet for Ren/[REDACTED] for the folks who don't care about the nasty 👉👈 You're fine!! And I'm open to doing that! I'll add it to my list hehe

-THIS IS THE LAST THING I PROMISE 👹 will there be a guide to get all the endings? I'm not sure if there is one already and in that case I missed it 100% I've shared a spreadsheet that lists all the available choices, the points you earn from each of them, and the endings you can get — however it's only available on Discord and I don't really want to share it outside of the server and potentially put it in the hands of minors. Sorry!!

Also I find it ironic how the fandom is trying to find out every single aspect of Ren/[REDACTED]'s character the same way he must do with angel lmao Hehe >:3 There's a loooot of lore that won't ever be mentioned in the game (since it doesn't seem fitting/I don't see a reason to), so I'm happy to provide it here!

[ourfag]

stede approximately 7 hours after meeting ed (they have been talking this whole time): —especially wildflowers cuz i hardly ever saw any. my father’s house—he kept the lawn completely manicured, just this…depressingly plain…… er, plane

ed: a plain plane?

stede, moving his hand back and forth parallel to the ground (to indicate a plane): that’s right, it was—well, it was sort of a…small plain, i guess, landscape-wise, but it—a really plain plane of a plain

ed, following every word of this: sounds like a pain

stede: fuck ugly. all that grass and no bugs!

ed, now sort of seeing the appeal when you phrase it like that but not saying anything bc fuck dads and fuck the rich and also he thinks its hot when stede complains: like a golf course

stede: eerily like a golf course

ed: did y—actually, i’m afraid to ask.

stede: ooh, go on

ed: …did you ever use it at all? like, for…fancy people barbecues, or…?

stede, becoming increasingly irate about it all: not even—we mowed it, is what we did with it. and we had—my father’d got it from his father, it was—he had me using this little—one of those lawnmowers that look like egg beaters, y’know—

ed: awwwgh, the old-timey ones?

stede: like a push-along that also cuts people’s fingers off

ed: did you cut anybody’s fingers off?

stede: i came pretty damn close once

ed: physically or emotionally

stede: emotionally, mostly. i had a wishlist to santa on the line, i wasn’t gonna risk that

ed: you had—hang on, how old were you when this was happening

stede: i think i was about fifteen

ed:

stede: NOBODY TOLD ME!!!

ed: bro

stede: if anything i think my parents kept it going on purpose. so it’s him i’d get upset with

ed: oh you didn’t like santa then

stede: such a relief to learn he’s made up, i thought he hated me

ed: oh no. what??? why? what the fuck’d they do to you??

stede: nothing egregious, just….. every year i’d write to him, and i’d be explicit about what type of thing i definitely didn’t want, and every christmas that’s what he got me. bb guns, boxing gloves, g. i. joe…

ed: :(

stede: …paraphernalia from dad’s alma mater…there was one year i got to the bottom of the stairs and went, “oh god, santa’s fucked it. that’s all clearly meant for someone else.” so every year after that, santa put my name on everything. just to make sure i knew. embossed, sometimes.

ed: aw. mate, if i’m honest, that does strike me as kind of egregious

stede: well, they were nice things

ed: yeah but he knew you didn’t want em and he gave em to you anyway when they could’ve gone to, i dunno, some rough-and-tumble kid who’d be over the moon about a bb gun… what were you hoping for? what did stede want?

stede: i remember the big one i asked for was always a lawnmower

ed:

ed: OHHH yeah to liberate you from the push-along?

stede: all the time i was push-alonging i’d have daydreams about those big rideable ones

ed’s brain (separately from ed): any lawnmower’s rideable if you’re enough of a pervert

ed, internally, to his brain: i cannot fucking say that to him

ed’s mouth, without permission: any lawnmower—

ed:

stede: ?

ed, sweating: an—an-any lawnmower jokes?

stede, face lighting up because nobody’s asked him that before and he’s got half a dozen ready to go: OOH YES HERE’S ONE—

[bisexual-horror-fan]

Bexxx my darling. We’ve had the conversation, are horny for the concept so I’m pounding this into the ask box even harder than they’re gonna pound the damn reader.

AU!Billy, Stu, Mickey and Ethan x reader. All alive or as Ghosts whichever is best. All of them going full blown slut on the reader, Stu in the mouth, Billy in the cunt, Mickey in the ass and Ethan in the hand (until he’s not *wink*) . We’ve discussed a lot of it already so GIRL, I know how you’re going to go with this. In advance, poor, sweet Ethan, slutty teasing Billy, supportive icon Stu and Mickey with the GUIDING. I’m going to burst into flames.

I LOVE YOU DUDE!

BITCH, I LOVE YOU! I wrote this all tonight in one sitting, I hope you all enjoy this! Billy AND Stu AND Mickey AND Ethan?! I mean, say fucking less, that is a dream I need to experience. Multi-May continues! I hope you all love this straight-up nasty smut in the afterlife.

---

Rating. Explicit. Length. 1.2K. Poly!Ghostface. Billy Loomis/Stu Macher/Mickey Altieri/Ethan Landry/AFAB! Dead Victim Reader! She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Five-Some. Orgy. Hair Pulling. Gagging. Group Sex. Hand Job. Oral Sex. Blow Job. Triple Penetration. Vaginal Sex. Throat Fucking. Anal Sex. Pre-Mature Ejactualation. Sloppy Seconds. Multiple Orgasms.

---

"Four In One."

You have never been so fucking full. It was taken right out of your most depraved and wild fantasies, an impossibility and yet here you were, mouth, cunt, ass and one of your hands full.

In the vague haze of your mind, you are reminded of a phrase for being in this exact situation, that being “completely airtight”. 

Some people might think that sex in the afterlife is not a thing, however it was one of the most beloved pass times, you have no physical limitations and nothing but time, it only makes sense. 

You being a victim that had fallen to Ghostface most would assume you’d hate them. You did at one point. Eternity is a long fucking time, though. 

So you got involved with the man who killed you and a few other previous Ghostface’s? It was your business, you were dead, you didn’t care if any other victims or whoever judged you, especially when it felt this fucking good. 

They had managed to get you into a good position, and with all of them helping, you didn’t need to worry about holding yourself up, which is good because you were fucking boneless. 

Billy was buried in your cunt, Stu was in your mouth, Mickey was in your ass, and you had a firm grip on Ethan. The smell was heady, the chorus of moans and skin on skin was obscene, and you were unable to stay still, being pushed and pulled in multiple directions, covered in sweat and thankful for the fact you didn’t have to worry about breathing. 

Stu was pulling your hair, dragging you nearer, your nose pressed to coarse hair, his head tipping back with a moan, “Fuck yes, when you swallow around the head it feels fucking fantastic-” He pulled harder, and you gagged, you didn’t really, but you knew Stu liked when you did, so you mimic it, you feel him throb on your tongue and Billy groans. 

“When she gags she clenches beautifully, man.” He breathed and Mickey agreed, “God yeah, she feels fucking perfect tonight.” 

You are soaking up the praise, pleasure sinking into the very marrow of your bones, you manage to open your eyes, curious why Ethan was being so quiet, and he is staring right at you and oh no. The poor boy. His curls are sweat soaked, bottom lip tugged by his teeth, face flushed, and it is spreading down to his chest, when your eyes lock he moans, he is pulsing in your hand and Stu notices the moment you, and he were sharing. 

“You alright there, Eth?” Stu asked, and the response came out strained, “Feels so good, too fuckin’ good, sh-she looks and God, how she sounds, I-I dunno if I can make it-”

Billy cuts in, his hips slowing, “Oh hey man, you gotta wait till you get in one of her holes at least.” 

You nod as much as you are able to with Stu’s hand in your hair and his dick down your throat, you wanted that, you desperately wanted Ethan to cum in one of your holes, Hell you wanted all of them to cum either in you or on you, it was a deep and clawing craving that was refusing to leave. 

Mickey’s pace was getting sloppy, he was thrusting harder and harder, faster and being totally selfish in the way only he can be when he is close, fully worried with chasing his own release, you say a silent prayer, happy that your ass could take the punishment he was doling out. “Fuck, fuck, you won’t have to wait long, Ethan.”

Mickey thrusts inside you three more times and then holds deep as he unloads inside of you with an utterance of your name. The rush of heat makes you choke and moan on Stu’s shaft with a shudder. 

You stop stroking Ethan, worried that he is going to cum, your hand grips the base of his shaft tightly to ensure he wouldn’t spill over quite yet.

Mickey stays in you for a moment, barely grinding his hips, milking the aftershocks and every ounce of pleasure out of his orgasm. You feel his head tip, his forehead rests on your shoulder, you feel the press of his lips, a kiss, sweet, before he pulls out with a groan, and spreads you, he can see your wrecked looking hole, slowly leaking his cum. 

Mickey looks over your body still being rocked between Billy and Stu, and he says easily, “Get over here, Ethan.” 

You let go of him, and he practically scrambles to get behind you, almost falling over the tangle of the other boys limbs on the way. Stu and Billy laugh, Mickey shaking his head, “Bless him.”

“So cute.” Stu confirms. 

Billy holds still and motions for Stu to do the same, “Ease up while he gets in there.” 

The blonde complies and they all watch, Ethan’s hands rest on your ass, and he looks adorably nervous, he is practically shaking, breathing erratic, he looks painfully hard and is leaking so much pre-cum. It’s like he is almost rooted to the spot, staring down at your slowly leaking hole. You push on Stu’s hip, and he allows it, pulls out of your mouth, and you look over your shoulder at him, you clear your throat before saying, “C’mon Ethan, please?”

He curses quietly, and then you watch Mickey come up behind him, one hand on Ethan’s hip and the other reaches around him, grips the base of his cock and says, “Lemme help you out.” 

Ethan almost jumps out of his skin, tenses but gives a single nod once, consenting with more than the action, he begs, “Please, yes, I-I want to so bad but, I can’t-.” 

“I know man, it’s alright, I got you.” Mickey soothed, and he pushes forward on Ethan’s hip, his other hand guiding Ethan’s cock, the blunt head presses to your nearly raw and well lubed hole. When the tip breaches Ethan comes back to himself, fingers dig into ample flesh, and he pushes, you moan and encourage him, “Fuck yes, please-”

Mickey lets go, his grin is positively wolfish as he watches the show unfold. 

Ethan curses again, and he shoves in roughly, about halfway before pulling out, the poor guy only gets less than ten pumps in, not even fully inserted, before he is cumming with a strangled cry, body a quaking, sweat slicked mess. He is apologizing over and over, gasping for breath, “M’ sorry, fuck, sorry, sorry, felt too fuckin’ good, couldn’t stop it-”

“S’ okay.” You reassure as he pulls out, “You’ll last longer next time.” 

Billy is laughing and starting to thrust into you again, “Fuckin’ pathetic, man.”

Stu shoved Billy’s shoulder and said, “Oh lay off, you didn’t last much longer first time you got in that ass.” 

You giggled, “He’s right, you know.” Stu taps your cheek and says, “Open up.”

Mouth falling open in compliance, he re-inserts, you still had to get the last two off and were eager to do so. You can hear Ethan trying to defend himself to Mickey, “I could feel Billy in her pussy when I was in there, and it was too much!”

“The extra friction will get you, it’s true.” Mickey sympathizes, and you suppress a laugh, trying to focus on sucking the dick in your mouth and moving your hips in time with Billy’s thrusts. 

[wolfiesmoon]

Chocolate-covered strawberries

riddle x gn!reader

have u ever wanted to have a (totally definitely platonic with no romantic feelings involved, wdym? *wink wink*) sleepover w riddle? bcs if so, you might wanna read this

thanks to @chillpanda36 's plant related encouragement i am once again riddleposting (hope u dont mind being tagged ＞︿＜)

I kinda got carried away and wrote waaaaay more than I thought i would

"Wow, your room is so... swanky." you commented upon entering his room for the first time. It was decorated in checkerboard patterns and heart motifs, which was very fitting for the dorm of Heartslabyul.

You never expected him to actually agree when you jokingly suggested a sleepover, but you're definitely not complaining.

"Thank you. It was modeled after the Queen of Hearts' castle and has mostly stayed the same throughout the dorm's history. I only made a few adjustments to have it be better suited to me." he explained. Clearly, he took good care of the place since it looked very clean and organised.

"By the way, you won't collar me if I happen to break any of your weird rules by accident, will you?" you were still somewhat worried you'd have to sleep with that uncomfy collar around your neck.

"I will excuse you from the rules, just this once. But do not call the rules 'weird', as it is quite disrespectful to do so." he crossed his arms.

Well, atleast you're glad about that.

You placed down the little bag of stuff you brought with you just for this occasion. You got so excited you ended up planning out several activities for you and Riddle to do.

But first, you have pyjamas to change into! Riddle graciously offered to let you change in his bathroom. Even in there, everything is super clean and organised, almost to a scary degree. Somehow, you get the feeling that Riddle doesn't really know how to "have fun". In a 'casually messing around with firends' kinda way.

After changing into your pyjamas, you call out to Riddle to make sure he's done changing as well. Once he confirms he has, you exit his bathroom to find Riddle in an oversized, frilly pair of white pjyamas, the kind you'd find people wearing in the medieval times. Oh. My. God.

"Pffft.... You-" you had to pause to hold back from laughing. "You look like a starving victorian child." you couldn't help but point out the silly resemblance. The pjyamas brought the whole look together.

"I haven't the slightest clue what a victorian child is, but I am certainly not starving. Why must you constantly insult me with such strange phrases?" Oh, it makes sense he wouldn't get the comparison. And even if he did, you feel like he wouldn't be very amused.

"They aren't insults. Just little comparisons." You smiled innocently at him. While they are just comparisons in a sense, they are usually meant to rile him up a little bit. You just can't help but banter with anyone and everyone sometimes.

Riddle felt a slight shiver run down his spine since you reminded him of a certain someone who likes comparing people to sea creatures at that moment. Though your lovely smile didn't resemble his creepy grin at all.

Lovely... smile? What is he even thinking about right now?

"Are you... good? You're making a weird face." your voice snapped him out of it and he assured you he was perfectly fine. No cause for concern.

"You might not be starving, but are you in the mood for a little snack?" you tried your best to sound enticing, like you're mass advertising the little surprise you brought along with you.

"The rules state that-"

"I double-checked the dorm rules, don't worry. And I also know you don't like junk food, so I made sure my snack is on the healthier side. Sorry for interrupting you, by the way." you laughed awkwardly at his offended pout. But you weren't going to lie, his angry face wasn't intimidating or scary at all (atleast not right now). It gives off more of an 'angry little kitten' vibe to you. But you already made one silly comparison tonight so you feel like Riddle might appreciate this one even less.

"Well then. I'd like to know what it is." he actually seemed pretty interested in what you came up with. You dug around your bag, pulling out a packet of chocolate-covered strawberries.

"Feast your eyes on these bad boys!" the specific choice of chocolate-covered strawberries was a calculated one on your end. You had asked Trey about Riddle's food preferences before, but it was unrelated to this sleepover. You can only thank your past self (and Trey) for arming you with the valuable knowledge that Riddle likes strawberry tarts (and consequently strawberries, you hope).

"Oh. I suppose these look quite tasty." he was actually really pleasantly surprised about your choice of snack. It's surprisingly fit to his tastes.

How thoughtful of you...

"Here, have one!" you actually made homemade chocolate just for these. Trey gave you a good baking lesson on how to do that. So of course, you want him to be the first one to try!

He hesitates for a moment. Although the food you're giving him doesn't break any of the Queen's rules, it still feels off to be eating so late at night. Scheduled meals are so ingrained into his mind that he feels the sudden urge to reject the offer and go brush his teeth immediately.

But something strange blooms in his heart when he sees the excitement in your gaze and he submits, telling himself he'll do it just this once. For you.

He grabs one of the strawberries from the packet, slowly and hesitantly raising it to his mouth as if it were forbidden to eat. It still felt forbidden, no matter how many times he told himself it was fine to let loose sometimes.

"It's... delicious." he comments upon eating the entire strawberry.

"Oh, goodie! I was worried I messed up the chocolate, somehow." his eyes went slightly wide upon hearing that you made part of them yourself. He felt his chest tighten up slighly. In a good way.

"In that case, I shall have some more. And you eat them too, since you prepared them for this occasion." the two of you sat down on the edge of his bed, placing the strawberries in between you so you could both easily reach for them while talking.

You still made sure you swallowed the food before you talked though. To avoid a scolding about proper manners from Riddle.

"So, for this sleepover I was thinking we could try summoning a demon, playing board games, doing karaoke, watching a movie, playing 'would you rather', making a pillow fort, and-"

"What was that first one?" Riddle had never experienced a sleepover before, so he had no clue what people actually did in them but he always just imagined sleepovers were purely sleeping at eachother's houses, not doing anything BUT that. He could barely keep up with all of the things you were listing off, but the first one ESPECIALLY stumped him.

"Summoning a demon? Everyone tries that in sleepovers. Usually doesn't work." you shrugged casually, reaching for another strawberry.

"How... horrific. And utterly nonsensical. What joy do you get from doing something so horrible? Especially if you know it won't work?" he seemed genuinely stumped by the concept, which made you want to laugh but you held back since you didn't want to choke on a chocolate-covered strawberry. It would certainly be a way to go.

"It's about the thrill, Riddle. What if it actually works this time? You never know...." you whisper teasingly, like a narrarator in a horror movie.

"In that case, we are absolutely not doing that." he hates to admit it, but he's actually kind of worried a silly ritual might workmand is taking precautions right now to not let it happen at all.

"Hahaha, that's fine! We can do all the other stuff, then." you decided to take mercy on him after seeing how hard he's trying not to let it show that he's scared of demon summoning games. He reminds you of your friends on your first sleepover when you tried summoning a demon. All of you were acting tough and unbothered back then, but were deathly afraid and unable to sleep after.

When you reached for another strawberry, you just happened to grab Riddle's hand instead. Seems you were both going for the same one. Actually, that one's the final one!

"Oops... you go ahead and take it. I feel like I've had enough." you smiled awkwardly at him. Gosh, is it suddenly slightly hotter in here or is it just you?

"Thank you." Riddle looked away, turning his head so you wouldn't see his reddening face as he ate the final strawberry. He's kinda mad at himself for getting so flustered over an accidental hand hold. Your hand felt so... nice to hold. It would be so nice if he could hold it more often. Gah, what on earth is he thinking?! None of this is rational...

An awkward silence fills the room.

And you get a cheeky little idea.

You picked up a pillow from his bed and threw it at the back of his head.

"Hey. What do you think you are doing-HHMMF!" you threw another pillow, this time directly at his face as he turned around to scold you.

"PILLOW FIGHT!" you yelled out excitedly, already grabbing another pillow to defend yourself with as you scurried on the other side of his bed. You giggled at the way his entire face flushed red with anger.

"That was no fair! I was not prepared at all!" you totally caught Riddle off guard, but now he was prepared to have his revenge. He never had a pillow fight before, but if little kids are capable of having one, so is he. And he is quite confident that his magical abilities will give him the upper hand against you.

"Even if you were, I'd still win! They called me the pillow fight champion back in my world!" you throw a pillow at him, which he stops with his magic.

"Oh, we'll see about that. You've had quite enough of landing hits on me, I believe." he smirked confidently at you, feeling a childlike excitement running through his veins.

Now that he thinks about it, it has been a long long time since he has felt this excited and relaxed. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to do this over and over and over again.

In moderation.

[lizzybeeee]

the language being stripped of lore specific terms made it so much worse in retrospect. fr tho Davrin calling Eldrin "Uncle" Eldrin instead of Hahren, like it's okay Davrin you can use elvish around my Rook I won't judge :( I haven't romanced him does he at least call you vhenan??

I could get the use of 'uncle' if Davrin was trying to explain it to Rook who was not elvish (since all elves in this game seem to just instinctively know elvish) since it would make sense to make a connection between the dalish role and familial role for an outsider:

Rook - "Who are we seeing?" Davrin - "Hahren...Uncle Eldrin." Rook - "Hahren?" Davrin - "It's elvish - they're storytellers and caretakers in the clan." Rook - "So...not your uncle." Davrin - "Close enough. He raised me."

Does Davrin call you 'vhenan'? I could have sworn he did in the final love/petting over clothes scene but I did a look up because I couldn't remember...apparently its just my wishful thinking - but don't quote me, maybe it's only in a specific dialogue option? :(

That fact that I can't recall it off the top of my head is telling -> Solas calls Lavellan 'vhenan' so much its burned into my brain, the same with other endearments from other romances. I played as a shadow dragon elf so I was hoping to be able to say 'amatus' - didn't get to do that either.

Which is one reason that the romances in this game really fall flat for me. I loved how different characters had different endearments for you, it made it feel more personal! Bull with 'Kadan', Dorian with 'Amatus', Solas with 'Vhenan', Leliana with 'My Love', and Sera had a 'pick your own' that wonderfully reflected her character!

I assume they were trying to make the language more accessible for new players, but it was never a barrier for me in any of the other games? If anything it always made me more interested/curious in what was going on when I encountered a phrase that I didn't understand. It added to the idea that these characters were from different nations and cultures - they had their own languages and phrases that reflected that -> the world felt bigger because of it!

Even if I didn't understand something, the voice work was always so stellar that even if the exact meaning wasn't understood, I got the intent that it was being said with.

Best examples being Solas and the Arishok - I understand certain words and phrases of each language, but I'm not a translator like some very talented people on this website. Even if I didn't get what was being said I absolutely understood the intent from the emotion and nuances in voice work. Top tier example is Solas and Sera in DAI:

Solas: Our people used to be here. Sera: Pfft, you say that everywhere. Solas: It is more true than you want to believe. Sera: I bet, right? Who wants to think about stepping on dead elves. Solas: Din elvhen emma him? Sera: Oh, you felt that one.

The way that line was delivered was incredible. Didn't understand a word but you could absolutely feel the repressed fury of what Solas was saying - his disgust at what Sera said. Once again, Gareth David-Lloyd coming in with incredible voice work! <3

It's such a strange choice to just...remove that immersion - to have so little of it in-game. Does it require extra work to make certain that the characters language reflects their history and culture? Yes! But what it adds is so immense to the world. I can't imagine not having Solas call Lavellan by elven endearments or having Andrastian characters not say 'Thank the Maker!' or 'Maker's breath!' It was cool worldbuilding! Just like how we say 'oh my god' there's a Thedas equivalent that communicated the very same idea!

Hearing lore specific words and phrases makes me know that I'm playing a Dragon Age game. Playing DATV which severely lacks in those words and phrases made me realize I'm sitting on my swivel chair and looking at a computer screen.

[ssspideysense]

₊˚ෆ bad habits

summary: peter tends to act on impulse — that’s what got him here in the first place.

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

tags: fluff, pining, peter’s a hopeless romantic

wc: 2.7k

What makes something a bad habit?

People usually use the phrase when they mean too much of something— too much coffee in the morning, too many cigarettes a day, too much to drink on the weekends. Overindulgence. Lack of self control.

Peter thought about this as he waited, the skin-tight material of his suit doing absolutely nothing to block the chilling rain running down his back. Past the city lights glimmering against her window pane, the apartment inside was dimly lit. He could make out the splash of colors against the hallway from the living room TV. It wouldn’t surprise him if she fell asleep on the couch again— she had a bad habit of staying up too late, biting off more than she could chew most nights and paying for it a few hours later. He wondered briefly, and hoped a bit selfishly, that he maybe had something to do with that.

He knocked again. Louder, in a little rhythm— bum ba bum, bum ba bum.

No more than once a week. That’s how it started out, however many months ago, when he crawled through that window for the first time. Swinging by more than one night a week would be way too much. He had things to do, really, and so did she. It wasn’t realistic to expect her to wait around, twiddling her pretty little thumbs, keeping her schedule free for a chance to let him into her bedroom window at 12:17 am.

12:18 am.

12:19 am.

Peter shivered. The cold had started to seep into his skin, but the chill that ran up and down his spine wasn’t from the sudden downpour.

Even the glimpse of her figure, a dark silhouette he could pick out in any city crowd, was enough to set off that tingle in the base of his skull, even for just a moment. He watched her scurry over to the window, an apologetic look tugging on her face.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t hear you,” she said, and her voice was music slipping over the smack of raindrops against the iron fire escape, “oh my God, get in here, will you?”

If he had a tail, it’d be wagging. Sometimes he was grateful for the mask and the few freedoms it allowed him—

“Wait here.”

—she couldn’t see the way his entire face lit up as he happily maneuvered through the window, or the way his eyes followed her as she wandered over to her linen closet to grab a towel for him.

Peter stood in a puddle on her hardwood. Obedient, embarrassingly so.

“Did I wake you up?” he asked. In the relative dark of her quiet bedroom, she handed him the towel, gazing up at him with the kind of eyes that make poets pick up pens.

“I should probably be saying yes, since it’s midnight, but I’m going to be disappointing and say no,” she chuckled under her breath and took a small step back.

Peter wrapped the towel around his shoulders like a kid getting out of the pool. It smelled like her laundry detergent, a scent he never thought he’d catch himself daydreaming about when he was miles away and objectively much busier with something much more pressing.

He had a bad habit of letting his mind wander, especially when it wanted to grip onto memories of her.

“You’re gonna hate yourself in the morning,” he replied.

She sent him a pointed look with a raised brow. “And so are you, when you wake up sick. What the hell are you doing? Does the song Itsy Bitsy Spider not ring a bell?”

She fussed over him. He liked it when she fussed over him.

“Yeah, y’know, the part where he climbs up the spout again is my favorite, actually.”

There was a pair of sweatpants and a big hoodie thrown at him before he could even pretend to argue against them.

“I’ll put some coffee on,” she said, gliding away, leaving him to drip quietly in her bedroom as he watched her back disappear down the hall.

“Decaf?” he called after her.

“Do you really want decaf?” she called right back.

She’d slipped from view, little clinks and clunks from the kitchen catching his ears. Peter shrugged the towel from his shoulders and started to peel his suit off. It’d become a second skin, literally and figuratively, clinging to every inch of him, making him shudder as the warmth of her apartment replaced the cold wrap of wet spandex.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind, bug— trying to be more health conscious this year,” Peter replied with a grin. In reality, he knew she’d be up all night and woefully exhausted the next day if she got her hands on some regular coffee, so he’d gladly take one for the team with decaf.

He stood at the foot of her bed in his boxers, looking down at the change of clothes she insisted upon him.

It was strange, the way Peter was utterly exposed like this, not even behind a closed door for a breath of privacy, but it didn’t bother him. The suit and the mask sat in a heap next to her radiator and it didn’t matter. He pulled the comfortable cotton up to his hips and slipped the hoodie over his head.

Soft, warm, foreign yet familiar all at once.

He heard her footsteps, heard them pause at the mouth of the hallway. The gut-drop feeling of meeting her gaze unobstructed, bare-faced and messy haired, wasn’t the same as it was the first time. Or the second, or third— she knew his face just as well as he knew hers at this point. Anxiety faded over time, replaced with a new, giddy sort of rush that started in his chest and spread over his body in waves.

She made him feel like a teenager again, and she didn’t even have to do anything. It was a little pathetic, maybe, how much he looked forward to these kinds of nights, but he’d ruminate about that later in the quiet of his bed.

Peter padded his way down the hall to her, moving through the space like he belonged there. He took in her small smile as she leaned back against the kitchen island. The smell of coffee hit him once the machine started to gurgle softly on the counter.

“Are you still cold? I can crank up the heat,” she offered as he drew closer. Her gaze fell on his mouth then— more specifically, the cut on his bottom lip. A little hiss escaped her as she reached up and brushed her thumb beside it.

He looked down at her with a slightly amused expression, watching her brows furrow down as she examined his face.

“No, it’s fine. I’m already walking around in your clothes, waiting on a cup of your coffee. I feel like a Tinder date that’s vastly overstayed his welcome, and I just got here,” Peter quipped, letting her turn his head by his jaw and study him some more. Her soft fingers caught his stubble but she didn’t seem to mind.

She arched a brow at him and eventually pulled her hand back. “I’ve never had a Tinder date crawl into my eighth-story window before.”

“I’m not really an expert on romance, but something tells me that’s a good thing.”

Her hum was low as she turned and gathered two mugs from the cupboard above her. “Tinder isn’t exactly the place to look for romance anyway, Spidey,” she sat them down with a clink.

Spidey.

He’d chosen to start with his face last summer. A bold choice, truly, but it felt like the safer option at the time. There was eight million people in New York— a couple thousand guys were bound to look just like him.

A face without a name was the tiniest breadcrumb he could drop to satiate that need, that desire to feel seen by her in some capacity without completely laying himself out there.

It was a dance he didn’t know the steps to. But she played along well, stumbling in the dark with him and letting him lead, however awkward and shaky.

Peter leaned against the counter and watched her pour two cups. “It’s not? I’m not really in the dating scene. Do people still meet out in the wild these days?”

And she gave him that little chuckle under her breath he liked. “You sound old,” she mused as she reached into her fridge. The pale light bathed her in a sweet, domestic sort of glow that one could only feel in sweatpants in the kitchen after midnight.

“Hey— I’m only twenty-six,” he countered, dipping his head despite the little grin growing on his face.

He watched her pause, just for a moment.

Another breadcrumb. A thread.

But she didn’t draw too much attention to it. Peter pictured her tucking it away for future reference.

“Well, to answer your question, yes. I guess people do still meet out in the wild,” she poured the creamer and scooped the sugar and reminded him that she knew so much about him without really knowing him, not yet, and he both loved and hated that, “but I’m probably not the best person to ask about all that. I think if a man randomly approached me in a bookstore or something, I’d probably assume he was some kind of weirdo.”

Peter hummed, his brow furrowed but his lips twitched into a lopsided grin. His fingers were cold when he gently accepted the drink from her.

“Alright, noted. What about guys that fall out of the sky and crash into your fire escape?”

He peered at her over the top of the mug as he took the longest, hottest drink of his life— anything to avoid the reality of what he just said for a few moments longer.

His throat burned, but it was fine.

The air felt heavier then, thick like the air outside as her gaze flicked over his face.

“That depends. Is he kind of awkward in a weirdly charismatic way?”

And Peter swallowed down the lava for a chance at a deeper breath without choking, “I mean— in this completely hypothetical and improbable scenario, yeah, I’d— I’d say so,” he replied.

The corners of her mouth curled up softly. “And did he come back a week later, trying to apologize with four different types of candy at ten o’clock at night?”

He cleared his throat to try and hide the chuckle that almost slipped out. “He didn’t know what kind you liked,” Peter said, that heat trickling up to his face for a different reason.

She blew on her coffee before sipping it, because she clearly had more sense than he did, and shrugged.

“Helping you out with a broken nose and a concussion makes for a more interesting story to look back on,” she replied softly.

This line they were toeing was a tightrope, strung high and taught and delicate.

Sometimes Peter wanted to take the leap. Just dive right onto the other side, tugging her along with him.

The clock on the stove read 12:37.

12:38.

“Do you think about it? The night we met?”

And she sat her mug down on the counter beside her. The sweater she wore was loose and comfortable on her frame as she crossed her arms. “Sometimes.”

“Just sometimes?”

“Do you?” she countered, tilting her head just a bit to the side as she gazed up at him.

Peter leaned back. His mug was empty, the roof of his mouth was a bit sore, but he swallowed regardless. “I do, sometimes.”

“Just sometimes?”

The rain outside picked up. It smacked against her windows with the whistle of wind just underneath it all.

“Sometimes, when I can’t sleep. I’m usually thinking about the last time I saw you, though. Much clearer picture there,” he said.

She rolled her eyes and looked off to the side, though her soft, slight smile cut the air of annoyance she tried to hold on to.

“Stop,” she mumbled, shaking her head, “that’s not fair.” He had a feeling he knew what she meant— and he had to agree, watching her avoid his gaze.

Peter reached a hand out to pull her arms out of their closed off, crossed position. Despite the tension in her shoulders, she was soft, pliable, letting him grasp her wrists and guide her forward gently into his torso.

He wrapped around her, his nose in her hair, committing the scent of her shampoo to memory.

“I know,” he mumbled back.

She was quiet, her cheek pressed against his chest in that borrowed hoodie she thought he looked criminally good in. After a few moments of his fingers lightly tracing shapes between her shoulder blades, she sucked in a breath. “That’s not fair, either, Spidey.” And she was right again.

He had a bad habit of trying to fix everything.

“Peter,” he said, his voice low against her roots, “it’s Peter.”

The wind shook the windows. She was nearly laying on him with how he held her, his long frame leaned back, arms circled around her shoulders. His breath came in calculated waves, but she could feel the rhythm changing the longer she stayed silent, along with his heartbeat under her ear.

A deep breath in, a deep breath out.

“Peter,” she tried it out, and it felt like hearing her voice for the first time.

His fingers splayed over her back and his palm smoothed up her spine. “Yes?” he mumbled back.

She had a bad habit of wearing her heart on her sleeve, at least around him.

“I think I might have a thing for guys who fall out of the sky and crash into my fire escape.”

Overindulgence, lack of self control— whatever it was, it didn’t matter, really. Peter smiled against her scalp. A low rumble of a chuckle vibrated through his chest. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head once, twice, and squeezed her against him.

She let out a little grunt in response, feeling too much like a squeaky toy to not laugh. “Pe—Peter—super strength, remember?”

“Right, yeah— my bad, bug,” he loosened his hold just enough for her to look up at him, her palms now flat on his chest between them. “But, y’know, you have some pretty weird tastes. I should’ve known when you picked the gummy bears over the Reese’s.”

12:52. He had one foot dangling on the other side of that line he spent far too long thinking about.

And she laughed that laugh and scrunched her nose up the way she did when she found something amusing, yet dumb. She did that a lot when he talked. He took it as a personal victory every time.

“You really don’t have any room to call me weird. You run around the city in spandex every night,” she mused, her lips curled into a smile.

“It makes me aerodynamic.”

“Yeah, you were real aerodynamic when you smacked your head on the rail—“

Peter was never really a planner. It made sense in the moment, to lean in and kiss her, his hands shifting to either side of her jaw. And it made sense the way she hummed into his mouth, either from surprise or the fact that she was very much in the middle of a sentence. But it was alright, because they stood there in the middle of her dark kitchen at 12:55 am, and her lips were soft, much softer than his.

He decided he could excuse every one of his bad habits, maybe write them off as quirks instead, because as he kissed her, he realized that every single one had led him right there; drinking decaf coffee in borrowed sweatpants, listening to the rain and her deepened breathing.

She pulled away just enough to speak, their lips still brushing against each other, “I wasn’t done—“

“Neither was I,” his tone was nothing but a playful tease, and he kissed her again, “how rude of you to interrupt me like that,” and again, “honestly, sometimes I can’t believe the lack of manners in this city.”

Her laugh was grounding when his head was busy floating. She smacked his chest lightly. “Lack of manners? Let’s start with you. You crawl in through my window soaking wet, drink my coffee in my clothes that I totally don’t keep around for you just in case, and kiss me without permission,” she gave him the grocery list and he nodded to each point over-attentively, humming along.

“Right, yeah— you forgot the part where I interrupted you.”

“And you interrupted m—“

Peter kissed her again.

[beardedjoel]

new addiction

boss!joel x f!reader one shot collection | part two

summary: you’ve been fantasizing about your boss, but when he leaves you a mysterious note to meet him after work hours, everything changes.

warnings: 18+! MDNI! non-apocalypse au, boss!joel is a lil mean but not too mean, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, unprotected piv, spit kink, size kink kinda, panty stealing? does that need a tag idk, this is a filthy nasty fic and i love it

word count: 4k

a/n: basically just a shamless one shot of joel being your boss and you getting to fuck him, this is not my most proof read work i’ve ever posted but i hope you all like it! inspired by the new taylor swift song “i can see you” it’s literally my religion right now

You feel the crinkle of the paper in your hands another time, staring down at it as if the words on the page are going to change any time soon. You read over the simple phrasing, almost wanting to trace your fingers over the inking just to check that it’s truly real.

my office

6pm

JM

You’ve been working for Mr. Miller - Joel, he told you to call him, but old habits die hard - for a little over four months now. You’d always been taught to refer to any person of authority this way, so it was taking some getting used to to just call him Joel. 

This has been the longest four months of your life, mostly due to the man in question - Joel fucking Miller, your boss, the man responsible for your livelihood, the man you absolutely should not be pining over. How you can stop lusting after him is beyond you when he looks like that - his dark hair has grown out a bit since you started, brown curls flecked with gray that match his beard traveling down his neck now. Curls you dream of sinking your hands into and tugging in the heat of the moment every single day. Every time his dark brown eyes catch yours during conversation, you have to fight your mind to stay on track.  Watching his lips move, wondering what they’d feel like on yours, on any part of your body. It’s been completely mind bending, the attraction you feel for him. 

It all started a few weeks ago, when you started to wonder if the attraction was mutual. At first, it was a sidelong glance that lasted a bit too long here and there, then a few times where he brushed his body a little too close to yours, and you’d feel the heat of it linger long after he was gone. You could scarcely breathe when he got that close to you, a few times he’d hovered behind you at your desk to look at something on the computer with you and you wondered how you weren’t combusting, flames dancing across your skin. The moment you’d felt his hot breath on your neck, you fought hard not to shudder, and when one slipped by, you cursed yourself, hoping Joel hadn’t noticed. You’d thought maybe he hadn’t, but he suggested as he walked away that maybe you get a sweater to wear inside if you were so cold.

Fucking asshole.

He had to know the effect he was having on you. No matter how hard you tried to hide it, he was flirting in his own, restrained way. The most you’d gotten out of him was when he put one of his large, my god, so large, hands on your lower back as he’d breezed past you in the small, cramped employee break room to get to the coffee machine. 

“‘Scuse me, doll,” he’d said gruffly as he passed, and you nearly choked upon hearing the little pet name from him. Doll… you’d rolled the word around in your mind the entire rest of the day, amazed you could get any work done.

It was a small office - just a little, rented space to run his contracting business out of, and you’d been hired on to do any kind of admin work, really. There wasn’t any kind of official job title, you’d just been needed to tend to the books, appointments, and making sure everything was in order. It wasn’t a bad gig, not your dream job by any means, but now that you’d fallen deeply into your infatuation with your boss, of all people, it was making it hard to want to leave. 

And if you’re honest with yourself, you should want to find a new job - Joel can be, well, an asshole, to put it mildly. He doesn’t have time for bullshit, and he makes that perfectly clear to everyone in his vicinity. All the employees at the construction sites and office do revere him, and know he’s one of the best in Austin to learn from and have on your resume as far as contracting goes. On his good days, however, he really is a pleasure to have around, and you relish in the times you get to see his warm smile and hear him laugh at one of his employees busting his balls. On those days, you can see the speck of hope that keeps the people around him in his life.

Joel typically stops in at least once a day before rushing off to check on things at his job sites, and sometimes you do worry he’s wearing himself too thin. He comes in looking exhausted some days, snapping easily and drinking copious amounts of coffee. But you have to constantly remind yourself that’s not for you to worry about - you aren’t his wife, his girlfriend, his anything. You can’t fight off the desire to be something for him, though, wanting to be there for him, to provide some kind of release for him on those tightly wound days. From there, your mind drifts to the deepest corners of depravity, thinking of all the ways you could help him release.

On one such stressful day, he dropped a note on your desk, so quickly in passing anyone else in the room might have missed it. He didn’t bother to look back at you afterwards, leaving you wide eyed, staring down at the small piece of paper that was folded in half as he continued on to his office.

You felt like you were floating the entire day, anticipation boiling in your gut as you wondered if this note could mean what you think it does. By the time 5:45 rolls around, Joel having breezed back into the building and shutting himself in his office thirty minutes ago, you’ve decided you’re either getting canned or fucked tonight, and both options are making you so nervous you might jump out of your own skin. The few people left in the office pack up for the day and head out, leaving you pretending to finish up work as you wave goodbye to them.

You stand up right on time, smoothing down the short pencil skirt you’re wearing before breathing deeply and reaching for the doorknob to his office. You knock as you open the door, poking your head in. Joel looks up from his desk, where he’d had his forehead on his palm, looking over some paperwork.

“See you got my note,” he says, his voice slightly hoarse from a day of likely speaking and barking orders at his various job sites. “Shut the door behind ya,” Joel adds, and you feel your heart jump further into your throat, a slightly shaky hand shutting the door behind you as he asks. 

“Sure. Er, what’s this about, Mr. Miller?” You fidget with your hands in front of you, resting them on your belly as you wait expectantly. 

“Joel, remember?” he replies with a cocky smile. You still haven’t quite figured out his intentions, and at this point, you figure it could go either way, and you’re bracing yourself internally for either losing your job or what could be the best sex of your life.

“Right,” you say with a shaky chuckle. “Nervous habit, sorry… Joel.”

“Nothin’ to be nervous about, why don’t ya come on in,” Joel says genially, a hint of a smirk pulling at his lips at hearing you say his name. 

You slowly make your way to the chair that’s across from his desk, a cluttered mess that you’ve learned is organized in his own way, as he always seems to be able to find everything he needs despite you offering many times to help organize it for him. S��okay, I’ve got a system, he’d repeat every single time, so eventually you’d given up on asking.

“How was your day? You seem stressed,” you dare to ask as you sit down, and Joel quirks a brow at you.

“Same old bullshit,” he says breezily, rubbing a hand down his face and pushing the papers on his desk aside, focusing his attention on you. “So fuckin’ stressed, but you don’t need to worry about all of that.”

“What if…” you start, swallowing hard. Now or fucking never. If you’re about to possibly lose your job, you may as well go out with all you’ve got. “What if I did worry about that?” you blink a few times, eyelashes fluttering in his direction and Joel gives you an indiscernible look, but you swear his eyes go a shake darker. “Just, that you’re stressed, I mean. Isn’t it my job to help you?”

Joel barely even reacts other than a flicker across his eyes that you only notice because you’re looking so intently. The bastard was probably prepared for this, like he knew you’d come in here ready to flirt your little heart out if the situation called for it.

Fucking. Asshole. But an extremely hot asshole with his eyes trained right on yours, making you melt instantly and forgetting all about the cursing him you were doing in your head.

“That so?” Joel says slowly with an amused, deep chuckle. He stands up, making his way around the desk towards you, and your heart picks up, practically beating out of your chest now. “That in your job description, hm? Help ol’ Mr. Miller when he’s stressed?” 

His tone, his body language, everything is screaming green lights for you to continue this witty repartee. “It could be, if you wanted it to,” you reply, squaring your shoulders back, not cowering from his gaze, but rather intensifying yours with a small pout of your lips. Joel’s movements over to you are slow and calculated, practically sauntering until he’s standing in front of you. He absolutely towers over you now, more than usual, his broad shoulders looking even wider from your angle below him. He leans back on the desk, perching on the edge, giving you a direct view at his crotch, a now very apparent bulge in his jeans.

“Pretty thing like you’d really want to do all that for me?” Joel asks.

You lick your lips, trying to steady your breathing. “Mhm,” you sound, and your confirmation is enough to have Joel leaning forward, placing a hand on your cheek, fingers ghosting along the skin as he makes his way down to your neck, the light trace of his calloused pads sending goosebumps along your arms.

“Like the way I’m touchin’ you, pretty girl?” he asks quietly, and you manage to let out another affirmative noise. You watch his thick fingers tracing down the top of your chest, silently begging please keep going, please. When his hand reaches the top button of your shirt, he pauses, and your legs squeeze together in anticipation. You nearly whine when he withdraws his hand, but seconds later he’s using a finger to tip your chin up, indicating for you to stand.

You meet him against his desk, his legs opening wide for you to step in between them, and you press in close, feeling unsure of what to do with your hands, how far he wants to take things. You delicately place a hand on his thigh to steady yourself, and he slips his arms around you, immediately sliding them down your back and to your ass.

“Fuck,” he mumbles as he squeezes your ass firmly through your skirt. “Such a sexy little thing, you wear this for me?”

“You’ve caught me,” you say with a sly look. The skirt isn’t anything that scandalous, but you do suppose it shows more of your legs than may typically be deemed appropriate in an office setting. You’ve always blamed the more skimpy clothing you’d wear on the hot Austin climate, but you know in the back of your mind, it was all always for Joel.

“Don’t have to wear all this to get my attention, y’know,” he says a little more tenderly, still kneading the globes of your ass hungrily, pulling your skirt up in the process.

“Seemed like you enjoyed it, all those times I saw you watch me leave your office,” you quip back.

“Damn right I did, ‘m only human, darlin’,” he says gruffly, yanking you forward, and the hardness in his jeans is pressing right into your own throbbing heat, sending a swirling wave of desire in between your legs. Slickness is gathering there quickly, leaving your underwear already wet and uncomfortable against your skin.

“On your knees, now,” Joel says, pushing you down by your shoulders until you bow under the pressure, getting down onto the carpet and sitting on your knees. “That’s a good girl,” he says with a smirk. He makes quick work of his belt and zipper, freeing his cock within moments, and it takes everything in you not to gasp at the sight laid before you.

His cock is beyond what you’d imagined - he’s a big guy overall, but you can’t say you’ve ever been with someone his size, and it’s immediately intimidating. And the bastard knows it, you can tell by his coy little smile as you look at his throbbing cock with wide eyes, taking in the size of him at full attention. You take a little comfort in the fact that he seems painfully turned on by you, the head of his cock leaking pre-cum, pink and pulsating for any part of you to be on it.

“Go on now, doll, ain’t got all night,” Joel says, snapping you out of your reverence for his cock, and you glance up to him before placing a few kisses on the head. Joel hisses through his teeth, his hips bucking forward at your face. When you lap up the drop of precum, swirling your tongue with your eyes locked on his, he lets out a full groan. You hover over his cock, letting your drool collect and fall down onto his shaft in a long string, and the warmth of it brings out a frustrated growl from Joel. He watches with darkened eyes, and his hand shoots to the back of your head, gripping your hair tightly.

“Knew you’d be so fuckin’ dirty, such a little tease,” he growls out. He uses your hair to tilt your head back, so your neck is craned up, facing him more directly now. “If you’re gonna act like that, be willin’ to take it in return, sweetheart,” Joel says more coldly. “Open your mouth.” It’s not an ask, but a command, and the authoritarian in him makes you want to listen. You pop your mouth open, shaking a little bit under his tight grip as you watch him gather his own saliva and let it slowly fall out of his mouth, straight down into yours. You taste the strangeness of the sensation, never having had someone else's spit in your mouth in such a copious amount.

“Now swallow,” he demands, and you make a show of swallowing hard, eliciting a devious smile from Joel. “And get back to work,” he says, loosening his grip on your hair and pushing your head back to the level of his cock, dripping and awaiting your mouth.

You immediately slide your mouth down his shaft, not wanting any more pushback from Joel on your teasing, and you taste the saltiness of him as your mouth stretches more than you’re sure you can accommodate. You start to bob more quickly, savoring the myriad of groans and hums Joel makes in the height of his pleasure. 

“Fuck… your mouth’s even better than I ‘magined,” Joel says, his hips thrusting in time with your bobbing, sending his cock back further into your throat. A gag slips out, but you swallow him down, allowing him even deeper as your hand works on the rest of him that won’t fit inside of your mouth. He inhales sharply before pushing you back by the shoulders, his cock leaving your mouth with a loud pop.

You barely have time to be confused by the sudden interruption before Joel pulls you up under the arms, spinning you and flattening you against his desk, and you scramble to slide back, papers and office supplies spilling and moving everywhere. He flings a frustrated hand to clear it out of the way, sending everything flying onto the floor, and you stare wide-eyed, thinking this kind of thing only happens in the movies. And here you are, living in a real life fucking movie.

Joel grips your face, turning your attention back his way before crashing his lips into yours, ravenous kisses and swipes of his tongue taking over every sense. You moan, grinding your hips into him as you return the energy of his kisses, pulling back to trace your lips along his chin, the roughness of his beard scratching your face before you reach his earlobe, giving it a few gentle sucks.

“Shit,” Joel hisses out, pushing down your chest to have you lay back on the desk. He tugs under your knees, pulling you to the edge and hiking up your skirt in the process. His hand slides up your thigh, and you’re panting in anticipation, knowing he’s about to see the very evidence of your arousal absolutely soaking your lace panites. When Joel hooks his thumbs in the sides, pulling them down, he makes a satisfied huff at the slick, shining stain that’s left on the black fabric.

“Now that’s a sight…” Joel says, holding the panties up before slipping them into his back pocket. “Didn’t know you’d wanted to help me de-stress this badly, darlin’, would’ve called you in here ages ago,” he teases you with a wry chuckle, clearly enjoying the very compromising position he has you in.

“I do,” you say impatiently. “Didn’t know if it was okay to… you’re my boss.” 

“More than okay. Y’see, I’ve been thinkin’ the same thing f’ a while now, havin’ to resist such a perfect little thing that walked right into my office one day.” He tuts with frustration, tightening his grip on your thighs. “Seen you watch me like you couldn't wait to get that mouth on this cock, sugar.”

You nod, confirming everything he said was true. “I j-ust see you so worked up, so much on your shoulders, Joel. Let me…” you heave, “Take it all out on me.”

You tempt him to take that next step, wrapping your legs around his hips, your ankles crossing over each other to pull him even closer. 

“Sure you ain’t gonna tell anyone about this?” Joel asks with a few huffs, clearly holding back from what he really desires right now. His body is radiating the unmet need of release that’s throbbing from his every pore right down to his painfully hard cock.

You shake your head wildly, the back of your head moving along the desk. You sit up enough to peer at him and make sure he knows you’re serious. 

“Our little secret,” you whisper huskily, letting a smile curl onto your lips. 

“Good girl.” Joel returns the smile, one much more cunning as his features darken and he pushes his hard cock against your opening, the large head alone already making your hips twitch with pleasure. When he pushes in you make a small whimper, but try to stuff it down quickly as he stretches you with a beautiful sting along your opening. 

“Fu… oh my god,” you murmur, as he pushes in further and further, until you’re sure you couldn’t possibly be more full of him. When he moves past even that point, you groan and realize he’s fully seated inside of you, deeper than you’d ever imagined was even possible. You quickly pulsate around him, your body adjusting to his size until it starts to feel more pleasurable than painful.

“There we go, look at that…” Joel says breathlessly. “Takin’ this cock so pretty, aren’t ya?” He doesn’t even take a beat before he begins thrusting, his massive hands holding tightly onto your hips to steady you as you jostle back onto the desk. Your back arches into the pounding of your two bodies together, warmth growing from deep inside of you where he’s hitting so perfectly. You decide that while you’d made this about him, you wanted to fulfill a fantasy of your own while you had the chance. You’d daydreamed of a certain scenario countless times over the weeks, one you intended to have come to life and turn out to be even better than you could have imagined.

“Fuck me over your desk, Mr. Miller,” you say, an extra bite on the last words, knowing he won’t correct you on his name this time. He growls, a noise deep in his throat at your words.

“Want me to bend you over ‘n fuck you right on this desk, d’ya?” Joel asks, not even allowing you to answer before pulling out of you. You brace yourself on the desk, hopping off and immediately turning around, standing up and pressing the entire length of your body back onto Joel’s. You reach an arm up around his neck and pull him down for a kiss, and he lets out a low hum, grinding into your back.

He doesn’t let it last, though, the tender kiss, before he pushes you down with the palm of his hand on your back, guiding you to rest with your ass out and body pressed low onto the desk. You pant hard, feeling slick gathering between your legs all over again at how close you are to fulfilling your ultimate fantasy with him.

Joel has no mercy, slamming his cock into you, and this angle is completely devastating, ready to ruin you at any moment as your legs immediately begin to shake when his cock hits against your walls hard. He thrusts into you over and over, and you can’t help but be anything but loud, moaning out his name and every expletive that comes to mind as you practically go wild over the way he pumps you so full each and every time. You feel tears sting your eyes, the release trying to build to a crescendo deep in your core. 

One of Joel’s hands finds your clit, rubbing tight circles and you fold, completely undone at the large pad of his finger starting to coax your climax out of you. 

“C’mon, let me feel you come on this cock, know you’ve been wantin’ to,” Joel says haughtily, and you give in to the sensation, letting the waves of practically transcendent pleasure overtake you as you come hard, screaming Joel’s name in the process.

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m gonna - “ Joel says in the midst of your writhing, moaning mess, before being cut off by his own orgasm being pulled from your pussy squeezing his cock. He quickly pulls out, letting himself spill onto your back with a few extra jerks of his cock, the ropes of cum warm on your skin. Joel breathes heavily, caught off guard by the intensity and quickness of his climax, knowing he nearly didn’t make it.

“Jesus, sugar, gonna make a man fuckin’ crazy with a pussy like that,” Joel purrs, using a tissue to begrudgingly clean up your back - he’d thought you’d looked much better all flushed and covered in his cum, and was already plotting a way to see it again and again.

You hum a satisfied sigh, turning back to look at him before sitting up and settling on the edge of the desk. “Glad I could help, boss,” you say teasingly, and Joel already feels another twitch in his cock at your toying with him. “You still stressed?” you ask, batting your eyelashes innocently.

“You’ve no fuckin’ idea…” Joel sighs. “Got a whole new set of problems now,” he says, looking you over with greedy eyes.

“Well, you know where to find me, if you ever need any help with that,” you say with a wink before hopping off the desk and breezing out of his office, daring a last look back at him.

[greenlegsandspam]

"Frat Boy Energy"

Intak x GN! reader

Warnings: Established relationship au, swearing, Intak being whiny, Fluff fluffy fluff, that's it

Word count: 713

Author's note: Quick little Intak drabble bc I just got into P1Harmony and wOW am I in love. Don't know how often I'll write little stories like this, but let me know if I should continue please!

*GIF not mine, thanks Google*

“What’s a frat boy?”

“What?” You look at your boyfriend, bewildered, wondering where the hell he heard that phrase from. 

Intak plops in between you and Keeho on the couch with a huff, crossing his arms across his chest, “The other host on MNet told me I have ‘frat boy energy.’”

Keeho lets out the loudest cackle you’ve ever heard while you’re frozen, stifling a laugh, not sure how to proceed.

Intak looks confused and frustrated while Keeho stands up, still laughing. He pats your shoulder, “Good luck explaining that one.”

“Stephan Yoon don’t you dare-“ your protest is interrupted by Keeho all but sprinting to the door, laughter echoing down the hallway. 

You sigh, facing Intak with a very forced smile, giving him a quick peck on the cheek, “Hi babe, how was hosting today?” Intak keeps his gaze on you, while you try to avoid this conversation.

“Y/n, what is it and why are you so against telling me,” he whines, throwing his limbs around in a mock tantrum. You bite your lip, realizing that yes, you have a child as a boyfriend, and yes, you have to explain this to him.

You shift uncomfortably, “Well, a frat is kind of like an exclusive club with business connections for college boys in the states.”

Intak blinks, “And how is that relevant to me and why does it have an ‘energy’?”

Yes, he used air quotes.

Cringing at how to word this, you run your hand through your hair and clear your throat, “Well… the frat boys are kind of notorious for dressing very similarly, throwing parties and treating women with minimal respect…” You say the last part as quietly as you can, hoping he doesn’t ask anymore. 

Intak is quiet for a second, his eyes trained on you but you can tell the cogs are turning in his head as he processes your words. After a minute or so, he finally speaks, “So what you’re telling me is I was basically called the American version of a fuckboy…” 

Instead of answering him, you turn your attention back to your phone, prompting him to groan loudly, “Oh my god I was!”

You can’t help but laugh now at how distraught he seems by this and try to help, “Okay, to be fair, frat boy energy doesn’t necessarily mean you are one! It’s more like, the vibe you give off paired with how you dress? I don’t know, it’s hard to explain when you don’t actually know, it’s not equivalent to fuckboy vibes but like… adjacent?” 

“How is that any better?” He throws his hands up in the air in frustration, “I’m not a fuckboy right? You don’t think I’m a fuckboy, right?”

“No, Intak, I don’t think you’re a fuckboy.”

“But do I give off frat boy energy?” 

When you don’t respond immediately he shouts a quick “aish” and stands up from the couch, but you’re quick to catch his hand and pull him back down next to you, “Okay okay, I think I can explain it better.”

His grumpy look urges you to continue, “It’s like, you’re easy to talk to, you know? Like you can make friends with people really quickly and you’re always positive, and can adapt to really any type of situation with ease. It’s not necessarily a bad vibe at all! Just means you’re super friendly, and maybe a little flirty sometimes, but overall just friendly and goofy.”

He slowly nods, seeming to understand, “Okay, so I’m just… friendly?” 

“And sometimes flirty.”

“And sometimes flirty,” he continues to nod, processing, “but not a fuckboy?”

“Not a fuckboy.”

“Okay…” he perks up a bit more, “Okay! I’m okay with that!”

You laugh and pat his arm, “Okay good, so you’re not upset anymore?” 

He shakes his head, wrapping his arms around you and giving you a very wet kiss on the cheek much to your dismay.

You fake disgust and wipe your cheek, cringing at the wet feeling and your boyfriend just laughs at you, squeezing you tighter. 

From the hall, you hear the unmistakable sass of Keeho’s voice, “You do give off frat boy vibes though!”

“Yah!” And Intak is gone sooner than he came, leaving you laughing on the couch at your idiot (frat) boys.