#I wouldn’t want to be my friend either!! can’t blame anyone!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gutsby · 6 months

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Abstaining Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: The only thing worse than an anti-sex retreat is an anti-sex retreat with your former fuckbuddy and dad’s best friend. Especially when sharing one cabin.

Warnings: 18+. IF HE AIN’T GRAYIN’ I AIN’T STAYIN’ 🗣️ [Age gap]. Unprotected p-in-v. Forced proximity. Joel making you fuck just his middle finger when he’s mad. Daddy kink. Overstimulation. First-time squirting. Angst.

Translations: ‘Don’t piss down my back & tell me it’s raining’ is a fun Southern phrase for, ‘Cut the bullshit’ or ‘Don’t lie.’

Sequel to Waiting Game & Hating Game (last rhyme I swear)

October 26, 2024

Dear Joel,

Roses are red,

We’re a couple of sluts,

Abstinence camp is awful,

I miss you rearranging my guts.

You were just about to put your pen back down to paper and add the finishing touch, signing an equally lascivious farewell, when the letter was snatched out of your hands. A tyrant in khaki capris and an artichoke-colored polo eyed over your words with a pointed look and frowned.

“Letters to the boyfriend have to be G-rated,” Marlene said, crumpling the thing in her fist before chucking it.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you returned shortly. Then, “That was actually meant for my dad’s friend.”

You sat tight a moment as the dots came to connect in the woman’s parochial and prudish mind—waiting for the wince of disgust to twitch at the corners of her eyes when she put two and two together. Once it did, you grinned. Even when she plucked the pen out of your hand and told you to sit outside, if you can’t participate in this one simple activity, you smiled bigger and strolled at a comfortable pace out the canteen door.

Anti-sex ‘summer camp’ wasn’t bad at all when you didn’t give a fuck what your counselors told you to do.

It was ridiculous, really. Absurd. Tommy Miller catching you sucking his brother’s dick under the table at your father’s birthday dinner, losing his shit with you both, then threatening to tell your dad everything if you didn’t agree to this stupid retreat and stop seeing each other. You’d barely been trapped in the shithole for twenty-four hours, and you already knew this angle wouldn’t work.

What many of your fellow campers affectionately called the ‘Firefly Fuck-Free Zone’ or the ‘Federal Dickriding Response Agency’ (F.E.D.R.A.) was in fact a secluded enclave south of Austin where khaki-clad monsters forced you to reckon with your sexual urges like one might treat a mutated strain of the Cordyceps fungus. You weren’t meant to keep them for long, and if you did, someone like Marlene would surely shame you for it.

Frankly, Tommy was dumb as shit if he thought this anti-boinking boot camp would have an effect on either one of you—Joel wouldn’t ever bang you again after what happened that night, but it wouldn’t be because of some arts and crafts bullshit he did out on a FEDRA ranch.

He just didn’t want your dad to find out and kill him.

That was a fair concern to have. You didn’t blame him.

Presently, you kicked your feet up on the porch outside the cafeteria, where the rest of the group was finishing up letters to their loved ones—this latest activity was meant to be ‘making amends’ to the people in your life—and you tipped your head back to survey the landscape.

Nothing but sweetgrass and gently rolling hills as far as the eye could see. Somewhere across the plains there was another cluster of cabins, though you couldn’t quite see it, and someplace within that minuscule cluster, you knew there was a middle-aged man. Dark grey eyebrows furrowed in concentration and chest heaving gently. Likely hunched over an old oak desk about five sizes too small for his frame as he gripped a pen and scribbled:

Dear Tommy,

Fuck you, you fucking fuck.

Sincerely,

Joel

You grinned again just thinking about it.

If anyone had a reason to be ticked off and terrified, it was Joel. And you, you guessed. You still hadn’t gotten your period—but that wasn’t due for another few days.

For now, you’d settled on worrying yourself over what would happen after the retreat had ended; what would you and Joel do once you went back to school? What would become of his life back in Austin with a supremely pissed off brother and a best friend who didn’t know his kid had been fooling around with a man twice her age?

Silently, you thanked your lucky stars Joel’s part of the camp was kept separate from yours, because you didn’t think you’d be able to keep a straight face if you saw him.

The whole thing was sickening, if not slightly funny.

You slipped Joel’s old pack of American Spirits out of your boot and fished in your back pocket for a lighter.

Then you crammed both back when you heard a boom:

“LAKESIDE GUIDED MEDITATION STARTS IN FIVE.”

The tinny intercom rang a deafening pitch in your ears. You clamped a palm over the left side of your head and winced, having forgotten this exercise in mindfulness was supposed to be the last event to wrap up your day. You just wanted to slink back up to your cabin and sleep. Or eat. Or slip your fingers between your aching legs and indulge in some much-needed Joel Miller reminiscing.

Then you recalled how masturbation was also off limits to all would-be sexaholic campers—if there was any time to sneak off and get busy by yourself while your counselors were otherwise occupied, now would be it.

Just as you cast a glance over your shoulder to see if a stealthy exit was even possible, a voice trilled overhead.

“On your feet, skank.”

You looked back fast, and damn did Tess look smug.

Your bunkmate crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe, seeming to feel your thoughts before they’d even been fully processed.

“If you skip meditation, I think Marlene’s gonna take you behind the rec and shoot you in the head,” she added.

“How kind.”

“Yeah? Certain death?”

“Better than the dick deprivation,” you grumbled, only half-kidding as you dragged yourself back to your feet.

Theresa Servopoulos was no avid fan of penis herself—she much preferred women when she had her pick of it—but she grinned all the same and clapped a comforting hand over your shoulder before the two of you started walking down the mess hall’s front steps. Then she only laughed a little bit when you almost ate shit treading down the winding rocky trail to the lake and cursed your present lack of intercourse for causing your clumsiness.

“You realize it’s only been, like…a day, right?” she said.

“Might as well be a million,” you muttered, “I feel like I’m never getting laid again.”

“Oh?”

Tess gripped your elbow when a root protruding from the path nearly sent you flying again. She tried not to smile.

“Well…my fake brother’s mad at me for going behind his back and fucking his brother,” you explained, coolly.

Stupidly.

“Wait—you fucked your brother?!”

That stopped Tess in her tracks. The two of you were approaching the cusp of a clearing, just feet away from where the forest gave way to the shoreline of the lake. Folks were already congregating at the water’s edge.

“Any day now, ladies,” Marlene called through cupped hands. Tess was still regarding you with eyes the size of saucers as you traipsed across the way to that voice.

“Not my brother,” you hissed.

“You said your brother’s brother. That makes this guy your brother, too,” Tess whispered—still far too loud.

“Not my actual brother, he’s just— fuck—”

Suddenly, two scraps of red fabric were catapulted in your direction. Tess caught one. You caught the other.

“Tie ‘em over your eyes.” Marlene ordered.

“The fuck?” you mumbled, but ventured nothing more as you were ushered to join the group sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of you. Everyone else was tying bandanas around their eyes like all of this was normal.

“Another trust exercise,” Tess’s voice was low as you dropped your asses one after the other on the sand. Speaking like a seasoned veteran of the anti-sex retreat, she helped you get yours on and shot you one last ‘You-better-not-have-actually-fucked-your-sibling’ look before letting you help her secure her blindfold, too.

Just as Marlene began describing in great detail what this blind, guided meditation in self-love and elemental trust was meant to look like, your friend opted to give voice to her concerns the second the opportunity arose.

Still seated side-by-side, still blind, Tess leaned over.

“Please tell me you’re not here for bangin’ your brother.”

You had to stifle a laugh.

“I am not.”

“Then explain, Cersei!”

Just then, a throat cleared behind you. Evidently another camp counselor at your rear was telling you, wordlessly, to shut the fuck up and listen to the instructions. You and Tess just scooted closer and lowered your voices.

“So this guy, Tommy…he’s been like a big brother to me for years. Worked with my dad and always had my back for the wild shit I did back in high school,” you began.

“Uh-huh.”

“His big brother, Joel, is like…old as shit, but wildly hot.”

“Dangerous combo.”

“And Joel’s my dad’s best friend. Drove me back from college over fall break when he was visiting Boston, we took a little motel detour on the road trip home, and bam—” You snapped your fingers for effect, “We fuck, right?”

“Right.”

“—imagine you’re standing at the edge of a waterfall—”

Marlene couldn’t be serious with this hippy dippy shit. You tuned out the rest of what she said and continued:

“It’s incredible. But the condom busts open at the end—”

“Oh shit.”

“—deep breath in…and release…and again, we—”

“Freak the fuck out, right? I’m poppin’ Plan B like candy.”

“As you should.”

“—hold that breath in right there—”

“A week later, me and Joel hook up at my dad’s birthday party. Only we fuck up, ‘cause Tommy catches us, and—”

This time, the counselor who’d cleared their throat to shut you up took to nudging you both in the back with the toe of their shoe. You straightened up, tilted your head back, and scowled at them through your blindfold.

“Do you mind?” you said, turning in place but unable to see anything behind you. You imagined whoever had just butted in on your conversation was probably frowning. They said nothing in return, just huffed like a child.

“Anyway.” You pivoted back to Tess, “Tommy flips his lid, tells us he’s gonna snitch on us to my dad if we keep fucking around like that, and then he…sends us here.”

You heard your friend fight back a chuckle beside you.

“And abstinence camp is supposed to cure you of this awful disease? Wanting to fuck daddy’s best friend?”

Oddly, you wanted to giggle too. You weren’t sure what was so funny, or why Tess’s tone made you want to say something equally out of pocket and lewd, but then you were leaning over before you could even think twice:

“That old man’s dick is like a fuckin’ drug, dude.”

You wished you could’ve seen her face when you said it. But you didn’t need to catch a single glimpse to know she was grinning big and dumb when she whispered,

“Prehistoric cock must’ve been pretty nice, huh?”

You choked. She snorted. You returned, next, shortly,

“Best senior citizen schlong I’ve had in my life.”

You weren’t sure which one of you burst out laughing first. Maybe Tess. Probably you. Either way, both of your sides were splitting in seconds, as the ridiculous and just marginally offensive descriptors for Joel’s dick trembled at the tips of your tongues. You felt like a teenager again, telling your friend your filthiest desires for the DILF-next-door—except this time, you’d actually fucked him. Small perks to seeking out middle-aged men in your twenties. You had to clamp your hand over your mouth to rein in the peals of laughter as Tess wheezed quietly beside you.

Then you felt hands.

Two palms under your armpits, yanking you up.

You stumbled back, graceless and still staving off half a laugh as your back struck the counselor’s chest.

“Just…take her back up.” You heard a female’s voice to your left, low and not sounding particularly amused.

Take you where? Was this the part where Marlene dragged you behind the rec and shot you in the head?

About damn time.

Whoever had grabbed you grunted in acknowledgment. You swayed in their arms, trying to regain better footing, but the grip tightened up in a second and thrust you sideways. You staggered, cursing your captor.

“Fucker,” you hissed.

Fucker said nothing.

Their hands slipped from your pits to one of your wrists, leading you away from the lake in long strides. You were moving so fast you scarcely had the chance to pull the blindfold back, so you just kept walking. Marching.

“Can you slow the fuck down, please?”

You imagined the face of the person leading you forward might’ve twisted in a scowl. Their lips didn’t stir, though.

In a matter of minutes, your feet were crunching on the flat, gravelly terrain you knew to lay under the cabins. This person was leading you back. Likely to throw you off to your room in the next several moments—but not before ripping you a new one for disrupting the peace back down at the lake. You weren’t stoked to hear it.

“Alright, just—” You tripped as you were led up the rickety steps, cursing again, “—just leave me right here.”

A set of knuckles at your spine thrust you forward.

“No? Okay. Fine. Whatever.”

You shook your head as you entered the cabin and heard footsteps follow you in. It occurred to you then that now was probably a good time to take off the blindfold.

Before you could, though, it was ripped off for you.

“Pack your shit.”

Dude.

You spun on your heels.

“DUDE!”

Your eyes moved up the very khaki shorts you despised, the puke-colored polo, the neatly embroidered camp logo, and a nametag strangely labeled ‘Lucien Flores.’ Everything in the ensemble screamed ‘camp counselor.’ But the face above it—it wasn’t one of their own at all.

It was far too lax. Fresh with an easy, shit-eating grin.

“Sweetheart—”

He started to speak, only to get the wind knocked out of his chest when you threw your arms around him.

The barrage of kisses came without you ever really intending to place them at all. You were just so stunned, practically overcome with joy to see Joel Miller in all his ruggedly handsome glory, then confused. What was he doing here, and why was he dressed head-to-toe as a counselor? And why were you so into that on him?

You doubted you could even ask the questions, and he was barely more able to answer the longer you stayed latched to his neck, kissing him everywhere your mouth could get to. You’d just stood on tip-toes to press your lips to his when you realized he wasn’t reaching back.

His hands hung limply at his sides. Still, he smiled.

“Abstinence camp ain’t taught ya much, has it?”

You parted your lips to drag your teeth along the grey-spattered scruff on his cheek—biting but not quite. Begging him to kiss you back, grab your ass, anything to quell this anguish twisting low in your stomach at the lack of contact. Joel didn’t seem keen on answering to it.

“I’ve learned plenty, Miller,” you panted against his jaw, before moving below it to sink into the skin of his neck, “Lemme show you all the stuff FEDRA told us not to do.”

Yes, you sounded desperate. No, you didn’t really care. You were much too busy fiddling with the front of Joel’s shorts to concern yourself with anything but his cock. It made it all the more gut-wrenchingly horrific and disconcerting when you felt his hands push yours away.

“No,” Joel said, simply. Then, nodding to your luggage at the foot of your bunk, “Pack your stuff, sweets. C’mon.”

He was seriously trying to break you out?

You admired the cojones on the man, but you wanted to fuck real quick to get it out of your system. Needed it.

“Joel, I—” You swallowed thickly, shaking your head.

What your mouth couldn’t finish, your eyes said clear as day: I want you to take me right here. Quick and dirty. But, again, Joel seemed completely impervious to your pleas. Almost callous in the face of such a desperate request made from your eyes to his. He moved over toward your suitcase when you didn’t want to budge.

Luckily for you, you’d never unpacked. All that was left were the clothes on your back and a water bottle on the nightstand. Joel grabbed the latter and turned around to snag the suitcase on his way to the door, when he was met with you. Obstructing his path and frowning a little.

“Joel?” You raised a brow.

“Mm?”

The man in front of you straightened up, rolling a nonexistent kink from his neck before regarding you.

His gaze was alarmingly sedate.

“Y’know, you’ve got quite the knack for makin’ shit difficult—”

“Just a quickie, Miller—”

“I ain’t fuckin’ you here!”

The sudden boom of his voice should’ve startled you. But then a broad, warm palm came to rest on your shoulder, and Joel’s expression dropped immediately. There was still a tightness to it, somewhere deep within, and you couldn’t quite work out why he seemed so…off.

Then you caught sight of something steely in his gaze.

It just might’ve clicked if Joel didn’t reach for your face and elucidate things for you himself, eyes narrowing.

“I know my old man dick is like a fuckin’ drug and all…”

Shit.

Cheeks squished between his two big hands, you had only to stare. And blink. And silently regret being so loud when you were talking to Tess before. It didn’t look good.

“Joel—”

“No, no, my senile brain must be mistaken—it was actually that prehistoric cock that did it for ya.”

Your face heated with shame. You blinked again.

But just as you tried to shake your head between Joel’s hands, he pressed his palms tighter and drew you closer.

“Senior. citizen. schlong?” he intoned, painfully slow.

“Joel, I just—”

“Need to fuck someone your own age, it sounds like.”

The man in front of you released your face just as fast as he’d grabbed it, and when he stepped back, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of desperation. That wasn’t what you’d meant! It sounded so puerile and cruel coming out of his lips like this, but you had to tell him it was a joke.

“It was a joke.”

No time to mince words now.

“Real fuckin’ comedic genius,” Joel snorted.

He rolled his eyes and tried to sidestep you, but you mirrored the movement. When your hands flew to his chest to keep him from moving, please, just listen to me, Joel, he pretended not to hear it, or feel it, against him.

“Alright. Enough,” he muttered, “‘S’time to go home.”

“No!”

“No?”

“No.”

For the first time, you saw Joel’s nostrils flare. You pressed into his sternum again, hoping to hold him in place so you could explain yourself, but it seemed he wasn’t planning on staying stationary. Joel dropped to your bunk—or Tess’s, technically—and situated himself comfortably on the bed before shooting you a look. You barely had had a moment’s time to contemplate your next move when he yanked you onto the cot with him.

Joel didn’t try to kiss you. He didn’t attempt to remove one article of clothing from your body or his. He just sat there, staring, while you straddled his hips staring back.

“If you wanna fuck me so bad, go right ahead,” he said, motioning indistinctly in front of him, “Be my guest.”

When you stilled, he added, “That is all y’want, right?”

With your palms laying flat on his chest and a head full of conflicting thoughts—you did want to bang him, obviously, but not before you’d gotten a chance to set things straight, not when he was looking at you like this—you chewed your bottom lip. Certainly you couldn’t continue while Joel still believed you were embarrassed by his age, his lips downturned and humorless as ever.

“C’mon,” he tried again, a touch more venom laced in his words as he spoke, “Show me how much ya want it.”

You needed time to think.

“Why are you…dressed like this?” you said, stalling.

But Joel wouldn’t be kind enough to give you that time.

“Stole the uniform so I could sneak out and over here and get you out. Are we gonna fuck now or what?”

His hands moved over your own to guide them to his lower half, just above where your clothed core was touching his. Your fingers moved mechanically, almost reluctantly, to undo the button and zip of his shorts.

Was that a flash of hurt you saw in his eyes?

You’d never been good at this communication bullshit. Neither had Joel. The two of you would probably just have sex now to hash out your feelings, as was par for the course for a pair of emotionally stunted individuals. It still pained you to see him look at you like that, though.

“Tess and me were just kidding, baby.”

You palmed the bulge in his boxers and heard him grunt. When you nudged his cock out of the fabric to stroke him, his eyes fluttered shut and he sucked in a breath.

“I would never say those things to hurt you,” you added.

“Didn’t hurt me none,” Joel returned instantly. Then, feeling you flick the pad of your thumb over the head of his cock, he exhaled and held his face firm in place. Like he didn’t want you to see the effect you had on him.

You let go of his cock to take off your socks and shoes. Then your top. Then your shorts. Then you slid down his body a little, unsure if this was the time to be trying something new. Or even doing this kind of stuff at all.

At first, you just sort of lowered yourself to Joel’s groin, his dick resting comfortably between your tits. Then you started to move, and your hands were cupping either side of your breasts to push inward on his member. Before you even fully knew what you were doing, you were squeezing Joel’s dick with the soft, supple flesh and stroking him gently. Gaze glued to him all the while.

His eyes cracked open to catch you watching him. Evidently, Joel couldn’t contain all of his reactions, because he audibly groaned when you got going.

Sliding your tits up and down his shaft, feeling him pulse between them. Sensing a warmth pool in your own lower half but being too focused, and slightly ashamed, to act. You just wanted to make Joel feel good, even if your words weren’t able to do the trick with apologizing.

“Come here,” you beckoned him with just one finger as you slid off the bed, to the floor. Joel sat up, and you kneeled obediently between his legs. The two of you shared a tense, sexless look for a second before you lowered yourself back down and resumed the position.

This time, Joel could—and did—stir his hips to create some friction between your tits. His brow pinched inward with a muted concentration, and you wanted to say it looked handsome on him, that you were sorry for saying those stupid things to Tess and making him doubt your affection for him, but you kept your mouth shut. You had to remind yourself that emotions had no place between two needy, unfeeling people who just wanted to fuck.

Maybe that was how it should’ve been from the start.

But watching Joel’s face twist and contort in pleasure nearly wiped the thought clean out of your brain forever.

You felt many things for him, whether you liked it or not.

You really wished you hadn’t said the things you’d said.

Joel braced his hands at the edge of the bed on either side of him, hips working a steady pace to fuck your tits. He was staring mostly at the spot where the head of his cock was poking up through your cleavage with each thrust, entranced by the sight, and in a second, a full-throated moan was fighting its way out of his chest. He spit in his hand and paused to smear the stuff on his shaft, on your tits. Spit again and rubbed even harder.

Seeing him so cold and detached, you wanted to apologize again. Maybe beg him to say something kind.

Instead, you mumbled, “I love it when you fuck my tits.”

Joel scarcely acknowledged the remark, just letting you work yourself over him, meet his shallow thrusts, look sweet and wait patiently for him to cum all over you. When it seemed he might be ready to do it, though, Joel withdrew from you the next second and moved back on the bed. He pulled you into his lap, straddling again, but this time situated over the side of the bed—him sitting up, you perched on the flat, sturdy expanse of his thighs facing him. In the space between your bodies, Joel slid a quiet and almost careless hand to your heat, flicking the sheer fabric of your panties to the side in one go.

The moment his fingers made contact, you flinched.

It wasn’t that you were opposed to his touch, you just felt unfairly balanced in this situation. Joel appeared so stoic; you, a complete and utter wreck. Fighting fifteen different emotions at once and feeling unusually vulnerable spread open to him now, you almost didn’t register what he was doing—or what his hand might find.

Joel’s groan brought you back, though. When he rubbed his knuckles over the seam of your cunt and practically choked out twice his lung’s capacity, you had to look.

Aloof as he tried to be, the man’s desire was painted all over his expression. And his crotch. And his hand.

Well, actually, that last bit of arousal was yours.

“Fuckin’ soakin’ me, sweetie,” Joel breathed.

You perked up at the term of endearment. Watching one glistening fist of his make its way back and forth against your body, smearing sticky wet pleasure all over your mound and your folds, you found yourself gnawing your lip once more, this time for entirely different reasons.

Joel seemed to soften—even if only for a glaring carnal need, you didn’t care. You sank into this gentler touch.

“Khakis kinda suit you, Miller,” you said, off-handed.

Really, Joel looked almost as comical as he was sexy in that camp counselor getup: tan shorts stretched tight over even tanner legs, polyester top sitting pretty on wide, hulking shoulders, that silly stitched logo for the camp emblazoned over his left pec, and, of course, the nametag that didn’t belong to him but to Lucien. The whole thing was so alien to his lumberjack-chic demeanor that he nearly seemed boyish. Endearing. Some spearmint-scented hottie you might’ve had a crush on at camp years ago. You couldn’t help but smile.

Joel tried not to hold your gaze for too long.

“Don’t go pissin’ down my back and tell me it’s rainin’.”

When he slid one finger to your entrance, you tensed again, but smiled just the same and let out a breath. You felt him prod at the warm, wet skin and thumb at your clit, and something told you that he’d wanted to grin too.

“I’m serious,” you said, “Scout’s hon—ohfuckfuckfuck.”

Joel pushed one finger inside you. In spite of the ease with which he slipped between your walls, that gentle sensation made it wonderfully snug. He gripped your hip and started moving his single digit in and out, and in spite of yourself, you squirmed a bit. Joel never failed to call you out for doing that; today would be no different.

“Easy, sweet pea,” he hummed when you jumped again.

But you couldn’t help it. Your hands quickly anchored themselves to Joel’s shoulders, your legs spread wider, and your hips started stirring—bucking, really—against each teasing touch. It was still just one thick finger of his.

You glanced down and saw that it was his middle finger, in particular. The double meaning wasn’t lost on you.

“Another,” you pleaded.

“Nuh-uh.”

“You’re a mean ol— mean man.” You tried to correct course when you felt a mention of ‘old’ slip back into your vernacular, and inwardly, you cringed at your words.

Joel had already heard it. He cocked one eyebrow.

“Mean ol’ man?” he scoffed, still fingerfucking you softly. When you bucked against it, he nodded as if to say ‘fair enough.’

Then, before you could chime in, he nodded some more.

His expression was hard.

“Fuck my hand,” he said.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You weren’t quite sure what he meant for you to do. When he nodded a third time, the gesture was accompanied by a quick dart of his eyes to the place where your cunt was being penetrated by his one finger. He curled the finger inward, and when you twitched at the hot throb of pleasure that followed, he grunted.

Fuck my hand.

Nails still searing tiny half-moons into his shoulders, you acted more out of impulse than by command. The look from Joel sure didn’t hurt, though. The second you started rolling your hips, he nodded again. Holding onto his praises for now and simply showing approbation.

“Like that,” he murmured.

All you were doing was rocking back and forth over his finger, whimpers percolating quietly in your chest, but the act alone made you feel desperate. And Joel smug.

It was like he wanted to see you getting off to this one, comparatively smaller part of him without being filled. Bucking plaintively to find that fullness and coming back empty every time. Your whimpers turned into whines.

“Need more,” you keened.

“Yeah?” Joel replied gently.

“Yeah.”

A beat, then:

“Tough shit.”

But he said it so goddamn sweet you had to do a double take to make sure you’d heard him correctly. When you met Joel’s eyes, you saw a hint of amusement lingering behind them. Then he squeezed your hip again and started helping you move into his hand, up and down.

“Only givin’ more fingers to good girls, y’hear?” he said.

“What about your cock?” You couldn’t help it.

Joel just breathed out through his nose. In a second, he went from camp counselor to disapproving father figure.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?”

That was all he needed to say, but the firm plunge of his middle finger certainly put a finer point on it. He curled the digit again and, upon grazing that spongy surface inside you, saw another desperate plea in your eyes.

And pleasure.

The pleasure ran almost as intense as the desperation.

Your head fell back when Joel got to making those ‘come hither’ motions again and again, thumb circling your clit, eyes trained on your figure with a marked concern. Like the prospect of not drawing an orgasm out of you in the next two minutes might very well ruin the man’s night.

“‘S’alright, honey,” Joel said quietly.

Then, finding your gaze when your head tilted back,

“Be a good girl and let go for me. Let go for daddy, hm?”

Fortunately for him, that one low hum and another flick of his middle finger and thumb were all you needed to find your release. You came on his hand with a sharp, pitiful cry and a ‘Fuckthatfeelssogooddaddyplease,’ hips working feverishly against his hand as you rode out your high. The sight of you bouncing up and down on his open palm and the way your eyes rolled back, begging him to fuck you full of his cock next, felt wildly obscene.

Joel loved obscene. Needed obscene. Hot. Febrile. Raw.

He nodded again.

Before you’d even descended fully from those staggering heights, his finger was moving too—joined by two more. Joel stuffed his index and ring fingers inside your still-pulsing hole and pretended not to hear your soft cry.

After all, you’d asked for more before. Joel was just sating your desire; your overwrought body would be fine.

“Joel,” you hissed, seizing his wrist.

“Too much?” he returned.

You tried to verbalize some answer but were cut short by a punishing stretch—all three fingers plunging in and out of your sensitive, drooling cunt and making it full of him.

“Too soon?” he tried again.

“I—”

“Too fast?”

“N—”

“Too…old?” Joel pressed after a beat.

There was an air of feigned condescension in his tone as he took on a faster pace gliding his thick, calloused fingers between your walls. You might’ve screamed if you hadn’t found your forehead pressed to his and the warmth of his irises boring into yours while he did it all. At this distance, you could discern a trace of hurt again. Something needing to be soothed inside Joel Miller.

You rutted your hips and shook your head, skull still stuck to his as you did so. Whimpers coming low.

“I didn’t…mean it,” you managed at length.

“What? That I’m ‘old as shit but wildly hot’?”

Joel wedged his fingers straight down to the knuckle and nearly tore a shriek out of your body. His eyes were surprisingly soft. Making sure your pleasure was all there.

“Hyperbole,” you choked, voice hoarse.

Then your jaw grew lax when a hand cupped your chin. All you wanted to do was melt into Joel, but you sensed something brewing again behind those honeyed eyes. Blinking was all you could do to keep your composure.

“You’re right, darlin’,” Joel said, “I am too old for you.”

Right after a clench in your tummy, a hurried word leapt up to your tongue, ‘NO!’ and you had to swallow a moan to keep from succumbing to the pleasure Joel was bringing with his fingers. Sandwiched between two orgasms was no time for a serious argument to take place, but there you were, fighting against it anyway.

“N-No,” you stammered. Stupid.

“I am.” His voice came softer somehow, more resigned.

When outright rejection of the claim seemed futile, you tried to pivot. Climax still closing in as fast as ever.

“I don’t care about that,” you hissed, exhaling hard when the first ripples of bliss crept up toward your stomach.

Joel watched you with careful eyes.

“Yeah? And Tess?”

“Joel—”

“Or Tommy.”

“I don’t—”

“Everyone else?”

Almost against your will, those minuscule ripples turned to waves of full-blown euphoria, and then you were clenching again on Joel’s hand and crying out in climax. You willed your gaze not to stray from his, but it was tough. Especially when the eyes beneath your own seemed so fucking morose and removed from you.

Don’t do this to me, Miller. Don’t do it, don’t do it.

In the wake of what should’ve been consummate satisfaction, you found yourself retreating to a place more akin to starvation—suddenly eager to get your mouth over his and start kissing, tonguing, and scraping your teeth like you’d missed out on a full week’s worth of meals. Feeling selfish but also uncertain how else to proceed—was Joel Miller breaking up with you here?

You couldn’t be sure, because he kissed you back. Joel kissed you and cupped your cheeks, then chased your frame all the way down to the coarse, scratchy sheets of the bed, where he was quick to climb on top of you.

Hell, it seemed breathing was too tough to accomplish with your frenzied pace and the continuous stream of open-mouthed kisses placed anywhere and everywhere. A groan from Joel trembled between your lips as you helped him get his shorts and boxers the rest of the way down his legs—all but dragging them with your heels—and he tightened a fist in your hair when they were off.

“I shouldn’t’a come here,” he mumbled.

“But you did,” you panted.

Both of you got lost in another onslaught of kisses, and you tried not to sigh. Joel was still battling something.

Even as he peeled your panties off and lined himself up with your entrance, he seemed resolved to stay quiet. Holding your gaze and not saying what had to be said.

He was a lot like you in that way.

You kept kissing him anyway.

The events that followed seemed to you little more than fleeting, happy scenes from a film you’d always wanted to see—an eager Joel, a caring Joel, an I-don’t-think-I’m-physically-capable-of-holding-you-any-closer Joel. The weight of his cock a welcome friend and the kisses somehow far too intimate to be considered friendly at all. You’d almost forgotten you were at a camp designed to prevent this very thing from happening between two stupid, impulsive people like you, and you didn’t care.

All you knew was a yawning stretch—that aching, empty void filled to perfection by Joel’s member—and the shockwaves of pleasure that vibrated in bands all the way down to the balls of your feet. You felt safe and secure caged between two muscular arms, and you reveled in a warmth that spanned every inch of your body touching his. The weight suffocating and somehow not oppressive; Joel cradled your head to make sure of it.

“Ain’t…hurtin’ ya, am I?” he said when you winced.

You shook your head against his sweaty palms to say that he wasn’t; you were just adjusting. He scanned your face for any trace of insincerity but found nothing.

In this tender position, your brain was ready to burst—whether from guilt, shame, ruthless self-loathing, or a sobering sense of closeness, you weren’t sure. All four seemed to form the impetus for the words that came next, which were soft, repeated apologies against Joel’s mouth. He swallowed each one without a second thought.

“Quit sayin’ it,” he rasped, low.

“I’m sorry, Joel, I’m sorr—”

Soft lips again. ‘S’okay, honey.’

You weren’t sure why, but your face felt extra hot.

Joel pressed his thumbs on either side of it while he kissed you and went deeper. Then he squeezed even more, and your breath hitched quietly in your throat.

Aw, shit, he could probably feel your heart running amok in your chest and thrumming like crazy right now.

“Ain’t nothin’—” Joel paused to send one measured thrust along your cervix, “—to be sorry for. Nothin’.”

Your legs tightened at his sides when his hips started to snap in quick, stuttered motions, desperate for more friction and depth. He got both, and he groaned feeling you tighten around him as he filled your cunt to the brim. The silky warmth of your walls drawing him in was almost too much, and every now and then he’d have to slow to mutter some, ‘’S’fuckin’ chokin’ me, honey, ya feel that?’ or ‘This pussy’s just made to take me, huh?’

Joel asked like he actually needed the reassurance. As if the slick, dripping arousal coating his length and the sounds of your whimpers mixed in with those wet slaps weren’t enough—as if he had to have deeper consolation.

He was splitting you open and looked guilty as he did it.

Still shaking with each thrust, you helped him slide his shirt over his head and bring him bare, chest-to-chest with you. You couldn’t ignore the tension any longer.

“Joel, I fuckin’ love— I need you inside,” you managed.

“You do?”

“Uh-huh.”

His face softened.

“‘S’mine, isn’t it?”

He said it so fast you couldn’t make out if it were really a question or a simple statement of fact. His balls routinely smacking your ass, eyes searching yours, always gentle.

“Say that you’re mine.”

No, Joel—don’t do that, don’t say it like that.

Your visceral reaction was to recoil. You couldn’t because he had you pinned, but damn did you want to—not him, not this, not now, Joel, why would you fucking say that?

The look in his eyes now surpassed the hurt from before. It was open and aching, even as he drilled your body in two at a near-ruthless pace. Asking you so sincerely.

The obstinacy inside you was almost laughable. Damn near sent your head spinning in a fit of hysterics at how much you wanted to say but wouldn’t; how much you sensed lay waiting to fly off Joel’s tongue but couldn’t. If you were any more emotionally pent-up you might’ve ruptured a blood vessel and lost all ability to think.

It didn’t help that you were both about to cum.

Or that Joel’s right hand was fumbling for your clit.

His expression was steady as ever when you jumped, made a whining noise below him, and grabbed his wrist. You looked down to where your bodies were joined and got a dizzying glimpse of that sight: cunt swallowing Joel’s cock repeatedly, pleasure pooling between your two bodies, then a digit at that little bundle of nerves.

He kissed your hairline and hummed.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Whose pussy is this?”

His thrusts sped up, along with his thumb.

“Don’t.” Not an answer but a warning: tread lightly, Joel.

He kissed your forehead again. And again. For a second you thought he might stay that way until you both came, but then his lips were finding yours, mumbling softly,

“Say no one’s gonna fuck you but me.”

“But—”

“None of those pencil-dick douchebag Delta Sigma whatever-the-fuck ya call ‘ems—” Joel continued, unfazed, “—not your lab partner, not your hallmate—”

His cock was gliding in and out of you at a punishing pace now. Wonderfully slick with sounds obscenely piercing to your ears. You could feel Joel digging in the depths of your tight, throbbing cunt, could see his expression contort with much the same pleasure you were experiencing yourself, and could very well smell the faint aroma of American Spirits still staining his breath. Joel Miller was a sick fuck for what he was doing to you, and he knew it. You nipped at his lower lip in between tender kisses and quietly-spoken words, and whimpered.

“—not your TAs, not your professors—” he pressed on.

You opened your mouth to let a lewd moan escape when Joel lifted his hand to shove a thumb inside. Instinctively, you sucked the whole thing straight down to the knuckle.

“Nobody but me, y’hear that?” Afforded better leverage with his finger wedged between your teeth, he shook your head a little as he fucked you. Watched you bob and nod a wordless ‘yes’ in doe-eyed complaisance while his cock drove shockwaves of pleasure straight through you.

He rubbed his thumb back and forth, and you let him.

You drooled all over that man’s finger like it might’ve been supplying oxygen to your lungs, and when Joel leaned in and said, ‘Ya like that, sweet pea?’, you answered in the affirmative. Or at least as close as you could get while Joel was filling up his two favorite holes.

Your orgasm was maybe two strokes away from shattering bones, it seemed. Now was his chance.

Swiftly, Joel retracted his touch just far enough to drag a string of saliva out of your mouth—then deliver a taut but gentle slap to your cheek. The soft thwack, combined with the sounds your bodies were making down below, served only to elevate the pornographic pitch of your moan:

“Joel!”

“That’s right.”

Joel’s mouth hovered an inch over yours, half-smirking, as if waiting to suck the words clean off of your lips. You whined when his thrusts got quicker and the mouth that was grinning got to kissing your own again. Talking dirty, too.

“Show me who this cunt belongs to. Say it,” he grunted.

You clenched, kissed him back, were just barely aware of the words you were trying to form when you stuttered some unintelligible, ‘Y-Y—ohfuckdaddyjustlikethatoh—’

Oh.

Your eyes widened to Joel’s, and before you could even begin to process what was happening to your body, his name just snapped off your tongue like a shot. A shriek. Some blissfully half-strangled moan that Joel captured between his teeth as he fucked you into the mattress and held your body tight to his own. His palm was wet.

Your legs were wet.

The soft, heaving juncture between your bodies was wet.

You were only dimly aware of the sensation as you dug your heels in Joel’s back and let out a series of cries and moans, but then that fluttering feeling inside made you flinch. A pulsing between your thighs and a…warmth.

You were still blinking through a post-euphoric haze when you felt a soft heat simmer and sink within you.

Did Joel just…cum inside you? Again?

“You dumb motherfucker,” you hissed without hesitation.

You’d just managed to shove him away—not far, but away—when you scrambled into a sitting position and slapped a hand over your stomach. Expecting to feel a churning and an awful pinch as you came to make out some vague sensation of Joel’s seed painting your insides, you were surprised when you didn’t get it at all.

In point of fact, Joel had just sprayed a full Jackson Pollock onto your stomach and was blinking, still fisting his cock as you quickly made your way back to your feet.

Where was that wetness coming from?

You stood and stared down at your stomach. Your legs. The translucent, trickling something that had paved a clear path between your thighs and all over Joel’s front. It didn’t make sense, unless—

“You fuckin’ squirted!” Joel cheered.

Your first instinct was to make a face.

That shit only happened in poorly produced pornos and movies based on books by Colleen Hoover, not real-life human beings. What the hell was this man on about?

“Be fucking serious,” you scowled, reaching for a stray shirt on the floor. Before realizing it was even yours, you hastily swiped several big globs of Joel’s cum with it. Your face grew even more enflamed, and yourself, oddly…ashamed. You couldn’t quite make sense of why Joel was grinning so big, or why you felt so embarrassed by what appeared to be a natural bodily function, but you suspected it probably had something to do with the state of sex education in Texas. Those fuckers definitely skipped squirting in favor of abstinence-only rhetoric.

Still weird. Still gross. You wished Joel would stop smiling.

“Lose the look or I’ll slap that fuckin’ grey off your head.”

Admittedly, neither aftercare nor communication was your métier. You started throwing on clothes, annoyed.

Meanwhile, Joel was swiping moisture off his abdomen three thick fingers at a time and wiggling the residue up for you to see—‘All it is is a sign of good lovin’, sweets, ain’t nothin’a be ashamed of!’—and you gave him just one finger in return. You were sliding your shorts up your legs and attempting to scrap the jizz off your FEDRA top when Joel started shrugging on his stolen clothes, too.

Your back was turned to him, eyes scanning the almost too-calm outdoors through the window a minute later, when you felt an arm snake close around your waist.

“Tastes a little like honey,” Joel crooned in your ear, doubtlessly smirking as he swayed you, “Only sweeter.”

You rolled your eyes. No cunt tasted like a honeycomb.

And you tried to say as much when he stroked over the strip of exposed skin between your shorts and the hem of your shirt, squeezing you tighter, but Joel was too good. He spidered a teasing touch over your tummy and yanked you back into his chest when you squealed and tried to break free. Then your sides, your ribcage, your shoulder blades—anyplace Joel could tickle, he tried to—and most spots, you were squeamish as hell. You clamped a hand over your half-open, giggling mouth, and when you felt him flip you around, you didn’t protest.

Suddenly, Joel’s hands were on either side of your face. He wasn’t smiling quite so big anymore but nevertheless maintained a kind glint behind his eyes. They were soft.

“‘M’sorry,” he said.

Then, pausing as if to consider his words, he said,

“You did great.”

He stopped again to press a kiss on the tip of your nose.

“So good.”

When he saw another smile twitch at the corners of your lips, as though asking him for more, he kissed those too.

“If that was your first time with…that…I’m, uh…”

“What?”

Another beat. Another stupid, stubbled grin.

“The luckiest…senior citizen sonovabitch, I guess.”

At the tail end of that, and once Joel had punctuated his sentence with another tender peck, you met his gaze again. Somehow, it had only gotten softer. His thumbs were searing the gentlest of imprints in the apples of your cheeks, his breaths were even and warm, and if you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought the man was contemplating saying something else to you then.

He didn’t.

The bridge to an old Billy Joel song made sure of that.

“And when she’s walkin’, she’s lookin’ so f-i-i-i-ine.”

You heard gravel crunch outside the cabin.

“And when she’s talkin’, she’ll say that she’s m-i-i-i-ine.”

Footsteps bounding up the half-rotted, cedar steps.

“She’ll say I’m not so tough just because I’m in love wi—SHIT.”

Tess’s face went blank the second the door swung open.

Thankfully, both of you were clothed. You and Joel leapt apart like she’d just caught you in doggy, though. And Tess looked like she might’ve seen an asscheek or two with the way she was staring at you both, letting the screen door slam shut, and a wordless ‘what-the-fuck’ caught somewhere in the tepid air between you three.

You stared at Tess, and Tess stared at you. Joel peered over her shoulder for the arrival of any more onlookers or folks just wanting to sing ‘Uptown Girl’ in your general vicinity. Fortunately, no one else appeared behind her.

But Tess looked awestruck enough for fifty people. She blinked and visibly swallowed as her gaze shifted to Joel.

“So FEDRA does dick appointments now?” she hissed.

“No!”

“I’m not—”

“He’s from the other camp.”

“You’re shitting me. Absolutely shitting me right now.”

You brought both hands to your face in a stifling, quiet desperation, unsure what to do. Joel just blinked back.

“I’m—we’re—” he started.

“Fucking!” Tess bit back, “You are so fucking. Raw.”

She wasn’t wrong. Her sixth sense for knowing who was having clandestine sex in her bed was kind of insane.

But, where you expected a look of horror to crawl into those taut, too-smart-for-her-own-good features, you found your bunkmate starting to raise her eyebrows.

Then laugh.

Tess threw her head back and laughed because she thought you were boinking a FEDRA camp counselor.

Joel shared a similar look of surprise but didn’t laugh.

“Yeah, I’m uh…J—” Again, he made as if to speak, to introduce himself, but Tess cut him off. About to wheeze.

“Lucien Flores, you dirty dog!” she cackled.

Joel glanced down at his nametag, started to shake his head, and probably didn’t anticipate Tess smacking him on the shoulder in a semi-congratulatory sort of way. Given a little more muscle to the playful punch, she just might’ve knocked him over. Joel was then trying to pry the pin off his polo just as you stepped closer to her.

“Tess, he’s…” You considered spilling the beans en masse but quickly decided against it. You’d have to stick to the barest of bones if you had any hope of escaping this place. So, resuming, you squeezed her arm and just said:

“Flores is gonna bust us out. Get your shit and we’ll go.”

Theresa Servopoulos didn’t need to be told twice.

And when she scrambled over to her sex-stricken bunk, inquired with a hurried but patently grossed out expression about who the fuck had wet the bed while she was gone, Joel didn’t hesitate—he said it was him.

“FEDRA man with a piss kink. I like you already, Lucien.”

#ONE CABIN 🏚️#ONE BAND #ONE DREAM #ONE DIRECTION #IF YOU THOUGHT I WAS GONNA BE NORMAL ABOUT THIS YOU WOULD BE MISTAKEN HAHAHAHA #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller x you #dbf!joel

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leahwllmsn · 11 months

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16,904

leah williamson x reader

Melbourne

October, 2023

You finally tell your friends that you’ve been talking to someone you met online on a Friday night. The response you got is that they all think you're crazy, and you can’t blame them—saying that you have a tiny crush on this blonde who’s almost twice your height and likes football and country music without actually knowing if this said blonde exists is kind of crazy.

But you really do like talking to Leah and you could only hope that Leah is Leah and not some fifty-year-old man.

“You don’t even know what she looks like,” one of your friends snorts.

“It’s not always about the looks,” you argue.

“That’s true,” another one of your friends chimed in. “But you gotta admit, the looks matter a lot.”

You were about to correct her and say no, they do not, because yeah, sure, Leah is so freaking gorgeous based on the pictures on her profile, but what matters the most is that she’s so kind, and funny, and just overall amazing.

Instead you kept your mouth shut. A part of you don’t want to share Leah with anyone just yet.

(And another part of you still needs the confirmation that that is actually Leah because god damn it Leah is the most beautiful woman you have ever seen and you wish that it’s really her.)

—

6 Oct, 9:02 pm

y/n: I told my friends about you. they think it’s weird that I’m starting something with you when we’ve never met

y/n: it’s not weird, is it?

leahw6: starting something huh? ;)

y/n: shut up

y/n: we met on tinder. what were you expecting to find? a math tutor?

leahw6: ...

leahw6: you’re really funny, love

leahw6: and no, it’s not weird

y/n: good

y/n: and for the record, even if they think it’s weird I couldn’t care less

—

6 Oct, 9:25 pm

leahw6: just to be clear

leahw6: ‘starting something’ that means you want to date me right

y/n: how else could I mean that

leahw6: idk maybe you were the one looking for a math tutor

—

London

October, 2023

“Where did you meet her again?”

“Tinder.”

“Tinder,” Lia repeats.

“Yes,” Leah nods. “When we were in Australia for the World Cup… I got bored one night and decided to go on Tinder.”

“And you found her there,” Lia muses, sipping on her cup of coffee. “Wait, so she lives in Australia?”

“Melbourne, yes.”

“And does she know you’re all the way here in London?”

Leah hesitates before answering. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Oh boy,” Lia gives her a sympathetic look. “Does she know who you are?”

“Me… as in Leah?” Leah gives her teammate a confused look. “Yeah?”

“You as in you’re Leah Williamson.”

“Oh,” realization sunk in Leah’s face. “Then no. I mentioned I like football and she said she hates it. So, I doubt she knows who I am.”

“Oh boy.”

“I know,” Leah drops her head on the table. “I’ll tell her soon but what if it’s a deal breaker?”

“Which part? The part where you’re a famous footballer or you live thousands of kilometers away?”

Leah grimaces “Distance problem. She already said she hates football and wouldn’t dare step foot in a football game, but it’s fine! That’s not a problem because I can and will convince her to watch one of my games.”

Lia laughs. “Sure, buddy.”

“I really like her,” Leah continues. “She’s funny and witty and passive aggressive sometimes but it’s so endearing. She has great taste in music, great taste in movies and books, and just great taste overall—”

Leah’s words get cut off with Lia’s hand on her mouth. “You’ve known her for a few weeks and this is already how you act?” Lia chuckles, taking her hand away. “You got it bad, Williamson.”

Leah groans. “I know.”

“Just tell her now. If she likes you the same way, I have a feeling that she wouldn’t mind either.”

—

24 Oct, 4:13 pm

leahw6: can we talk ?

y/n: sounds serious

leahw6: kind of

y/n: are you getting tired of me already :(

leahw6: ofc not

y/n: oh okay :D

leahw6: idk how to say this

y/n: do you want me to call you?

leahw6: oh god no

leahw6: omg wait

leahw6: I didn’t mean that in a bad way I swear

leahw6: it’s just that if you call me I’ll be hearing your voice for the first time and I’ll be even more nervous

leahw6: and I don’t think I’ll be able to put out a coherent sentence bc I’ve been imagining so much what your voice would sound like with that face and all my guesses are that you have an extremely hot voice, raspy maybe?

leahw6: but actually no I don’t think you have a raspy voice

leahw6: a deep one maybe and holy shit a deep voice with an australian accent? I’ll faint on the spot I’m afraid

leahw6: no you can’t call me

y/n: okay...?

leahw6: I’m really sorry please ignore all that

y/n: I won’t ignore it, it’s adorable

leahw6: you think I’m weird don’t you

y/n: absolutely

leahw6: great

y/n: it just makes me like you even more

leahw6: I live in london

y/n: as in the one in england … ?

leahw6: is there another london I don’t know about

[incoming call from y/n]

leahw6: why are you calling me ?!

leahw6: I told you I’m too nervous rn

y/n: I don’t get it. it says that you were 2km away?

leahw6: yeah… I was on vacation… kind of...

y/n: kind of?

y/n: so you don’t actually live here?

leahw6: y/n if I was only 2 km away from you I would make up excuses just so I can see you everyday

y/n: how many km is it instead

leahw6: between us?

leahw6: google says it’s 16,904 km

y/n: ??! holy shit

leahw6: I know

leahw6: look, I get it if you want to stop this. not everyone is cut out for long distance

y/n: we’re like

y/n: on opposite sides of the world

leahw6: I know

y/n: do you want to stop this?

leahw6: I don’t

y/n: then we won’t

leahw6: are you sure

y/n: let me call you

leahw6: NO

y/n: leah

leahw6: give me a day to prepare

y/n: you’re so dumb

y/n: but fine

y/n: do I at least get a facetime

leahw6: FACETIME?

leahw6: no. you get a phone call. voice only

y/n: r u catfishing

y/n: I knew it you’re too beautiful to be real

leahw6: ha ha

y/n: call me tomorrow okay lee?

leahw6: okay

leahw6: and y/n

leahw6: thank you

y/n: what for

leahw6: for giving us a chance

y/n: leah I’d be stupid not to

—

Melbourne

November, 2023

You're in the middle of a meeting with boring, old men in suits when your phone rings—very loudly at that. You curse yourself for forgetting to put your phone on silent, quickly pressing the red circle on the screen, but not before smiling at the caller ID.

When the meeting finishes an hour later, you immediately pick up your phone and dial Leah’s number.

“Hey you.”

You smile at the voice on the other end. “Sorry I couldn’t pick up. I was in a meeting.”

“Oh sorry, bad timing. Thought you were finished for the day”

“Bad timing indeed,” you chuckle. “It rang really loudly.”

“Y/n,” you could hear Leah’s soft giggles. “The silent feature exists for a reason.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you take a seat in your office chair and sigh contently. “I’m glad it rang though.”

“How so?”

“I saw your name and my mood instantly picked up.”

Leah snorts. “You’re such a sweet talker, mate.”

You throw her head back in laughter. “But it’s true!”

Leah doesn’t say anything after that, all you could hear is the sound of chatter and honking of cars. “Where are you?”

“I just had breakfast, I’m walking to the… office.”

“You called me when you were having breakfast? Am I that much more interesting than whoever you were with?” you ask, your tone teasing.

“Of course you are,” is Leah’s reply and you could feel your stomach flipping upside down.

“Now who’s the sweet talker?”

“Still you.”

“Says the person who couldn’t stop telling me I’m pretty when we facetimed for the first time.”

Leah laughs and you really, really love the sound. “But you are pretty.”

“But I don’t think I need to hear it every five minutes.”

“Just accept the compliments, love.”

“Okay,” you relent, a grin spreading across your face. “Who did you have breakfast with?”

“Just my team– colleagues. My colleagues, Beth, Viv and Lia.”

You go silent for a few seconds, the last name ringing a bell in your head. “Lia as in your ex?”

“The one and only.”

“Oh.”

Leah must’ve sensed the jealousy in your voice (but honestly, you aren't jealous, you’re really not), because the next thing you know Leah is laughing and telling you that it didn’t work out between her and Lia because they were better off as friends.

“You see her everyday though,” you say, your voice less confident than before.

“And what about it?”

“You don’t see me everyday,” you pout, staring at a polaroid picture of Leah smiling at the camera that is stuck to the wall of your cubicle. Leah sent you a handwritten letter along with that picture a few days ago. Your roommate was the one who received it and it went something like this:

“Oh my god, there’s no way this is your Leah.”

“What?”

“This! Is this really her?”

“Is that Lee’s mail for me? Did you open it?!”

“I got curious!”

“Give me that!”

“You never mentioned that she looks like this!”

“I just haven’t shown you what she looks like ‘cause everyone kept on teasing me!”

“Because she could be a fake for all we know! But holy shit, she’s soo stunning. Does she have a twin sister?”

“No.”

“A twin brother?”

“No.”

“Can I have her instead then?”

“What the—no?!”

“Fine, be stingy like that.”

“...I’m really fine with us like this.”

You blink away images of your roommate in your head and focus your attention back to Leah’s voice. “What did you say?”

“I said I’m okay with not being able to see you everyday,” Leah repeats. “Talking to you over the phone is enough.”

You smile. “It’s enough for me too. It’d be great to have you next to me but this is good too.”

People would think otherwise but for you, having Leah a phone call away really is enough; you'd take hearing Leah's laughter through the phone than not hearing it at all.

—

10 Nov, 1:11 pm

y/n: I got a dog

leahw6: ???!!

leahw6: Y/N CALL ME OMG

leahw6: I WANT TO SEE

y/n: you’re more excited to see him than me ://

leahw6: YES

y/n: excuse me

leahw6: WHAT’S HIS NAME

y/n: robert

leahw6: ROBERT?

y/n: yes, robert

leahw6: he's now my favourite

leahw6: SEND PICS

y/n: :/

y/n:

leahw6: you know you're my favourite too

y/n: :D

leahw6: but I think I like robert more than you OMG HE'S ADORABLE!!!!

y/n: bye

—

London

December, 2023

leahw6: want to hear a funny story

y/n: what is it

leahw6: a guy tried to hit on me tonight

y/n: excuse me???

[incoming call from y/n]

“That’s not funny,” is the first thing Leah hears once she accepts the call.

“Hello to you too,” Leah stifles a laugh. You sound tense and Leah can just picture the frown on your face.

“Leah.”

“Yes, babe?” Leah learnt that the quickest way to melt away your anger is to use pet names and so for any argument (even if Leah is in the wrong), Leah would always win.

This time it doesn’t seem to work. “How is that funny again?”

“Darling, I’m just teasing you.”

“Did a guy really hit on you?”

“Yes,” Leah answers honestly. “He bought me a drink.”

“I see.”

Leah doesn’t like how dejected you sound. So she presses the button for facetime and the first thing she sees when you accept is her girlfriend pouting at the screen.

“What are you doing?” Leah giggles.

“Is all of this funny to you?” you pout even more, your phone screen illuminating your face in the dark room.

“Did I wake you up?” Leah asks instead. She knows you like to sleep in on weekends.

“Yes, but that’s fine. You know I want to talk to you any chance I get,” you answer, shifting so that you’re now lying on your side.

“You’re the best,” Leah says as she climbs in bed, tucking herself under the covers.

“Obviously,” you scoff. “Unlike that stupid guy who doesn’t know you’re off-limits.”

Leah grins at the annoyed look you’re giving her. “Baby?”

“Hm?”

“It’s so cute when you’re jealous.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course I’m jealous. He gets to be within your presence while I’m stuck here, freaking sixteen thousand kilometres away from you. It’s unfair.”

Leah sends her a soft smile. “But you’re the one I’m talking to every day, so who’s the real winner here?” The frown is still present on your face and Leah wants nothing more than to kiss it away—so that’s what she did.

“Leah, what the hell are you doing?”

“Kissing you,” Leah answers simply, kissing her screen again.

And when Leah hears laughter from the other end, her heart feels much lighter.

“Lee, have you cleaned your phone? That’s gross.”

“Shut up. I’m trying to be romantic.”

“Cute, but maybe clean your phone first.”

Leah rolls her eyes at you, her smile never leaving her face. “At least I made you laugh.”

“You always make me laugh,” you say, your face so close to her camera that the entirety of Leah’s screen is just a close up of your face. Leah’s heart swells in adoration at the sight.

“Did you have a good night's sleep?” Leah asks.

You hum in answer. “Now it’s your turn to get a good night’s sleep.”

You could see how hard Leah is trying to keep her eyes open.

“This sucks, time difference sucks” Leah pouts. “I just want to talk to you.”

“Baby,” you give her a sad smile. “It is how it is. We’ll talk more when you wake up.”

“Yes, captain,” Leah gives you grin, her eyes fully closed.

“Good night, Leah. Sweet dreams.”

You watch Leah go to sleep for a few minutes, the sound of her soft snores making it seem like she’s right next to you.

That night Leah dreams that you're right next to her, holding her close and keeping her warm on the cold winter night.

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #woso #woso community #woso fanfics #leah williamson imagine #awfc x reader #lionesses x reader #woso x reader

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nebulaafterdark · 10 months

Text

Exile (Part 1)

Summary: Y/N Undersee thought the games were over after becoming a victor. Unfortunately, life outside the arena has become just as dangerous. Prequel to Moves & Countermoves

Trigger warning: forced prostitution, explicit sexual content, alcohol abuse and other mentions of trauma. 18+ ONLY

It’s a crisp autumn morning when Y/N wakes to a pounding at her door.

Bam!

She rushes down, still in her pajamas, flinging open the door to see what the emergency is.

Haymitch, her former mentor.

Haymitch, the town drunk.

Haymitch, her…friend?

“Haymitch, what’s wrong?” Y/N asks, moving away from the doorway as he stumbles in. Clearly intoxicated. Not in his right mind.

“I fucked up.” He snarls, anger rolling off him in waves.

“What do you mean?” Y/N follows him, until he comes to a stop, in her living room, pacing and pacing. Ready to come out of his skin.

“Congratulations, we’re getting hitched.”

“What?!”

“Snow…I don’t fucking know.” Haymitch scowls, “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Haymitch, please, what’s going on?” Her tone is frantic now, to match his own.

“He told me he wanted you to come work in the Capitol and I-“ Haymitch drags a hand over his face. “I lost it.”

“Work in the Capitol? Like as a stylist?” Y/N tries to make sense of it.

Haymitch lets out a bitter scoff, “this is just perfect. You are so- of course I have to be the one to tell you. Of course it has to be me who-” breaks your heart.

“Help me understand.” Y/N puts a hand out towards him. “I need you to tell me. Otherwise I’m clueless and I can’t help you if I’m clueless.”

“Help me? I’m trying to help you!”

“Tell me how.” Y/N tries again. “Tell me how getting married helps me. Or you, or anyone.”

“If I marry you, Snow won’t sell you.” There it is. The truth in it’s horrible entirety.

“He wouldn’t do that.” Y/N gasps.

“He would and he wants to.” Haymitch assures her. “Bad.”

“How do you know that?”

“He told me while I was…”

“While you were what?”

“Do you need me to spell it out?” Haymitch spits, his voice full of venom. “While I was fucking the highest bidder so you didn’t have to!”

Her eyes grow wide, welling with tears. That doesn’t make sense.

“Don’t fucking look at me like that.”

“I’m just,” she fumbles for the words. “I didn’t know. I could’ve married you before and-”

“And what?” Haymitch demands, taking a step toward her. “It’s bad enough that I have to make you my child bride-”

“I’ll be twenty in a few months.”

“And I’ll be thirty.” He says, pointedly. “Before you’re twenty.”

“Ten years and some change is not unmanageable. I’m sure lots of people-”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I get it, you don’t want to marry me. I don’t particularly want to marry you either. But more than that, I don’t want anything happening to you when I have the power to stop it. I know you feel the same way or you wouldn’t have agreed to this when Snow brought it up. If we just work together, we don’t have to be miserable.” Y/N offers, wringing her hands anxiously.

“I want to keep my house.” Haymitch tells her.

“Sure.” Y/N has no qualms about it.

“And my liquor.”

“Of course.”

“What are your demands?” His blue eyes are frantic, wild.

Demands; as though they’re negotiating a business deal. “I want you to be honest with me about what’s happening.”

“Fine.”

“I want you to stop blaming yourself for everything that happens to me. It’s not your fault.”

“I’ll try.”

“And never refer to me your child bride.”

“Deal.”

“One more thing.” Y/N says, it’s more of an afterthought really.

“Name it.”

“I don’t want to be trapped in a loveless marriage. I want it to be real someday.”

He narrows his gaze, “ok.”

“Congratulations,” Y/N repeats his earlier sentiment. “We’re getting hitched.”

————————————————————————

The wedding is thrown together in a flash. In under a week, to be exact. Y/N’s family, Madge especially, doesn’t understand.

I thought you hated him?

When you’re older, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.

She protects her, because that’s what big sisters do.

All through the ceremony, the poofy wedding dress scratches at her skin. As if it knows she doesn’t belong.

The crowd of Capitol witnesses is massive, no family or friends. When it is over, the happy couple is escorted to their ‘honeymoon’ suite. A pristine, white room, with ivory bedding; topped with pale rose petals to match.

On the side table, a sealed envelope.

‘Mr. & Mrs. Abernathy,

tonight is cause for great celebration. One to be shared with beloved members of Panem. You will find cameras against the side walls, set to begin commemorating this joyous occasion, at 7:00pm this evening. I am sure you will perform accordingly, to ensure the safety of those you hold most dear.

Best regards,

President Snow.’

“We have to-“ Y/N chokes over the words.

“Tell me what you like.” Haymitch says, shrugging off his suit jacket.

“What I like?” Not this, anything but this.

“Look, we only have a few minutes to get warmed up before those cameras come on, there’s no time to be coy about it. Tell me how you like to have sex.”

“I don’t,” Y/N stammers, “I don’t know. I’ve never-”

“You’re a virgin?” Haymitch pales.

Y/N nods.

“Ok,” he shakes his head, to clear it. “That’s ok.” There’s nothing they can do about it now.

She’s shaking, trembling from head to toe. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re ok.” Haymitch soothes a hand up her arm. “I’ll never hurt you.”

Y/N nods again, “I know.”

“We’re gonna figure this out together, alright? But I need you to talk to me, let me know if you’re uncomfortable or if you don’t like something and we’ll reroute.” He can’t stop this, but he can make it good for her. He can get her through it.

“Ok,” Y/N sighs. Trusting him. Giving herself over to him.

They start with a kiss, his hands cradling her face as the cameras come to life. There are two, fully articulated and seeming to move of their own accord. But clearly they are being operated to catch the best angles.

After a while, Haymitch pulls back, slightly. His lips brushing hers as he murmurs, “I’m going to unzip your dress.”

Y/N startles at the words, toying with the buttons of his shirt. Undoing them to distract herself. She is trembling again.

Haymitch catches her hands in his, peppering them with kisses to calm her.

When they are both down to their underwear, Haymitch lies her back on the bed, situating her against the plush pillows. “Comfortable?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Good,” he half smiles. His lips meet hers, hands coming up to palm her bare breasts.

Her nipples tighten into peaks and she lets out a pretty little gasp.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” Haymitch breathes. “An angel. My angel.” He closes his thumb and forefinger around her left nipple, rolling it between his fingers.

Y/N cries out. She needs- she wants...

“Here.” Haymitch cooes, bringing his thigh flush with her sex.

“Haymitch,” her voice is pinched. Brows furrowed, sweaty and overwhelmed and all but sobbing.

“I’m right here, angel.” He noses at her cheek. “Never let anybody hurt you. Only make you feel good.”

And he does.

So heartbreakingly, mind numbingly good. Lowering his mouth to her right breast.

Y/N works herself to a fever pitch against his thigh. Grinding against him as he licks and plucks at her nipples. Coming apart against the coarse hairs of his leg.

“So pretty,” he encourages her to ride out her high. “My pretty wife.”

Oh. That’s right. She is his wife. The word twists uncomfortably in her gut. She isn’t supposed to like it. But she does. Haymitch is her husband and she is wife and the rest…really just semantics.

Through the cloud of lust fogging up her brain, Y/N registers that he is moving. A peck against her lips and then lower, lower, lower, “oh!” Her back arches, head pressing against the pillow.

He’s going to kill her, Y/N realizes. He’s going to kill her softly, with his face buried between her thighs. With his mouth on her…

“Haymitch,” the sound of her voice is light, dreamy and he sighs into her wetness. She’s going to kill him. God, she tastes like heaven. And sin. Her hands find his hair, holding him tight to her cunt.

“You can move, angel.” He whispers the reassurance into her heat.

Y/N whines, bucking up against his tongue.

“That’s it, sweet girl.” Fuck my face. Use me. Let me make it better.

“That feels so good.” Her brows pull together and her breathing hitches as his fingers join the exquisite torture. Stretching her open, getting her ready for him. Because Haymitch will never let anyone hurt her.

He sends her careening over the edge a second time.

How many times could she possibly-

She’s so wet by the time he poises himself at her entrance, any nervousness nearly lulled to submission.

“Just you and me.”

The head of him slides in easily, her eyes the size of saucers as he reaches her hymen.

He eases a hand between them, thumbing at her clit, soothing her, distracting her. “Just a little pinch.” He coos, feeling her tense. “I need you to relax.”

To her credit, she does try. Y/N is no stranger to pain but this is different, so different. He’s splitting her open, on the inside. “Ahh,” she squeals as he bottoms out.

“There you go.” Haymitch murmurs, sealing his lips over hers in a haughty kiss. He doesn’t move, only his fingers do, brushing her clit incessantly.

Her orgasm catches them both off guard. Haymitch affords her an appreciative grunt as her muscles spasm around him. But he never stops kissing her, drinking her in.

“You can move,” she says, after a long moment.

He fucks her so sweetly her heart aches. Like he loves her, like she’s the most precious thing in the world. Coaxing her slowly towards another climax.

Oh, no, no.

“It’s too much.” Y/N whines.

“I’ve got you.”

“I can’t,” she wails, feeling the coil tighten in her belly.

“You can, I promise.” Haymitch presses his forehead to hers, drawing gentle circles on her swollen bundle of nerves. “Nice and slow.”

Her fingers are in his hair, desperately clinging to him. “I’m-“ going to cum. Y/N realizes, much to her dismay.

“Good girl, angel.” Haymitch kisses her, swallowing her pleasure. “Such a good, sweet, girl.”

She’s overworked, overly sensitive, but his fingers circle and circle her bundle of nerves. Aching and slick with her arousal, the obscene sound of Haymitch moving inside her makes Y/N dizzy. It’s too much, too good and she’s too full.

Hot tears spill from the corners of her eyes and she’s sobbing. Cumming hot and hard all over his cock. Squeezing him, milking him for all he’s worth as she keeps cumming and cumming and cumming…

“Fuck,” Y/N cries, “holy fuck.”

Haymitch presses sloppy kisses to her damp cheek. “That’s fucking perfect, angel.” He empties himself inside her. Slumping against her, hiding her from view of the cameras. Not that it matters now.

She runs a hand along his back, absently.

When the cameras turn off and fold in on themselves, Haymitch pulls away.

Staring at her face, long and hard. Inspecting her for damage. But she looks content, sated.

“How did I do?” She asks, sweetly and he wants to die.

Rolling off of her without explanation and making a mad dash for the toilet. Managing to lock the door behind himself, before emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

When he returns, Y/N is curled in on herself, shoulders shaking. This is it, what he’d been afraid of.

He comes around, kneeling on the side of the bed, taking her hands in his. “I’m sorry, angel.”

“I’m sorry. I was just nervous, I’ll do better next time.” Her bottom lip quivers.

Oh, honey. Sweetheart. Angel. Don’t fucking do this to me. “You were perfect.”

“I made you sick.”

“No, please never think that I- that wasn’t because of you. Nothing you did. Just this whole thing is fucked. I didn’t want…to take anything else from you. It’s bad enough that you had to marry me, you shouldn’t have had to- and with the cameras-“ Haymitch breaks off again, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“So you didn’t hate…being with me?”

He shakes his head.

Y/N draws in a shuttering breath, attempting to settle her nerves.

“Come on, let’s get you in the bath.”

————————————————————————-

At her request, Haymitch doesn’t leave her alone. Instead he insists on bathing her.

She hisses as she leans up, the soreness between her thighs making itself known.

“I’ll get you something for that.” Haymitch frowns at the discomfort etched into her features.

A pill. Something for the pain.

“I’m ok,” Y/N shakes her head. I don’t want you to leave me.

“I know.” Haymitch assures her, “but you don’t have to be.” I’m going to take care of you now.

She leans into his touch as he continues running the damp cloth over her skin. “That feels nice, thank you.”

“Anytime.” He won’t let her rub her skin raw, the way he had after the first time he had to- Anything for you.

“I still want it to be real one day.”

“You tell me when it’s real and I’ll ask you to marry me again.”

“K.” Y/N tucks her bottom lip between her teeth.

Haymitch knows he’s in trouble then. When she’s looking at him like that. He knows it as he dries her off, dressing her in an oversized shirt meant for him. Knows it as she cries herself to sleep, curled up against his chest. He’ll burn this world to the ground for her.

Part 2

#haymitch abernathy x y/n #haymitch x y/n #haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch abernathy smut #haymitch x reader #thg haymitch #haymitch smut #haymitch abernathy #moves & countermoves

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marvelstoriesepic · 6 days

Text

Two

Pairing: College!Athlete!Bucky x College!Reader

Summary: Your friends Wanda and Nat drag you to a corn maze event at night. After a rather unpleasant encounter with Bucky, Sam, and Steve, you want nothing but this night to end. Unfortunately for you, you’ll have to find the exit first.

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings: Annoyance to lovers; scared!Reader; scare actor with chainsaw; scarecrows; protective!Bucky; little bit of sad!Bucky

Author’s note: This is me ignoring my wips and writing something that randomly popped up in my head. Wrote this all in one sitting but I’m actually genuinely happy with it :)

Masterlist

“We’re going to get lost in there.”

“With your sense of direction, definitely, but thankfully you have me.”

You shove Nat in the shoulder lightly enough, grumbling under your breath, while Wanda on your other side snickers softly.

The brunette links her arm with yours. “We’ll stay together the whole time,” she assures you.

“Well, I left my bed for this, so this better be good!”

Natasha and Wanda insisted on visiting the corn maze event your town had to offer this year. And since they claimed it would be boring to do this in daylight you now are standing in front of towering stalks of corn being so close together, they obscure the view inside. Sure, it would be way too easy otherwise but, the easier this is, the faster you’d be getting out of here.

There is a clear cut through the corn, signaling the entrance to the maze, but you can’t see past the artificial fog swirling in the tunnel so that’s no help either. The branches over the entrance have cobwebs dangling down and a scarecrow is placed right beside the hole, its eyes glowing red with unnatural light.

A few dimly lit jack-o-lanterns path the way to the foggy entrance, giving only enough light to make sure you wouldn’t catch on uneven ground and fall before anything even started. That would surely be embarrassing enough for the night.

You can make out faint whispers coming from inside the maze, unsure if those come from other visitors or if they are simply sound effects. Either way, you don’t like it. It’s not like you get scared easily. But there’s something about the dark that had always irked you and you don’t feel like getting jumped by some scare actor tonight or some other shit.

There are a few other people standing in groups around you three, talking to staff members, or looking at the map of the maze to somewhat prepare. You don’t pay them any mind though. There is no way you’d be socializing tonight.

“Alright, let’s get this party started!” Nat exclaims beside you.

“I don’t see this being a party,” you mutter, “and shouldn’t we get a map as well? Might be helpful, you know?” The dry sarcasm in your voice gives way to the enthusiasm you are absolutely lacking.

“We don’t need a map. Come on!” Is all she says as she pulls you and Wanda to the entrance.

“Alright well, just so you know, I'm blaming it on you when we’re still aimlessly wandering around in there by dawn,” you warn, but there’s clearly amusement in your tone you can’t suppress and you share a quick laugh with Wanda.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

It takes you three a little more than fifteen minutes to find the first checkpoint. You’re not sure if this is good or bad timing but at least you haven’t lost anyone of your small group yet so that is good.

The small flashlights you had been given earlier by an instructor cast narrow beams through the dense, twisted rows of the maze. Now, each light lands on the scarecrow ahead, its ragged form standing as still as the one you passed at the entrance. He only has one arm outstretched, clearly pointing in the direction you’ll find the next checkpoint.

“This way,” Natasha calls out, already turning to follow the path being pointed at. Her black leather jacket catches the glow of your flashlight as you walk behind her, Wanda beside you.

You hear a set of screams echoing faintly through the maze, the fifth one since you entered - an indication that in the distance, other visitors just got ambushed by scare actors in the dark. You have no intention of being next so you’re thankful for Nat taking the lead.

However, your gaze constantly darts behind you, checking your back every few minutes, convinced that at any moment something - or rather someone - might leap out of the shadows. You quickly assess and flash the path you had walked seconds earlier, before turning around again, paranoia creeping in with every step.

Distracted, you almost miss the tombstone jutting from the path ahead of you. Your heart skips a beat as your foot catches the edge, but before your face can meet the ground, Wanda’s hand shoots out. She firmly latches onto your jacket sleeve, pulling you back and steadying you, an amused laugh slipping past her lips.

“Thanks, Wan,” you laugh, a little out of breath.

“Getting lost already, ladies?”

You shriek, your heart nearly jumping out of your chest, and Wanda yelps in unison. You bump into her side, both of you spinning around hastily toward the source of the voice. Even Nat flinched, but she seems to recover quickly, letting out a low chuckle as she eyes the three figures standing before you.

You could practically hear the sultry smile she’s undoubtedly wearing behind you as she questions them. “What are you guys doing here?”

Yeah, what are they doing here? You narrow your eyes at the man who made you leap out of your skin.

Bucky Barnes. Of course.

In the middle of a creepy maze, with scare actors hiding around almost every corner, he somehow managed to sneak up on you. Typical. You shouldn’t be surprised he found you in a fucking labyrinth.

“Thought we’d check out the fancy attraction everyone’s been yapping about.” It’s Sam who answers, his words laced with a teasing grin as he stands slightly behind Bucky with his arms crossed over his chest, clearly entertained.

But Bucky didn’t even acknowledge Nat’s question. His focus remains on you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips and that glint in his eyes you know so well. He’s evidently pleased with himself for catching you off guard. Fantastic.

Steve, who comes into focus on Sam’s other side, offers you girls a sympathetic smile. There is an apology written in the way he tilts his head. “We didn’t know you were planning on coming, or else we would’ve asked you to join us,” he says, voice sincere.

Before you can respond, Bucky cuts in, stepping forward with that infuriatingly confident swagger. He throws a lazy arm over your shoulder, pulling your stiff form against his side. “Ah well, we’re together now, so let’s stay that way. We’ll get you through this maze well-protected, girls.”

His voice carries that signature smugness as if he’s doing you some grand favor and you should be grateful. You’re not. Definitely, absolutely not.

You immediately shake off his arm, stepping away from him with a sharp glare. “Yeah, no thanks. We’ll manage on our own,” you argue.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, noticeably unfazed. His smirk deepens as he leans in, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Surely that scream said something different, doll. Don’t you think?”

You scowl. “Oh, shut up, Barnes-”

Steve interrupts you with his hands held up, palms open in a calming gesture. “Let’s not make this difficult. We’ll go our own way if that’s what you want.”

“Stay,” Nat drawls, standing relaxed with her arms crossed and shooting you a teasing glance. “It’s funnier that way.”

You cut her a look that should have been able to kill her. The corners of her mouth only curl higher as she turns back towards the path ahead of you.

You see Bucky’s grin from the corner of your eyes.

You all resumed walking, six flashlights cutting through the eerie darkness around you, their beams illuminating the narrow, winding path ahead. Despite your reluctance to admit it, having the guys with you provided some sort of ease. Your shoulders droop slightly and your gait becomes more confident.

More often than not you feel the hot gaze of Bucky on your skin but choose to ignore it, focusing on the path ahead so as not to stumble over another tombstone.

“So, have you guys started preparing for-” Steve’s voice breaks through the silence but gets immediately cut off by Sam.

“Hell no, no talking about classes, or practice for that matter. That ain’t on my agenda tonight,” Sam scolds rather loudly, his voice filled with mock severity. Nat snorts, still walking ahead of you, and you join in, a small laugh escaping as Steve sighs.

The moment was brief, though, as you round another corner and Nat calls out what lay before you. “Dead end,” she declares, her tone flat but unsurprised. “Turn around.”

Grumbling softly, your group pivots and you retrace your steps to take a different turn, only to find another winding corridor shortly later. This goes on for minutes - Natasha calling out dead ends and your group backtracking to find another path offering no more than the last. The guys didn’t take a map with them as well.

You don’t fail to notice the constant presence of Bucky at your back. Each time you turn a corner he seems just a little closer, the warmth of his proximity soothing the nerves in your veins and helping with the chilling air that comes with the night. You ignore that, though.

However, you can’t ignore the fact that you did not once turn around to check your back since he and the others expanded your little group and Bucky took his place at your back. It’s strange. All the paranoia and unease from earlier had softened somehow, as if his irritating confidence bled into you, making the maze feel a little less menacing, the darkness a little less suffocating.

You feel almost reassured by the steady weight of his attention at your back like his silent presence can ward off any sense of danger.

You’re not sure how to feel about that.

Suddenly, loud menacing laughter erupts from the thick corn wall beside you. The sound is dark and jarring, cutting through the air and sending a bolt of fear through your chest. You startle with a gasp, instinctively reaching for Wanda beside you as you jump away from the bushes, your hand clutching onto her arm.

Your heart pounds violently, the adrenaline making your breath quicken. You’re too lost in the moment to notice the steady hand that has settled on your back - Bucky’s hand.

Without a word, he keeps his palm firmly pressed against the fabric of your jacket as his other hand shoots into the corn wall. You barely register his swift movement until you see him yanking out a small device - a microphone hidden in the stalks, playing that sinister laughter on repeat. With a click, the sound stops.

“Just an audio, doll, everything’s alright,” Bucky explains, his voice low and calm, the teasing edge from earlier absent.

Your breathing slows and you let go of the death grip you had on Wanda’s arm, not registering how tightly you held onto her.

Bucky’s presence remains solid and you glance at him quickly, expecting to find his usual smug grin or some sarcastic remark waiting, hoping you don’t look as embarrassed as you feel.

But there’s none of that. Instead, his expression seems almost grim as he eyes the microphone in his hand, a hint of disgust crossing his face, lips twitching. Without much care, he tosses the device back into the corn, not bothering to see where it lands.

His other hand still lay pressed against your back and you let it ground you for a fleeting second.

However, the shock transforms rather rapidly into confusion. Shouldn’t he be delighted it went on right as you passed it? Usually, he would revel in something like this, tease you for your reaction, and flash you that infuriating smirk.

He doesn’t.

You keep walking for another few minutes, the tension slowly easing back into a manageable rhythm, when Sam barks out. “There! Second checkpoint! Y’all that’s on me!”

He moves past Wanda, stopping in front of a small carton laid out on a makeshift table. Scattered across the surface were pieces of a puzzle, all with seemingly random lines on them. Four small wooden stools sat nearby, clearly set up for people to take a seat while working on the puzzle.

“A puzzle?” Bucky asks incredulously, coming to a halt with a frown, his hands on his hips.

“I think it’s cute,” Wanda offers with a smile, moving to one of the stools and lowering herself down. She picks up a piece, studying it as she begins sorting through the chaos. You agree, following her lead and settling on a stool beside her.

“You too cool for a puzzle, Barnes? Or are you scared you won’t be able to solve it?” you mock half-heartedly, your eyes already skimming over the pieces, trying to find where they fit together.

Bucky scoffs, his teasing tone returning full force. “Joke’s on you, sweetheart. I’m an excellent puzzle solver. Always did this with Bec’s when she was small.”

His voice was lighter now and you feel yourself relax a little more at the returning banter settling between you.

Though you find yourself thinking about the small comment about his sister you keep stuck on and curiosity rises in you at the little insight in his former private life. You shouldn’t find this as interesting as you did. And you shouldn’t want to know more.

Bucky lowers himself into a crouch beside you since the two other wooden stools sit beside Wanda. Nat and Steve sit down on those with mild amusement, all eyes on the puzzle pieces.

Bucky stays rather close to your side, his thigh brushing against your own as he reaches over the small makeshift table.

Sam hovers over Wanda’s shoulder, offering commentary and the glow of his flashlight as she arranges the border pieces with surprising efficiency.

“It’s an arrow,” you quip, placing a few more pieces together with a minor sense of accomplishment.

“Oh yeah? How’d you figure that out?” Bucky smirks beside you, playful as ever as he gives you a gentle shove to your shoulder with his own.

Annoyance creeps back in and you roll your eyes. “Cut it, Barnes. What you’re doing over there isn’t helpful either,” you snap, shoving him more forcefully in return. He sways slightly on the balls of his feet, letting out a low chuckle that only grates on your nerves more.

For what feels like the hundredth time, you slap his hand away from the pieces you’ve already fit together. Bucky stopped sticking his own pieces together and rather enjoys reaching over and intentionally placing the wrong pieces onto yours, or worse, rearranging what you’d already solved, eyes twinkling with mischief and the corners of his mouth tugged high up his cheeks. Each time you fix it, he finds another way to mess it up.

You refuse to look at his blinding grin.

You huff instead, slapping his other hand away as it winds around your arms trying to sneak another mismatched piece into your section.

You're also too occupied to notice the knowing glances shared across the table.

“Alright, alright, let’s get this done so we can keep moving. I’m trying to make it outta here in one piece, people,” Sam jokes with a lightness in his voice that suggests he’s enjoying this rather thoroughly.

You finished the puzzle quickly, the final piece snapping into place, and you had to hold back Bucky’s hands, refraining him from spinning the whole thing to make the arrow point in the wrong direction.

A few minutes into the walk and a few dead ends later, Wanda breaks the comfortable silence. “When’s your next game again, guys?” she asks softly.

Sam let out a groan of exasperation, throwing his arms out dramatically, almost hitting Nat. “Oh come on! What’d I say about that, huh?”

He’d been walking at the front since he claimed his spot as the lead after 'earning' it by finding the checkpoint. He turns around as he talks, facing Wanda with a playful glare.

“You said no talking about class or practice. So, I can ask about games,” she counters with a smile.

From behind you, Steve’s laugh rumbles through the group. “She got you there, pal.”

Sam shakes his head, turning ahead again, muttering. “Yeah, yeah. Game’s next Saturday.”Though his annoyance is half-hearted at best.

Then, from beside you, Bucky’s voice breaks through, casual but directed. “You’re coming, right?”His tone is laid back with an underlying expectation. The question seems to be aimed at the group but he was looking at you.

Bucky had stepped up to walk beside you after you resumed walking, his pace matching yours and you see the way his head is tilted in your direction.

You glance up at him, blue eyes watching you. He obviously waits for an answer.

“Don’t know. Maybe I have to work then.” You shrug, playing it off, and look back forward again. But you’re surprised at the way your pulse quickens under his gaze and your hand squeezes the flashlight a little tighter.

You don’t always put a whole lot of effort into being there for their games. Sure, you showed up every now and then, but not nearly as often as everyone else. It wasn’t for lack of support. More like self-preservation.

Watching Bucky stride onto the field with that cocky confidence, owning every inch of the space around him, irks you incredibly. He’s good, and he knows it - he owns it.

Unfortunately for you though, sometimes you couldn’t shove down your annoyance for the guy enough and he, unbeknownst to himself, found a way of making your stomach flip in ways you weren’t entirely proud of.

Also, that football gear - You hate the way your body reacts upon seeing him in it as if it were the first time. The fitted jersey, the helmet tucked under his arm, the way his shoulders look even broader in the pads, the brown tendrils of his fluffy and tousled hair falling over his forehead - it all makes your stomach flutter every time and it drives you crazy.

So you found ways to avoid it. You picked up extra shifts at the library, checked the game schedule weeks in advance to make sure you had a built-in excuse. You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal, just something casual you were doing to avoid unnecessary distractions. But deep down, you knew better.

And so does Natasha - if her smirk in your direction is anything to go by. You glare at her to move her attention, but it’s useless.

You’re unprepared for the following corner of the maze, lingering in the echo of your thoughts. So when the scare actor does his job, emerging from the shadows and brandishing a chainsaw that roars to life in a terrifying symphony, your soul might have just kissed you goodbye.

The flickering light from the chainsaw illuminates his grimy, masked face, a wicked smile etched across his features, and eyes glimmering with twisted mischief.

You scream - just like Wanda, just like Sam. Nat lets out a quick yelp herself and you hear the sharp intake of a breath behind you from Steve. Bucky, who had seemingly been lost in his own thoughts, flinches beside you. In a swift motion, he surges closer, grabbing your arm harsher than probably intended and pulling you to his side. His leg instinctively positions his body in front of you.

The outfit of the actor - or that’s what you try to tell yourself he is - is a patchwork of tattered flannel and soiled jeans, the perfect embodiment of a deranged lumberjack. Raised high, the chainsaw vibrates with a menacing growl, its teeth gleaming wickedly as the man brandishes it like a weapon, the scent of gasoline mingling with the earthiness of the maze.

You clutch Bucky's arm, fingers digging into the firm muscle of his biceps as he stands protectively before you, his stance rigid and shoulders tense. Your other hand is linked with his, shaking fingers surrounded by steady ones. Though his stance is stiff and tense.

Time seems to freeze as Nat, Wanda, and Sam stand still in front of you, Steve’s presence at your back.

Your heart races violently in your chest, suffocating you, and for a moment, it feels like your breath stopped altogether as the chainsaw-wielding man lunges toward you six.

All you are able to do in your state of panic is squeeze Bucky’s hand so tightly you might have feared his blood circulation cut off, if your mind were able to conjure up a thought at the moment.

Bucky reacts instantly. Without hesitation, he pivots and bolts down the maze, pulling you along. His fingers clutch yours with such fierce intensity as if his only fear is losing you in this chaos.

Steve surges ahead, taking a sharp turn right while Bucky guides you left, then right, and left again; maneuvering the maze like a seasoned racer. The world around you blurs as you focus solely on keeping up, your heart racing along with your feet. All sense of direction is lost in the chaos and you can’t tell if Nat, Sam, and Wanda are still trailing behind or if they’re swallowed by the cornrows.

You try to take a glance back, hoping to catch a glimpse of red hair, dark brown skin, or Wanda’s long coat.

“Don’t look back!” Bucky shouts over the roar of the chainsaw, his voice snapping your head to the front before you can see anything else besides the blur of yellow-green walls. “Switch off your flashlight!”

You do as you’re told.

You could have had a relaxed evening, maybe taking a bath or watching a show with warm tea and popcorn but no, instead you find yourself chased by a man with a real fucking chainsaw.

Panic surges through you again, your breaths getting shorter at Bucky's fast pace and you feel his hand tighten. There’s an unexpected strength in the way he holds you, his muscles coiling with determination. He navigates the twists and turns with instinctive agility, intense eyes moving over to you every few seconds as if the only important thing here is you.

And somehow that is oddly reassuring and maybe a bit satisfying at the moment. All that mattered is Bucky’s strong grip, anchoring you as you run alongside him.

Around another corner, the path opens up to a small clearing that offers a momentary respite. Bucky pulls you into the safety of the space, pressing your back against the rough stalks of corn, their leaves brushing against your skin. You stand chest to chest, touching each other with every ragged breath you take in.

Bucky still seems composed despite all the running you just did.

He faces the direction you had come from, muscles coiled and ready to react, arms on either side of you, practically hugging you to his chest.

“We lost the others,” you pant, glancing around as best as you could with a mountain of muscle blocking your view.

Bucky’s face is a mask of focus, his eyes scanning the maze. “Yeah. Just stay with me,” he murmurs, lowering his voice, his breath fanning over your cheeks.

He takes another few seconds to assess the surroundings, before looking down at you. “Are you alright?” he asks softly, yet urgently.

You had never been this close to Bucky before, had never imagined such a scenario, and it leaves you unprepared for the overwhelming feelings that flood your senses.

The moonlight cast a slightly silver glow over his features but some remain hidden in shadows. His eyes search yours and you find yourself caught in the depths of his irises, a captivating swirl of blue that makes it hard to look away. His lips are parted slightly, soft breaths brushing against your cheeks and your nose fills with a scent that is something distinctly him. It doesn’t help with finding your voice. The slight furrow in his brow suggests worry as he scans your features.

You nod, still breathless from the scare and his proximity.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you manage to reply, though just then, a chilling laughter echoes from around you. The sound of the chainsaw roars back to life, slicing through the stillness.

You flinch in Bucky’s hold, instinctively moving closer and burrowing half in his chest. “Fucking asshole,”you breathe out a laugh and Bucky tightens his arms momentarily around you with a low chuckle. He seems to relax a little.

“We’ll have to keep moving,” he states, a slight trace of amusement in his tone as he looks back at you. He lifts his hand for a second as if longing to tuck the loose strands of hair behind your ears that landed in your face after the frantic escape.

You ignore the sliver of disappointment as he takes his hand back and moves away slightly, letting the chill night air brush against your skin instead of his warm breath. You feel cold, despite the adrenaline pumping in your veins.

The laughing grows louder and Bucky links his hand with yours again. “You ready?” he asks, waiting for your nod before starting to run again, darting through the maze some more.

You have no idea how long it takes before you come to another stop but your chest heaves with exhaustion as you do, ragged breaths leaving your lips. Bucky stands composed with narrowed eyes, looking around the maze.

The silence between you is perhaps a little uncomfortable, the only sound being the heavy breathing of your own labored lungs.

“Well, shit,” you utter after regaining some semblance of balance. “How do we find the others? I have no idea where we are.”

Bucky’s eyes meet yours, his expression unreadable for a moment. He licks his lips, then shrugs nonchalantly. “Looks like it's just the two of us.”

Your incredulous gaze sweeps over his face. “Seriously?” you ask, coming out sharper than intended.

Bucky rubs his hand over his face, looking away from you. “I’m sure they’re fine. Not like anything ever happens in these things. Sam probably already made a bet that he makes it to the exit before we do. So we should just…try and beat 'em.”

You know he tries to seem like this doesn’t affect him at all but there is something about him that makes your stomach churn uncomfortably. He looks a little defeated, perhaps even…hurt. And you don’t quite understand why.

Bucky’s eyes crinkle at the corners slightly as he tries for a smile but it looks wry. “Come on, doll! We’re a great team,” he insists.

You raise an eyebrow. “Yeah, I don’t know about that, Barnes.”

Pain shoots through your chest. Not unfamiliar but not known around Bucky. His faltered expression stings and you don’t know what to do besides watching him drop his eyes to his feet and sigh heavily.

The sound feels like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless once again but without running from a man with a chainsaw.

His hands move over his hair. “It’s still Bucky for you doll. Told you many times,” he says softly, voice heavy with a mixture of dejection and desperation. “And we don’t really have a choice now, do we? We don’t know where the others are and it might take hours to find them. Just looking for the exit of this thing would be easier. Bet the others are doing the same.”

He looks at you then, with a troubled expression, seeming so vulnerable all of a sudden, traces of the cocky football player lost somewhere in this maze.

You nod then, slowly, not able to bring a word out because you have no clue as to what has him this sad.

“Alright,” he continues, nodding to himself. “I think we might have run past the third checkpoint. Let’s find the last one.”

The silence between Bucky and you stretches out like a fragile thread, the tension building with each passing moment. You can feel him glancing at you every few paces and you look over at him every once in a while but nobody says anything.

You don’t even talk when reaching another dead end, just turning around and resuming to walk.

He seems to let you lead, though, taking the turns you do.

You let your gaze sweep over the maze’s twists and turns until something catches your eye. A small, narrow wooden post stands almost camouflaged among the corn stalks, and your pace quickens.

“Over there! Look!”

It feels weird to break the silence between you but you don’t look over at Bucky as you approach the post and hear him fall into step behind you.

It’s adorned with two wooden flags, both having slightly faded letters atop. You read the first one, a small riddle as it seems.

“What’s it say?” Bucky asks, his voice quiet and low near your ear.

The glow of your flashlight helps you make out the words. “It says…What has keys but can’t open locks? What has a face but no eyes, nose, or mouth?”

You chance a quick glance at Bucky beside you. His eyes narrow. “I think I know this one,” he says slowly. “A clock, maybe.”

You read the riddle again, feeling his eyes on your profile. “Yeah, I think that’s it.” You hesitate a second. “Damn, Barnes. Not only all muscle, I see!” You're grateful for the teasing tone that made its way back to your voice and out of the corner of your eye, you can see Bucky’s grin lighting up his face again.

“You’d be surprised, doll,” he replies softly, a smile in his voice.

It isn’t quite the answer you had expected.

You thought he’d dig out the fact that you basically complimented his figure and you snapped your gaze up to his, though he doesn’t meet your eyes, instead staring at the letters on the wooden post.

“So, it’s a clock. What do we do with that?” He questions and you slowly turn back, lighting up the wooden flags again.

“There’s more.”

You move your light to the second flag, starting to read what’s written there.

“I’m a number that’s often paired. In harmony, I’m the perfect tease. Together we’re a perfect pair. A balance of Yin and Yang to share. In the morning, I’m bright and bold. By night, I’m soft and gentle to hold. My presence is felt in every way. From sunrise to sunset, every day.”

You hadn’t even finished reading when Bucky began shuffling a little beside you, straightening his spine. He watches you in silence now and you do your best to ignore his gaze.

You had no idea who came up with that riddle, but you feel like slapping that person. The weird tension between Bucky and you only tightens, seeming to snap any minute and this is no help at all.

Those words seem to sear themselves into your brain, echoing with an unsettling intimacy, you either wanted to bask in or get rid of.

You feel yourself wandering down a dangerous road.

You stare at those words carved into wood and it is as if someone had been watching you two, studying your dynamic, and decided to reduce your complicated relationship to a text.

But do you really think so?

In harmony? A perfect pair? Yin and Yang?

You know there was always something. You can try to suppress feelings for all you want but how can you get rid of something you won’t even acknowledge in the first place.

You like him. You like him a whole lot. Damn it, there is just something about this idiot you have to adore. But you can’t tell him that. Not now.

Not when the weight of his gaze hasn’t left you yet and you feel a flush rise in your cheeks.

Finally, you meet Bucky’s eyes, still fixed on you, as if waiting for something. His expression is unreadable and you feel like bolting away into the corn maze and getting lost. Maybe forever.

How can he look so calm and rigid at the same time? You know he is affected by those words but it looks more like he tries to see what they do to you.

His eyes dart back and forth between yours, so intense, your throat constricts and you look away, clearing your throat in hopes it will break the spell.

“Two,” you croak out. “That’s the answer. We have to head towards two o’clock.”

You see Bucky nodding slowly from the corner of his eye, his jaw clenched and you begin walking again.

The tension is palpable, like a living entity that wrapped itself around you. Every step feels like a struggle as if you’re wading through quicksand, fighting against the undertow of your own emotions.

The silence grows so thick, you can hardly breathe.

Light.

There is light just around the corner, beckoning you forward and distant voices grow louder with each step you take.

But right after rounding the corner, fog appears, wrapping you in its damp, grey folds. It’s disorienting at first but feels just like the fog you had passed at the entrance so this has to be a good sign.

However, as you spin around, desperate to locate Bucky, he is lost in the mist and you feel the suffocating need to feel him, hands reaching out frantically, grasping at nothing.

“Bucky!” You call out, voice strained and urgent. You don’t even notice the nickname rolling off your tongue, torn from your lips as if ripped from your throat.

In an instant, a gentle touch brushes against your arm. You jerk back at first, startled, but then feel the soft pressure of Bucky’s fingers wrap around yours. His other hand takes hold of yours, touch so gentle and careful as if you are something to be treasured.

Your heart begins to race as you realize he is right in front of you, chest nearly pressed against yours just like earlier, though this time it feels much more intense, intimate, purposeful.

You strain to see beyond the veil of mist, but it’s like gazing into a void. All you can make out is the faint outline of Bucky’s form, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His breathing is growing ragged. He can run however long away from a chainsaw-wielding man but standing in front of you is what makes him lose his breath?

Blood is pumping through your veins and you feel it rushing through your ears. He’s still standing in front of you, hands holding yours, chest resting against yours and you feel his hot breath against your face again.

You try to comprehend what he is doing, why he doesn’t lead you to the exit, but deep down you know. He’s gauging your reaction. Maybe he saw something in your gaze while reading this riddle, maybe it was in the way you looked at him, or carried yourself. But something about the way you had acted seemed to have given him courage. He found something as he searched your gaze at the wooden post.

And now he’s waiting for you.

“Bucky,” you whisper, barely audible but the hitch of a breath right in front of you is an indication he heard you.

His name is a plea, a confirmation, the consent to continue what he started.

Bucky’s fingers caress your skin, moving up your arms in such a slow motion as if he’s mapping and memorizing how every inch of your skin feels under his fingertips. Shivers run down your spine and goosebumps erupt in the wake of his hands and you know he can feel it.

His hesitation tempers down with every second.

The touch of his fingertips is magnetic and although you can’t see it, it draws you in with an almost magnetic force. You feel yourself leaning into him, eyes fixed on the fog where you know his own are, as if willing to clear it, ready to see the exact kind of blue you fell for. But you know he’s looking at you, not seeing, but still looking. And that was enough to make your stomach flutter.

As his fingers reach your face he gently tucks the flyaway strands behind your ear, holding your face in his palms and tilting it just right. His forehead lands on yours and you take a deep breath in until all you consume is him.

You don’t care about the eyesight you are lacking at the moment. You wouldn’t even care about hearing that menacing laughter again, or the roar from the chainsaw, because here in Bucky’s arms you’ve never felt saver.

You feel his presence in every way.

And when your lips meet his, moving in sync, you know.

In harmony! Like the perfect pair! Yin and Yang!

“Hold your horses, people, I hear something.”

You ignore Sam’s voice outside the fog, attention set on Bucky and his plump lips, his tongue gliding in your mouth, exploring its new home.

“Barnes! Hey, man! Y/n! You in there?”

Sam’s shout again remains ignored.

“You lost, guys, everyone’s out here!”

Bucky pulls away at that, resting his forehead against yours. You feel his huge smile against yours, keeping your eyes closed.

“Nah,” he whispers against your lips. “I definitely won today.”

“The road might be long

The stars may not guide me

But if you keep your heart open

I will find you”

- Michael Xavier

#bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x reader #enemies to lovers #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #james buchanan barnes #protective!Bucky #corn maze #college!reader #college!bucky #athlete!Bucky

168 notes · View notes

miyacults · 8 months

Note

begging on my hands and knees for a sequel to the daddy gojo fic but w sugu please please please

a/n: my dear nonnie this is less than u actually deserve but i hope it fuels the stsg daddy agenda im pushing here.

violet, blue, green, red to keep me out… i win.

( ft. suguru geto. )

Suguru’s nowhere near salvation—soul too damned to expect something else—yet his heart aches, breaks, and cries blood at the mere thought of not deserving you. He might have made a path down the cursed side of being a Sorcerer with Satoru next to him, making the best of his efforts on keeping you away from that devilish facade of his you haven’t seen yet, and although he’s the one to blame when you finally do, well—he can’t hide anymore. That’s the price that comes with being one of the Strongests.

< part one.

wc: 3k (proofread? probably not)

cw: [ 18+ explicit content minors dni ] technically this is part two of a gojo fic (linked above) but can be read individually so no biggie. fem reader (female bodied). teacher!suguru meaning he did not deflect here okay, we’re living a happy life away from the pain. first one was gojo action so this is for geto action only but poly satosugu is clearly implied, that’s the whole point of this basically hehe. daddy kink and daddy dynamic so be very careful! minimal to no prep. unprotected sex. p in v sex. mentions of blood. mentions of death. these two pamper reader too much so reader’s a little spoiled but in the good way. geto is a sweet pretty much. if i forgot anything to put here lemme know. enjoy! <3~

From time to time, Suguru wonders about his soul in genuine distress. Perhaps out of guilt and worry and only in moments like these—well past midnight with bloodied nuckles and heavy footsteps echoing through thin walls, dragging himself up the stairs of the palatial home he and Satoru bought together, with nothing but a familiar sense of anxiety building in his chest. But it’s not like his personal cup of remorse is filled with all the haunting thoughts of the bad things he has done and seen in his life thanks to his sinister line of work, or as if such awful thoughts could actually pull some strings within his untainted heart—because that’s far from being the case.

It’s just—it’s just who he is. The blessing and the curse of being a Sorcerer, of swallowing venom as a whole to save the lives of those who live an ignorant bliss.

White marble stains in scarlet as he approaches his bedroom in silence, mind reflecting on the fact that things should be good now, that everything’s fine and danger has been erased. Any man in love would have handled the situation in the exact way he did, wouldn’t they? He wonders about this, too, quite frequently, and he hates to admit that the question lingers on his brain for far too long for his own liking. It makes him dread the fact that he’s not doing a good job in taking care of you.

Yet it doesn’t matter, as Suguru already knows the answer better than anyone—and he doesn’t qualify much for the kind-hearted-person term (or so he’s been thinking since the last blossom of his youth and the tragedies that showered his naive teen years catches him off guard). But he really doesn’t want to either, because then that would mean that he can’t successfully protect the thing he cares about the most in the world. And he can’t let that happen.

But the look Satoru shoots at him as soon as he opens his bedroom door and finds him sitting comfortably in the wide couch—awaiting his return, as usual—has him breathing correctly again, mind turning back from unwanted ideas that bother him to no end.

“You got busy tonight, huh,” Satoru murmurs quietly, head lolling to the side while scanning his best friend’s tired figure.

“I took care of the scum,”

“And didn’t invite?”

Suguru’s lips turn into a devious smirk, heavy body finally falling between the many soft pillows his large bed has.

“Princess was so upset, needed you to stay by her side,” he resolves quite calmly, dried blood forcing a horrid contrast to his charming features. “If I’m not there to hold her, then you must,”

There’s a silent warning to his words, and Satoru doesn’t have to make an effort to catch it immediately. He already knows it by heart, he always has—he always will.

“She couldn’t stop crying for over an hour anyway,” he ends up retorting sharply instead, hoarse voice weighing a tone of suppressed anger. “Hope you gave the bastard a merciless death,”

How couldn’t he after what he did to you?

The day had started quiet, tranquil—the week itself abnormally peaceful for them. Maybe it was the fleeing summer coercing the unpleasant job of Sorcerers into days of calm, long work hours slowing down and making them believe they couldn’t relax a little bit. So they decided that it would be a good idea to take you to that new coffee shop in Shinjuku you were dying to go lately. And it was fine, of course, you were incredible happy to be outside the walls of home as you hold hands with both them in a sea of smiley people.

Until it wasn’t.

That desolated look on your face when you found yourself trapped into the arms of some Curse User seeking vengeance towards them—Suguru memorized it, because it caused him some undescribable pain he couldn’t possibly explain even if he tried to. His heart shattered into a million tiny pieces at the sight of gleaming tears drying in your cheeks and the sound of broken sobs, garbled whimpers of their names coming out of parted lips as you held onto nothing for balance, unable to stop yourself from breaking down at the fear, the horror, the trepidation it forced your body into a shock.

He couldn’t prevent what happened after they took you back and he tried to calm you down by placing you in Satoru’s lap, hurriedly murmuring something about making it right. It’s gonna be okay, princess, you’re gonna be okay. He won’t hurt you ever again. I’m here to protect you.

Maybe—just maybe—you heard the strained tone that bathed his words in that moment. And maybe you didn’t understand it right away, or maybe you didn’t want to.

Because Suguru has always been there to make things right, and nothing else has to matter when he and Satoru are there to protect you from the dangers of the world.

Like they have devoted themselves to do.

Suguru doesn’t remember the exact time you came into his life—he doesn’t really care to, because he knows you’ve pretty much always been there. He has no idea where do his memories begin or end at, but the teary-doe look of your face has been plaguing the tissues of his brain for so long now he can’t find himself to remember a time where it hasn’t been there.

He remembers his first day at Jujutsu High, during the spring of him being fifteen and you a little less than that, when he saw you adverting everyone’s gaze as you walked behind your mother (an assistant director, of all things) towards the offices in silence—floral dress wrinkly as you seated in some chair and patiently waited for your mom to finish off her work. No complaints but with a huge pout, bored to death.

He remembers the first time Satoru made you cry by telling you you were a weak nuisance (and how he shortly laughed at that), and he remembers the sickening feeling of nausea that infected his stomach shortly after—and he remembers how it didn’t disappeared until he handed you a beverage from the machines and you smiled at him like none of them ever harmed you in the first place.

He remembers you admiring your mother’s ivory dress the day she married principal Yaga, and he remembers the way he took your hand into his to give you a little bit of courage as you and Satoru walked down the aisle side by side, carrying the rings of the newlyweds.

He remembers the winter of Satoru’s eighteenth birthday, when the white-haired man accidentally dropped a box full of the school’s Christmas decorations over you, making you trip down the stairs and hurt your ankle. He remembers the tears that stained his posh pajama pants when you shouted at him—immediately, instantly—crying out his name and seeking comfort. He also remembers the way Satoru moved around you like a lighting bolt, reaching and lifting you up in his arms before Suguru could arrive. Soothing sweet words into your ear, kissing your cheek as he darted a glare in his direction.

He remembers that they both shared the same thought at that moment, even though it was never vocalized.

He remembers how you have always made him feel this sick—as if you’re infesting his body and refusing to let him cure himself off you at all. He remembers because the feeling doesn’t really stops, never has, probably never will, and he has now grow a little too familiar with the lingering explosion of things that do make him feel alive bubbling in his chest. He’s now used to you setting his soul on fire and making him sick.

But it’s special, nonetheless. A sugary sweet method of inflicting pain—as Satoru likes to say.

Because Suguru Geto is not exactly a good person by his own perspective—but he likes to believe he’s a good man to both you and Satoru, for selfish that could be. The kind of man that puts your safety and well-being on top of anything else, the one that ensures both of your happiness above his own. He’s the type of man that allows some of his darkest desires to die in a fire, following what he believes is the right thing to do.

“Sugu?”

He can hear it clearly, so vivid and bright and sweet it makes him terribly sick all of a sudden. Singsong and gently voice, coated in saccharine sugar echoing through his ears as the most enthralling tone wraps around his name like a prayer, the deliberately long uttering of ‘Sugu’ forcing the curves of his lips to fall abruptly, his heart stopping without notice and an invisible punch to the guts knocking all the air out of his lungs.

“‘Toru, Daddy, where are you?”

Suguru waits—pretends he doesn’t really care as your footsteps sound closer, closer, closer, and his posture maintains, seemingly calm, apparently unbothered, somewhat bored. But, oh, Satoru knows.

Satoru knows as he sits by his side on the obsidian sectional sofa, with legs crossed and arms splayed over the border, that his best friend’s mind is going on a haze, a brand new sense of anxiety crawling under his skin like a thousand bugs eating him alive. Satoru’s almost certain, he’s sure that if he gets a little closer, the violent sounds of Suguru’s heart pounding in alarming violence against his ribs would cause him physical pain. It puts him on edge; the mere thought of his best friend’s reaction at what’s about to happen now.

If it were him, he wouldn’t care. He hadn’t care in the past, actually. Satoru has always been more than happy to let you near the side of him that glows closer to hell than heaven itself.

But Suguru is different, he thinks.

“She’s supposed to be sleeping,” Suguru stares at him blankly, a hint of irritation in his voice. “It’s long past midnight, and she gets all cranky in the morning every time she stays up,”

“She was sleeping,” Satoru stands up, a sigh sliding past his lips while moving to the bedroom door. “But you already know how she gets if she wakes up for water and is all alone in bed. She gets all needy,”

Suguru raises an eyebrow.

“And who’s fault is that, huh?”

“It’s not polite to finger-point, Suguru.”

Both of them stay silent for a bit, carefully paying attention to your sounds. Suguru tuts his tongue when he hears you calling his name near the bathroom hall.

“I’m too bloodied for her to see me like this,”

“Clearly. Just stay there, lemme—,” Satoru scoffs, opening the door and then closing it behind him swiftly before you can catch a glimpse of the inside. “Oi, sweets, what do you think you’re doing out of bed?”

“But ‘Toru,” you complain in a hushed whine. “You left me alone, you know I don’t like that. It didn’t felt warm anymore,”

Suguru can’t see you—all he has is a muffled sound of your distorted voice, and he swears he knows exactly the way your lips are pushing the loveliest pout to ever exist, the way you’re looking at Satoru through sleepy eyelashes as you put your little complaint out.

And he also knows Satoru might have rolled his eyes playfully at the sight, pulling you closer to steal a kiss from your frowned lips.

“So needy, my baby is so needy,”

“Is Suguru not home yet?” you ask slowly, perhaps setting your groggy eyes into Satoru, staring at him with that enamored look they both know too well.

“Do you want Daddy?”

“Yeah, I do,” you snort.

“I’m your Daddy and I’m home, so,”

“I want both,” you giggle softly, so sweetly Suguru can feel his insides melt at the sound of your bubbling laugh.

He’s sure Satoru has you entangled in a hug, probably sneaking his hands all over your body and tickling your sides to pull a smile.

“Oh, your dumb Daddy, too. Alright. I dunno where he is, sweets,” Satoru states, as if.

“How mean, ‘Toru.”

“Excuse me? What did you just call me?”

“Mean. You’re lying to me.”

Suguru smirks at that. He stands up from the bed and walks towards the door to open it and find you both in the exact position he predicted.

And the look you shoot his way, the frown that forms in your face and your pretty features contract in sudden worry when his frame appears in front of you—it all has his heart pounding like crazy, he feels so loved, he feels so full of you. He feels insatiable.

“Oh,” you let out a little squeal as you shift from Satoru’s embrace and into his, “Sugu, you—”

“Don’t worry much about this, princess,” he mumbles, catching you inside his arms like the world depends on it. “I’m okay.”

But he’s sure you’re crying anyway.

And you don’t even stop to think about the blood. You don’t even care that he reeks of death and violence and Curses as you hold onto him for dear life, with arms that wrap tightly around him and pull him closer, closer, even closer; as lips caress the skin of his neck and little mewls echoe softly against his throat. Pants of I love you, I don’t want anything bad happening to you, I love you, fueling his mind like a bomb ready to launch.

Satoru laughs it off with a devious smile.

“Poor baby, you have her worried sick, Suguru,” he falsely chides. “Guess you gotta make it up to her.”

“Uh-huh,” Suguru nods. “My poor princess, do you want Daddy to make it alright?”

You nod in between heavy breaths, head still buried in his neck. Satoru gives a soft slap to your ass whimsically.

“So needy,” the Strongest murmurs, but he rapidly turns away and aims for the stairs. “I’m gonna go find a snack though, I’m starving. And then I’m gonna prepare a bath so you both can meet me there in a bit,”

Suguru nods.

“Go on. Let me take this princess to bed in the mean time, then we meet you in the bathtub,”

Suguru takes you to his large bed and places you in the middle of many soft pillows cooing in your ear to wash the concern out of you, but you’re reluctant. You cup his face and scan him looking for wounds, soon realizing the ugly streaks of scarlet that stain his face are, in fact, not his. But even then you don’t flinch. Instead, you let your hands wander all over his chest—desperate to pull him into you, to merge your bodies and never letting him go, never separated.

“Oh?” Suguru smiles at your scattered words. There’s still blinks of sleep tugging at your tired eyes, and he can’t help but fondle your face cautiously. “Are we merging with Satoru too, hm?”

You nod, sulky little look fighting sleepiness with all you got.

“Of course, Daddy, always with ‘Toru,”

“That’s right, princess. Always with Satoru,”

You inhale a deep breath. It’s easy for Suguru to notice every little thing about you, so he caught up on your train of thoughts before yourself. You were struggling with some words, biting your lip, eyelashes fluttering, thinking hard about something.

“What is it, baby?” He wonders carefully, hot breath colliding with your face, nose caressing the soft skin of your cheeks as he inhales your scent.

“Did you do a bad thing, Sugu?”

The question lingers on his brain for a few seconds, mind resisting on reflecting such thoughts. Yet his expression doesn’t change, he maintains serenity as the brush of skin above yours doesn’t stop. He holds you like a priced possession, like your mere existence could ever absolve the decaying all Sorcerers are damned to. Like you could kiss him and save him, like you could hug him and guard him—as if you could turn blood into holy water or death into salvation.

Maybe you can.

“Will you still love me if I did?” He asks, not dreading the answer.

“I will never stop loving you, Daddy,”

It ignites his body. Fire burns at his fists and he kisses you deeply, mouths meeting around a new heat, with tongues slipping and teeth clashing desperately. He has no intention of letting you catch a break, mouth falling to your neck where he bites at the sensitive skin and causes you to mewl.

“Ow, Suguru, that’s mean,” you grumble, but you part your bare legs anyway when his hands drop and brush at your thighs.

“Can’t help it, princess,” he press a chaste kiss to your lips once more. “You gonna let me play a little with this pretty pussy, yeah?” The words flee his throat in a raspy tone, and his hands don’t stop. He hikes up that oversized cashmere sweater, that can only belong to Satoru, barely above the line of your lacey black panties, enough for him graze it and get a glimpse of your puffy lips against the fabric, awaiting for him. Suguru traces a finger along your cunt, causing you to shiver at the cold digits. “How gorgeous,”

You pant. “But—The bath, Sugu,”

“He can wait a little,” he says into your mouth “Gonna make you feel really good, princess,” he breathes heavily, rocking his hip a little as a thumb strikes tenderly your cunt through your panties.

And he notices right away—in the way you shiver under his touch when he hovers completely above you, how a breathless sigh escapes past your parted lips and your fists grab a handful of his shoulders to attach yourself onto him and make his bulge nudge your cunt. He repeats the motion a few times, mouth leaving stray kisses in your neck and already throbbing cock humping your covered pussy through his pants.

“Sugu,” you whine at one particularly hard thrust of his hips, involuntary loud moan reverberating from the back of your throat. “‘Toru,”

“Shh, princess,”

Suguru is fast at parting your panties to the side, and he says there’s no need for prepping you tonight, says it’s gonna be real quick so you can both go back to Satoru—with his cock an angry shade of red as its released free from his trousers and it aims for your tiny hole fast, thrusting in one go. You’re whimpering at how fast it happens, cunt burning at the sudden intrusion since he is usually the one that takes his time to properly prep you to take his cock.

You guess he’s feeling off, so you happily comply if that’ll help him.

“Want you, Sugu, I need you,”

“Ah-ah, my good girl,” he grunts lightly, hands steadying you by the ass as he finally bottoms out. “Can you keep doing that for me? Can you be a good girl?”

A loud hiss vibrates through clenched teeth as you wrap your legs around his hips, head nodding many forms of yes as you inch closer to him in distress.

“That’s it baby, take it pretty,”

“H-Hurts a little, Sugu,” you murmur softly, eyes glued to where he’s slowly sliding in and out.

“I know princess,” he pants. “Give it a minute,” He’s practically caging you shortly after, thrusting up roughly as stretched out walls wrap him and suck him deeply. You’re not given a chance to recover or adjust properly, but the burning does start to fade away. Discomfort grows into pleasure and whimpers turn into soft moans as you bury your face on his neck and his hot breath collides sharply against the shell of your ear. “You’re so brave, my good girl. So pretty, my princess,”

You lift your hips to meet his thrusts, dainty fingers digging the flesh of his shoulders when he grunts. And it doesn’t take long for tears to collect in your eyes as heat floods your body once again, the familiar throb of your clit making you aggravate the hump of your hips so your swollen bud finds a little bit of friction. Suguru doesn’t fail to turn you into a needy mess, strong hand coming to cover the cries emitting from your mouth.

Muffled chants of Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, alongside his hoarse grunts and the lewd slap of skin against skin are the only sounds that fly the room when he cums—bruising fingers grasping your flesh harshly as he paints your walls white, and nearly immediately you’re creaming all over the tip of his sensitive cock firmly pressed against your cervix.

“Not leaving you baby,” he pants out. “Not leaving you at all.”

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dr5amatic · 26 days

Text

IN THE ASHES ,

a sentence starter prompts list comprised of quotes from the novel an ember in the ashes by sabaa tahir. please be advised that this list may involve topics including, but not limited to, murder, death, and violence. change verbiage as needed.

why do keep disappearing when i need you?

i wasn't spying.

what you saw is dangerous. you can't tell anyone about it. not ever.

keep your secrets close, love.

i'm not working for them.

don't be afraid [name], i won't let anything happen to you.

what are you doing down here?

much as i hate to admit it, you're not usually wrong.

the field of battle is my temple.

the dance of death is my prayer.

the killing blow is my release.

aren't you a pretty one.

who trained you?

keep it safe for me just until i come back.

unless you're stupider than you look, even you can see how this appears.

you worked hard. you did everything right.

go, [name]. go get some air. i'll handle this.

the ghosts of our misdeeds seek vengeance, but the cost will be high.

you are an ember in the ashes, [name]. you will spark and burn, ravage and destroy. you cannot change it. you cannot stop it.

we don't abandon our own!

who do you want me to spy on?

shadows will bloom in your heart and you will become everything you hate.

so my choices are either to stay and be evil or run and be evil. wonderful.

they always underestimate me.

this isn't a mission for the fainthearted.

go away. you're not real.

you're distracted when you can ill afford to be.

if you want to win this, you need to wake up.

i've already wasted too much time cleaning up your messes.

lay low. don't risk spying until you're certain you won't get caught.

fail me again, and we're done.

these are my friends, my family. people i know. i wouldn't hurt them.

how do i make it stop? i have to make it stop.

until you conquer your fear, the dead will remain with you.

i won't kill you. i swear it. by blood and bone, i swear it.

you're going to be fine. i'm going to fix you right up.

fight, [name]. you have to fight. you have to win.

death before tyranny.

if what you say is true, then the balance is upset, and we must restore it.

you look terrible. come into the shade.

you really should run. you’re just going to die.

wait, you idiot! it might be a trap!

i won’t let you fall, i promise.

i want you to know that i think what you’re doing is brave. really brave.

it’s not a stupid idea, just dangerous. i don’t want you getting hurt.

you’re trying to sneak out.

i wouldn’t have traded this for anything.

i live with my sins everyday. i live with the guilt.

i’ve never asked you for anything. i’m asking you now.

you think i can’t defend myself? you think i need bodyguards?

i’ve been distracted worrying about you.

i’ll kill him for this.

don’t talk. just keep quiet and… let me think.

you’re in love with me! but i'm not in love with you, and you hate me for it. you’ve let that ruin our friendship.

i could never be in love with you.

you have no idea what I’ve given up for you, the deal i made.

who did this?

look at you–look what they’ve done to you.

you don’t have to be brave.

do you have what i want?

i have something, but i need more time.

if you have nothing, then this mission is a failure.

don’t have time for that. I’ve got other things on my mind.

if i wanted to hurt you, i’d already have done it.

as long as there is life, there is hope.

either way, you’d have blamed yourself.

either way, people you cared about would have suffered.

i should have stayed, even if it meant dying.

they won’t let you have compassion or kindness. they won’t let you have a soul.

my soul’s gone. I killed it dead on that battlefield.

there are two kinds of guilt. the kind that’s a burden and the kind that gives you purpose.

you have a soul. it’s damaged, but it’s there. don’t let them take it from you.

you don’t need to be so cat-footed. i’m not armed.

you’re surprised? you’re naïve, is what you are. you’re a fool.

you’re sick. don’t you have any regret? any remorse?

i’ll celebrate them. i’ll mourn them. but i won’t regret what i did. i did it for the empire. i did it for my people.

don’t make vows when you can’t know their cost.

i crossed a line, and i won’t cross it again.

do you know what i do to spies?

be strong. if you don’t win this, everything is lost.

i will be your blood shrike, your second-in-command, the sword that executes at your will, until death. i swear it.

in the night, your loneliness crushes you, as if the sky itself has swooped down to smother you in its cold arms.

there is nothing of me that is worth anything.

tell me, or i slit your throat here and now.

you’ll pay for this. i swear it to the skies, to the stars. you’ll pay.

just because he’s a good leader doesn’t mean he’s a good person. he lied to you.

for the first time since i can remember, i don’t feel alone. because of you.

i can’t–i can’t stop thinking about you. i’ve tried not to. i tried to push you out.

i’ll take care of everything. i promise.

the moment i knew you existed, i hated you.

if i feel regret, it’s that i wasn’t willing to die sooner.

i’d rather die than live with no mercy, no honor, no soul.

fear is only your enemy if you allow it to be.

too much fear an you’re paralyzed. too little fear and you’re arrogant.

i’ll watch your back if you watch mine. we can make it if we stick together.

#rp sentence starters #rp prompts #rp memes #inbox memes #roleplay memes #inbox prompt #roleplay prompts

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bruisedboys · 2 years

Note

need to share my james potter thoughts because it an obsession at this point.james potter has invested my brain! he’s just so ugh

I know for a fact, James potter has no sense of space.James potter is constantly touching you & not aware of how much pda he shows. he is aways touching you, leaving you a blushing mess. constantly reaching under your shirt tracing patterns into you skin. his hands always end up on your boobs. his hands will start resting in your thighs but will always slide further up. he doesn’t do any of this on purpose, really. he doesn’t realize he is doing it till you’re gently slapping his hand away. he always pouts each time you remind him you’re in public. By the fifth time he announces you two are leaving & heading home where he can touch you as much as he likes.

omg literally. he just doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself </33

fem!afab!reader 0.6k words

James feels accustomed to touch you. After all, you are his girlfriend. What’s more, you’re beautiful, and you’ve got a lovely body that James can’t resist touching whenever he can. Asking James to not be touching you at all times is like asking him not to breathe. He’d die if he couldn’t touch you.

Right now he’s got you in his lap, a knee between your thighs and your back to his front. It’s only been about six seconds since you sat down and James has already got his hands up your shirt.

“Hi, honey,” he greets, pushing his crossed palms up your stomach and spreading his fingers over your ribcage. He makes sure your t-shirt doesn’t ride up over his wrists — he wouldn’t want anyone but him seeing your lovely, soft stomach. “Having a good time?”

You sigh and tilt your head back onto James’s shoulder. You twist your head slightly so you’re looking up at him, your lips an inch from his jaw. “No, this is boring.”

James laughs, a barking, startled, delighted laugh. He’s glad he’s not the only one who’s being bored to tears by this party.

“Don’t let Sirius hear you say that,” James says seriously, though he wouldn’t mind telling him himself. Sirius can either throw the best parties or the worst. Tonight’s is the latter.

You giggle and push up to press your lips to James’s jaw. Your mouth is soft and sticky and James can’t resist turning his head at the last second before you pull away to catch you in a proper kiss. You laugh against his lips, startled, but you don’t stop him. He kisses and kisses and tastes your lip balm and the drink Sirius had concocted for you earlier.

You kiss him back with just as much eagerness, all sticky and sweet and a little bit messy, so when his hands start to climb your torso, hot and eager and searching for something to squeeze, who can blame him?

You yelp when James squeezes your breast, breaking away from the kiss to stare at him, one part scandalised and two parts flustered.

“James,” you gasp, leaning forwards so he’s forced to drop his hands from where they’d been cupping your breasts. “Don’t.”

James fakes innocence but by the look on your face, his lopsided grin is giving him away. “What?”

You scoff and twist in his lap so both your thighs are horizontal across his. Then you grab his wrists and tug his hands out from underneath your shirt.

“You can’t just grope me in your best friend’s living room,” you say deadpan.

“Why not?”

The little huff of frustration you make and the pout on your kiss-swollen lips are so adorable that James almost tells you so. He doesn’t. He’d rather keep his head.

“What do you mean ‘why not’?” You ask incredulously, looking adorably fed up. “There’s people.”

You gesture to the room around you. There are quite a lot of people, James notices. He’d been too interested in you to register the rest of the partygoers. In his defense, none of them are paying an ounce of attention to you or James.

“Nobody’s watching,” he reasons, moving to push his hand under your shirt again.

You stop him before he gets any further, slapping his hand away and twisting out of his reach.

“James,” you hiss, sounding flustered and annoyed simultaneously. “Get a hold of yourself.”

James laughs at that. How can you be telling him that when you’re sitting in his lap looking so pretty? It’s bollocks.

“Sorry, baby,” he says, sincere for all the wrong reasons. “You’re just irresistible, you know?”

You groan and collapse into his chest, hiding your hot face in his shoulder. You grumble into his shirt, and James hears words like ‘awful’ and ‘corny’ and ‘gross’.

“Poor girl,” he murmurs, reaching around to rub your back.

You grumble louder.

#★ mal writes!#ღ james #✉️#james potter #james potter x reader fluff #james potter fluff #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter imagine #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x reader #james potter drabble #james potter blurbs #james potter blurb #james potter fic

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lxmelle · 2 months

Text

It’s worth noting that the draft & final version of the KFC breakup scene tie to the same scene where Riko is being carried by Gojo. The message is similar. One was a draft after all.

I’m not & don’t wish to be involved in discourse over ships, but the bottomline is that Gojo could’ve ended Geto’s life at any time. I’m sure Geto knew that. He was waiting for Gojo to intervene; hence, the “you’re late Satoru”.

Just demonstrating how the dialogue in both the draft & the final version tie back into the same scene.

オマエは悪くない - used in this context, Gojo responded to Geto’s words saying that it didn’t matter if he was ok, since Riko lost her life, and it carried the meaning “it’s not your fault”.

「君に殺られるのなら悪くない」is the drafted version meaning, “to be killed by you, wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

The use of 悪くない can be don’t mind/OK.

But, if it is meant to draw a parallel w/ the scene in HI, then it implies that Geto is giving Gojo permission/will not fault him. He then moves onto say that Gojo should “be careful” not to kill anyone else but him, as he disappears.

Moving into the final version…. In HI Geto implies it’d be meaningless 意味がない to cull the civilians as they’re just followers

And that meaning is very important as a sorcerer.

Thus the one that made the final scene is Geto imploring Gojo to decide himself & it’s reminiscent of their exchange. Just as Gojo signs to stop him, he says: Kill if you want to kill, there would be meaning/意味がある

So Gojo is left to think about their exchange in either version.

It should have achieved the same thing from Gojo’s perspective either way.

If we think back to the first exchange, Geto stops Gojo from harming the innocents; he wants Gojo to stay true to it. The message is still “I won’t blame you if you kill me”. Whenever that is.

It’s interesting that Geto goes onto do what he preached: he kills Sonoda and Sonoda alone shortly after.

And just in case we need a reminder of who Sonoda is:

He, too, acted out what his message to Gojo was. I think he knew he deserved death & that Gojo should believe that it wouldn’t be a bad thing if he did.

Gojo’s first “human” life (not curse) he took was Toji’s. We dunno why he went after him when he said he didn’t want revenge. Was it to test his powers? Finish the battle? Regardless, Riko & Kuroi were avenged w/ Toji & Sonoda dead. They each avenged her death.

He also knew Gojo had the capacity in him to kill humans. Hence, phrases like “you could do it, Satoru” & “if I could be you” & “unlike you I’m soft/kind” & “there would be no meaning” have all been said by Geto to Gojo. So in my mind, he clearly wanted Gojo to kill him. It could’ve been appropriate for Gege to use the drafted version as a way for Geto to reiterate his message to Gojo all along - don’t kill humans. You stay on your path and fight for humans and I’ll descend as the monster because I can’t be a sorcerer.

He left the method & moment to kill him entirely up for Gojo to decide.

So if that is Gege’s intention for Geto to communicate to Gojo… The final version of their exchange may have been better because Geto didn’t dictate that Gojo should be careful not to kill anyone. And it wouldn’t sound like a threat / taunt where he’s warning Gojo not to open fire then & there. At most, I can imagine he wished to see Gojo respect him as a friend. But realistically, Geto had already accepted his death. And if he cared that much about his ideology and his ideology alone, he would’ve asked Gojo to “kill me now!” And be happy that humans died. “Or come with me!” And whoopee, his ideals could be realised. But he didn’t.

So it leads me to believe he wanted to let Gojo’s hand go like on the Ao no sumika cover. And not drag him down. And Gojo honoured that love Geto had for him although it was hard on them both. Gojo understood.

And honestly I don’t believe Geto necessarily harmed humans indiscriminately either. He seemed to embody the belief that only those who deserve to die should die, even if he said he wanted to force evolution and tried his best to self-affirm that he hated humans. He believed Gojo should do the same especially on his own path as a sorcerer, not curse user. Thus the advice of “be careful not to kill anyone other than me” was not misplaced.

Over time Geto might’ve come to believe that that was one of the reasons why Gojo didn’t fire at him then and there. Which is also why we saw Kenny recollect that scene and cook up that plan to seal Gojo in the box. But he was wrong and that 1% chance of Gojo opening his domain happened - Gojo took a calculated risk against humans “for the better good”.

More blabbing here if you’re interested: https://www.tumblr.com/lxmelle/755427466440491008/just-some-thoughts-about-satosugu-and-how-they

#just my thoughts #yes I need to empty my brain sometimes #satosugu #satosugu brainrot #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #geto suguru #stsg #jjk spoilers #jjk analysis #jjk meta #Satosugu theories #jujutsu kaisen analysis #jjk satosugu #jjk #satosugu angst #jjk drafts

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aprilthearcher · 4 months

Text

lost the game of chance

[remus lupin x fem!reader] [platonic james potter x fem!reader] based on ‘How Did It End?’ and ‘So Long, London’ by Taylor Swift. warnings: angst, angst, not sure if it’s a happy ending, but perhaps an ambiguous one. curse words, smoking, mentions of the war. my poor knowledge of tarot. English is not my first language, and I tried to do sth fun with my writing style on this one. No instance of (Y/N).

The hushed whispers, gasps, and fingers that would follow me everywhere were not, in fact, any more subtle than screaming the question directly at my face. For all the harm it meant, I guess I still couldn’t blame them. They knew no better than to entertain themselves with meaningless gossip about people they barely knew. It was either amusement from the messy breakup of the month or finally facing the fact that a war was brewing. Sally and Annie’s fallout had been the most discussed topic just a fortnight ago.

The twins' straightforwardness, although somewhat appreciated, had come as a surprise. I had heard the question being asked behind my back many times this week, in whispers and brimmed to the top with fake empathy.

“We wanted to say we’re very sorry about what happened between you and…” I didn’t know if she hadn’t finished the sentence out of apprehension or some sort of ‘respect’ thing.

“Remus” I said. Both of the twins visibly relaxed after I spoke his name out loud without bursting in tears. “You can say his name, I won’t crumble.” Liar.

“Yes, terribly sorry we are. We wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“I am, thank you.”

I was leaving when I heard it.

“How did it end?”

And there it was. Turning around, the sight that greeted me would’ve made me laugh under different circumstances. Marion, presumably the one who couldn’t contain herself and asked the question, had both of her hands covering her mouth and her eyes had never looked bigger. Her sister, Nora, had her eyes shut closed, face scrunched up in embarrassment while the tip of her ears turned red.

Why don’t you ask him? Perhaps then I’ll know, too. Why don’t you go and find out for me? Why don’t you? Would you two be a dear and ask him why he called it all off? Because I can’t pretend like I understand how I got here, pretending to be composed as if I hadn’t been crying all weekend.

“We won’t tell anyone.” (Except all of our friends, who will tell their friends, and they tell theirs…).

“I guess… I guess we didn’t work out anymore.”

Short and sweet. I could tell the twins were disappointed. Sally had definitely been more indulgent.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

“She said that? She said we didn’t work out?”

“Why are you so surprised, mate? You were the one to tell her that.” James’ tone was colder than the snow covering the courtyard. The boys were killing time in the Gryffindor Common Room, huddled in the burgundy sofas and armchairs, protected from the bitter November weather. Both of his best friends were hurt and the one moaning and complaining was the one to blame.

“Well, yes, but…”

“But? You know, Remus, we wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t screwed it all up.”

Peter, concentrating on shuffling a deck of cards wandless, whistled softly. He might have seemed uninterested, but you could bet he had been listening to the entire interaction. “Unfortunately for you, James has a point.”

“Sirius, you’re awfully quiet.” Remus mumbled while biting the skin around his nails.

Sirius Black was, perhaps for the first time in his life, lost at words. He had been strolling round the room wondering when Remus had gone completely mental. Sirius knew his friend had always been somewhat loony – if you catch his drift – but this was on another level.

“I’m restraining myself from speaking because if not I’ll probably punch you in the face.” Honest as you could get from the eldest Black son.

“What has speaking got to do with you punching me in the face?”

“You want to find out, Remmy?” Asked Sirius, staring at Remus from the window, where he had decided to finally sit down and unroll a cigarette.

Peter’s squeaky laugh was cut short by a golden cushion landing on his nose.

“That shit will kill you,” Remus protested, chin lifted up to point at the cigarette on Sirius’ lips.

“Oh, cry me a fucking river, Remus.”

Remus felt like crying a river but not over Sirius’ disgusting habit.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Every corner of the castle was haunted, either by the memories created together or by her phantom-like figure wandering the halls aimlessly; an arrow being constantly thrown around by the wind, changing directions when she saw even a glimpse of him.

The library was a bittersweet haven. Continually looking over her shoulder, methodically wiping away a tear from time to time; still, as much as it reminded her of Remus, it had been one of her favourite places before even meeting him. The fear of seeing him there couldn’t – wouldn’t – keep her frozen in her dorm forever.

The smell of books, the sound of quills scribbling against pieces of parchments, and even the occasional screeches of the librarian were unparalleled comforting for her.

Distracted by the illustrations on the spine of a large tome, she didn’t notice the person standing behind her.

“I read the book you lent me last month.”

A near heart attack later and with a hand on her chest, she turned around. The bulky teenager smiled sheepishly, fixing his glasses with one hand while the other held out the book. He was wearing the red and gold gloves she had knitted for him as a gift. A mini embroidered lion had been enchanted to run across the horizontal colourful lines. She smiled at the sight of it. James Potter was the greatest friend she had ever had.

“Did you like it?”

“Loved it.”

Silently, he circled his arms around her, the book still in his hands was now a delicate weight on her back. She returned the hug immediately, her arms enclosing tightly around his frame. The lingering smell of chocolate brought tears to her eyes.

“Don’t tell anyone but I think Snape is our own version of Mr Hyde.” James spoke softly on the shell of her ear. The chuckle she let out made James’ heart soared. She was the greatest friend he would always cheer up.

“Thank you.”

“For making fun of Snape? You’d have to thank me daily, sweetheart.”

“I would say hourly.” A cheeky grin crept up on her face.

“Now you’re catching on.” His hands abandoned their place at her back to gently grab her face. “Want to go to Hogsmeade and grab a butterbeer? It’s still early.”

She could never say no to him because James’ gentle smile reassured her, time and time again, that it would be alright.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

The war had left her short of friends and allies; short of hopes and dreams.

With a heavy heart, she conjured a small bouquet of white flowers to lay on James and Lily’s grave. The soft autumn breeze did nothing to dry her tears. She would come to see them as often as she could, and as often as her grief would allow her. The worst part of it all was that she had lost Harry, as well.

She fought Dumbledore tooth and nail to at least be allowed to be part of his life. If raising him was too much, then she could surely visit him once or twice a month. He refused – though he kept quiet at the sight of the albatross he saw circling the house in Privet Drive the night Lily and James died –. He knew she’d find some loophole in his restrictions. Nobody had said anything about a bird common to be seen on the ocean flying across Little Whinging.

October 31st was a hazy memory, getting blurrier by the years. She had been shuffling her tarot cards – a branch of magic she’d wanted to take up since she was a little girl – when the entire deck burst from her hands. Suspended in the air, the only visible cards were the Tower, the Ten of Swords, and the Three of Swords. She didn’t need anyone to tell her what had happened.

A white-feathered bird was out of the window a few minutes later and in its journey, the albatross found a giant man flying a motorcycle with a bundle in his arms.

The sound of the soft leaves being stepped on took her out of her memories. She turned around with a tight grip on her wand.

“Hey.”

Remus Lupin had changed over the years. More scars littered his face, the bags below his hazel eyes were more prominent, and he had done something to his hair. He was holding a bouquet of lilies in his right hand, the other one was hidden inside the pocket of his trousers. A tiny, apprehensive, yet handsome smile had formed in his lips.

She would always be under whatever spell that smile incited in her.

“Hi.”

For Remus, she was still stunning. His heart still leaps at the sight of her eyes.

#remus lupin #remus lupin angst #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #marauders #marauders fanfic #marauders x reader #fem!reader #remus lupin x f!reader #remus lupin x fem!reader

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unicoreads · 14 days

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The way we watch Alicent get pimped out by her dad, sworn to secrecy by the king, forced into a marriage with the same man (who isold enough to be her dad), maritally raped by said old ass husband & forced to carry his heirs in quick succession, all while still growing up herself and losing her only friend…….yet somehow, someway, there are people out there who………blame Alicent…the child? Book!Alicent is a different story, but to sit and WATCH show!Alicent go through all of this manipulation and grooming and abuse, and hate her?! Yeah some of y’all are sick 😭 I’m not even joking because like…..what?!

We are supposed to feel bad for Rhaenyra being forced to marry………but not Alicent? Why? Someone tell me why & quickly!! And don’t you dare say “sHE seDucEd vISerYs”, no, she was manipulated and then told to keep it secret by her king! He knew it was wrong yet didn’t gaf, so where is his hate? Are we being hypocrites guys?

We are supposed to feel bad for Rhaenyra & her kids, but not Alicent & hers who were ignored and treated like shit? Once again where is Viserys’ hate? QUICKLY, tell me!!! He’s neglecting his kids guys, we don’t support that do we?

We are supposed to hate Alicent for how she treated Rhaenyra, but not Rhaenyra for how she treated Alicent? (Especially when it was shown Alicent was trying and she didn’t become hateful until RHAENYRA LIED to her) Why, tell me, tell me, tell me. And don’t you dare say “sHE BEtRayEd hEr bY mARryInG ViSeRYs” SHE DIDNT HAVE A CHOICE!!! If we know Rhaenyra didn’t and we feel oh so bad for her, and we know most noble women don’t have a choice, then why are we mad at Alicent like she did? tell me please I BEG!

We scream girl boss for Rhaenyra wanted a son for a son, sorry make that sons for a son, yet Alicent is Beelzebub for wanting Justice for her son (WHO WAS A KID!!!! He hadn’t done shit yet, he was sweet and dragonless & got bullied, then maimed, YOU WOULD BE MAD TOO, lie & say you wouldn’t 😐) anyone who doesn’t understand Alicent’s motives behind the eye for an eye incident is either not a parent or is a heartless monster 🤷‍♀️

Y’all quite literally watched Alicent’s villain origin story and said why she so mad? Are you…..are you seriously dumb or just fucking with me? 😭

Y’all are pro Rhaenyra because she’s a “feminist” yet y’all hate every women who isn’t Rhaenyra……to me it sounds like…….✨hypocrisy✨

And how does one stand for a war against misogyny only to participate in the misogyny themselves? 🤔

The dance is a war against misogyny yet……….no one is stopping the misogyny, just dressing it up with cute excuses and throwing the blame onto the other side………..

(Also like it’s not far fetched to believe Rhaenyra would’ve had Alicent’s kids dealt with, especially since she’s hated Aegon since before he was a baby. My guy was 2 and she was beefing with bro like…. And you can’t say “AliCEnt & OtTo didN’T lEt tHeM hAVE a rElAtiOnsHIP” ummm SHOWwise that is untrue Rhaenyra just didn’t wanna fuck with them kids 😂)

#hotd #anti hotd stans #team neutral #the real misogynist hide behind team black banners #anti team black stans #alicent hightower #Alicent Hightower deserved better #Alicent and her kids deserved better #TELL ME #QUICKLY #ANSWER please #I wonder how many people this is going to make mad?#let’s see how many bullshit excuses can be made #you can like a character AND hold them accountable

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touyubesposts · 2 years

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My Sander Sides Enlightment

You know what’s always kinda bothered me? Those mean takes on the other sides. Like ‘Janus is manipulating Patton and isn’t actually trying to be friends with him,’ ‘Patton has too much moral superiority,’ ‘Roman never learns,’ So on and so forth. There is something bad to say about all the sides. No hate to anyone who's made one, you are valid and probably right in your own way. I think the only reason they bother me so much is because you can easily say the opposite. The most common phrase being ‘Nobody listens to ____’

“Nobody listens to Patton! He was trying to show the others that Virgil was good all along and only when Virgil was gone did they listen.”

“Nobody listens to Logan! He gets ignored constantly and he’s getting mad because of it.”

“Nobody listens to Roman! Every time he comes up with a solution, he gets shut down only to get blamed for not coming up with a solution.”

“Nobody listens to Virgil! He only gets listened to when he forces Thomas to hear him, and he doesn’t like doing that.”

“Nobody listens to Janus! Even when he has good ideas and arguments, they get pushed to the side because he is a dark side.”

“Nobody listens to Remus! That was the entire point of an episode. And all he wants is to be listened to, it doesn’t matter who.”

And all of these are valid points. But at some point, you have to wonder who’s not listening the most. Which is how I think the criticism posts of the characters came to be in the first place. But I don’t think any of them are to blame. Even when this new side gets revealed, it won’t be his fault either. The fault isn’t on Roman, or Logan, or Janus, or any of them.

It's on Thomas.

And of course I don’t mean ‘Writer Thomas,’ I mean ‘Character Thomas.’ Throughout the series, Thomas has always held himself high. You can’t be perfect, but you can try to be. And every time a situation comes up, he doubts himself, wondering if he’s even any good at all.

And in comes the sides, telling him that he can’t be bad and here's why. In fact, Thomas won’t let himself be bad at anything. Can’t be a bad worker, can’t be a bad actor or singer, and certainly can’t be a bad friend. Even in situations where he wouldn’t even be those things, he can’t even let himself risk it.

And so, the sides follow suit.

Logan becomes the perfect person for knowledge and learning, never letting himself be anything less than right all the time.

Roman strives to be perfect physically and materialistically, coming up with creative ideas that help Thomas move up in the world or, at the very least, make himself feel better.

Patton is the perfectly moral person. Make sure everyone is alright, help whenever and wherever you can, and always keep a smile on. Wouldn’t want anyone worrying for you, right? That wouldn’t be good.

Virgil is the perfect alarm system. Even false alarms are taken with the utmost seriousness. Just as long as no one else knows your anxious.

Janus is a deceiver. And Thomas lies often. So he needs to be the best at putting on a face and making sure nothing goes off without a hitch. Wouldn’t want people catching him in a lie. He needs to be the perfect liar.

And then there's Remus. The only one who tries not to be perfect. But that idea terrifies the others so much, Remus is left to pick up all of the imperfection slack. Maybe that's why Remus was offended when he was called ‘Scary.’

Trying to be so many perfect things all at once, you’re going to but heads with all of the different aspects of yourself. You're going to not listen. You're going to ignore. And in some cases, your perfectionism is going to make you look like the bad guy. And as someone with perfectionism, I relate a little too hard.

Thank you for reading.

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scarasbaefy · 1 year

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linger

chars; scaramouche/wanderer

; fem reader, angst

note; I AM NEW TO THIS !! i neefd more angst i love angst so im doing it myself. emoly if u see this, HI !!!

Ⰶ

sitting on the bed you shared with your “husband” is all you seemed to do these past few months. scaramouche is rarely ever home. when he is, he doesn’t even bother to greet you. not a smile on his face, and no word is exchanged between you. there hasn’t been any intimacy either. no kisses, no loving touches.

“why don't you just leave him? it’s obvious you’re miserable.” tartaglia said as he seen you walk out the infirmary. he had no idea what he was talking about. he doesn't even know the feeling of loving someone so much that you don’t want to let go. “i love him.” you stated, no emotion present in your voice. who can blame you? you were in a loveless relationship. tartaglia felt bad for you but didn’t say anything more. you stared at his back, watching him as he continued to walk down the hall. everyone was worried sick at your depressed state, except of course scaramouche.

tartaglias words lingered in your mind. maybe it wouldn’t hurt to ask scaramouche why he was acting this way towards you. was it the girl everyone had been talking about? you’d occasionally hear other harbingers talk about a mysterious traveler ruining their plans.

you walked back to your room with the mystery girl in your mind. sometimes you would read reports from scaramouches missions that had been mailed in for filing. the way he wrote about her and complimented her skills made you slightly jealous. ‘it’s okay,” you told yourself, “soon, she’ll be the furthest thing from his mind!”

before him becoming distant, he would talk to you with the happiest look on his face. he would bring you gifts and strike down anyone who dared to look at you the wrong way, never failing to bring butterflies to your stomach. the memories of the past made you tear up. “i miss my husband.” you whispered as you rubbed your stomach, trying to soothe the sudden cramp you had been getting for a while now.

“i’m right here. stop crying. it’s making you look pathetic.” scaramouche said as he slammed the door shut. “do you know how embarrassing it is having a crybaby wife like you? lumine would never do this. everyone looks at us with pity and i hate it, and it’s all your fault,” his words dripped with venom.

you felt your heart drop. you didn’t know he was coming home today. the plan to tell him the news you found out from the infirmary suddenly slipped out of your mind, fear of what he’d do to you replacing its spot.

“i-i.. when did you arrive? i thought you wouldn’t be coming home for another week or so,” you said as you wiped the tears from your eyes.

scaramouche walked in front of you, grabbing ur face with one hand while rubbing the tears away rather harshly. you immediately tried prying yourself away from him. “stop! you’re hurting me!” you shouted, grabbing his wrists and forcing his hands off your face. “oh give me a break,” he started, “now i can’t even wipe your tears away without you acting dramatic? isn’t this what you want anyways? god, how much more useless can you get? if i knew you were going to become like this, i wouldn’t have married you. id rather walk this land alone a thousand times and witness my friends get killed, than to be seen with a person like you.” your heart dropped for a second time. this time, the aching pain lingered longer.

you slowly smiled at him. one of those smiles you give when you’ve had enough. months without him talking to you and this is how he treats you? scaramouche furrowed his eyebrows at your reaction. no one should be happy after being insulted.

“okay.” you said, the smile turning into a bitter expression. you stood up and shoved him away from you. “take your lousy ring,” you took the ring off your finger and threw it towards his feet, “i’m sick of this, and you, and everything you haven’t done. i haven’t done anything to you to deserve this,” scaramouche stood there with a surprised face. he stumbled as he reached to catch your ring, regret immediately washing over him. never in a million years did he think you’d be capable of talking back. you’re a sweet person with no room for hate. “don’t look for me,” you continued, “don’t follow me. don’t even bother mentioning my name,” you made your way towards the door, hand reaching for the doorknob, “and by the way, don’t be surprised when one of your subordinates reports back to you telling you they spotted me with an infant that resembles you.” the electro vision on your back flickered before the sound of thunder roared and lightning replacing where your body once stood, teleporting you out of the building.

#hi #wyd #i didnt know what to write about #scaramouche #wanderer #angst #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader angst #genshin #genshin impact #teyvat #childe #tartaglia #oneshot

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mollymauk-teafleak · 7 months

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when we begin again

I wanted to write something for my little huskerdust babies au! So here's some devastating angst!!

Huge thanks to @minky-for-short for being the first to indulge me in this madness and the general encouragement and huge thanks to @hangsters for putting up with me singing these songs on repeat whenever by brain goes into standby

Please reblog and leave a comment over on Ao3!

cw trans angel dust, male presenting pregnancy

“You have to deal with Angel Dust.”

Husk had been hearing that a lot lately. It made him happier than he’d be willing to admit to anyone with working ears.

Well. Anyone apart from Angel Dust himself.

But that surly voice didn’t belong to his man, it was Vaggie who had appeared against his bar, hands braced on it and interrupting the game of poker Husk had been playing against himself. There wasn’t much to do when you were a bartender who’d promised not to drink for the next six months, two weeks and three days. But who was counting?

Husk didn’t look up, rolling the olives he used as chips from one pile to the other, blatantly cheating and willing himself not to notice, “Let me guess, he made Charlie cry again? Or was it Nifty this time? Ah fuck, did he piss off the radio demon…”

He’d rattled them off in order of likelihood but he wouldn’t put any of them past his spider demon lately. Angel Dust had always been an acquired taste with that sugared armor he put on and the sharp tongue underneath, the teasing smirk he faced the afterlife with. Hell, it had been a while before Husk broke under his charms and that was only after seeing them for what they were, pretty decoration on someone who’d been through a lot and chosen his weapons carefully. He was an asshole, smug and bitchy and vulgar, and Husk had learned to love it.

But for someone who’d actively chased chemical imbalance for years, the guy was not handling pregnancy well.

Tired, aching and hormonal, his time lately was mostly spent sulking on the couch, scowling at anyone who came near, firing off cutting remarks that weren’t so funny without the smile and wink to go along with them. There were very few people in the hotel he hadn’t upset, hitting every square on the bingo sheet, losing his shit over the smallest thing until he deserved some kind of special prize for acidity. He’d be sorry when he calmed down, continually brought to tears by his friends’ patience with him, all of them ready to play the whole scene out the next day.

Hence why Husk was asked to deal with him as often as he was, riding on his baby daddy pass. Being the spider demon’s keeper would lose its shine eventually but it hadn’t happened yet and he didn’t see it on the horizon either.

“Well, no more than usual but…” Vaggie continued, her palm still over his winning hand.

Husk sighed, “Look, I know he’s a lot to deal with right now but you can’t blame the guy. He was a bitch with booze, cigarettes and drugs mixed in, now he’s had to drop all three on short notice, topped off with two spider kittens using his organs as a trampoline and turning his brain into soup.”

“No,” Vaggie’s voice shifted from surly to irritated with an edge of worry that shattered Husk’s warm feeling and pulled his eyes off his cards, “No, it’s not like that, Husk.”

“What’s up with him?” he felt his ears pick up, like if he strained enough, he could hear Angel somewhere upstairs.

When he’d come back from the store, laden with sweet treats that made his teeth ache just looking at them and insane combinations Angel’s cravings had been demanding lately, he’d just assumed the sofa was empty because the spider was upstairs, sleeping. But Vaggie’s expression said something different. Guilt settled over Husk like a wet blanket. Why didn’t he go and check on him…

“That’s the thing, we don’t know,” the former angel folded her arms, “He was sitting in the lounge like usual, watching TV, me and Charlie were setting up for today’s lesson and suddenly he just got up and stormed off. Slammed the door and hasn’t left since. Snaps at anyone who comes knocking to go fuck themselves.”

Husk felt the fur across his shoulders lift. Some of that was normal. Some of that gave him the concrete feeling of knowing the next card you turned would blow your hand or knowing that fist was sailing right for your nose.

“Um…guys?” Charlie’s voice had a tremble that made it sound ready to break, “I think I know what upset him.”

The television was blaring when they ran over to where she sat in the lounge but that had a lot to do with the voice of Katie Killjoy, curdled nastily and accompanied by a dangerous lioness smile.

And a grainy, lopsided paparazzi shot of Angel Dust, pupils wide as silver dollars and a grin so loose it was sliding right off his face, a poisonous looking martini in one of his hands, a rolled up note in another.

“Ah fuck…” Husk groaned softly.

“...with the frankly staggering revelation that the bumbling efforts over at the Hazbin Hotel actually work, somewhat, Hell is left with questions. How did such embarrassing methods actually produce results? Is this the first step on the road to ascension? Is this all an elaborate hoax by the Princess of Hell in a bid to sell us on her hotel? All valid questions in the wake of this news! But we here at Vox Media Productions have another to add to the list.”

The photo of Angel Dust was blown up, becoming footage, bleeding into clips from his more violent pornos. Husk doubted he had a heart anymore but something in his chest ached at the sight of a clear downward spiral. He used to watch Angel like this and tell himself he didn’t care, that the kid was none of his concern, an afterlife imploding to the same tune he’d heard a thousand times, living and dead.

But he was long past lying to himself. Now he had no shield against the pain of watching the man he loved drown in front of him, knowing there was a version of himself just in the wings, too damn stubborn and too damn drunk to help him.

“The well known sinner at the center of this shocking story is no stranger to scandal, though he’s far more used to making a profit from it. Angel Dust, star of many award winning pornographic films, is the supposed father-to-be but close, personal friends of the spider himself have raised their concerns.”

Husk could feel the growl running between his teeth like an electric current. He could take a guess at just who’d fed them this story.

“Sinners, ask yourselves, is this really the person who should be in charge of Hell’s very first children? A known drug addict who makes his living from indecency? And, according to insider reports from Porn Studios, an unreliable, temperamental, unstable individual? There have been a lot of very worrying leaks about his on set behavior and, while we were all willing to turn a blind eye before, there are now young lives at stake. Can we really allow this to continue? Vox Media certainly doesn’t think so.”

A dagger flashed out and crashed through the screen, turning the chatter and flashing images into gurgling pops of static and then silence. Vaggie wrenched her weapon free, eyes flaring enough to burn holes in the wall.

“Someone needs to crush that fucking bug,” she spat, “Pin him to a goddamn corkboard.”

“They said it’s their top story, they must have been talking about it all day…” Charlie flickered between forms, horns phasing in and out, tears welling in her eyes, “Angel must have seen it…”

“We knew Valentino would throw a bitch fit over you keeping the kids out of his hands,” Vaggie spun the dagger between her fingers like there might still be something to throw it at, “But getting Vox to do his dirty work? Fucking coward…”

“They can’t…they can’t actually take the babies from him right? Right?” Charlie shook herself, hands twisting in her hair, “No, no, of course not. Because we’ll do something about it! I’ll…I’ll get them to interview me! We’ll run our own piece! Start our own news station?”

“I’m going to talk to him.”

Husk’s voice, oddly calm and empty of anger, brought his friends up short, stalling their fury and their panic. He wrenched his claws out of the furrows he’d dug in the back of the sofa, keeping his breathing steady and even as he took the stairs two at a time.

The more demonic part of him wanted to howl and break things, smash glass and break his claws against the wall. The part of him that had once been an Overlord wanted to track down Valentino and tear the wings off his back, grind him into the ground until he was as small as he’d ever made Angel feel. The human part of him wanted to find the nearest bottle and drain it dry, rob himself of all feeling, blunt the edges of this pain until he didn’t have to deal with it at all.

But Husk ignored all of them. It took a moment but he managed it eventually, shoving them into the back of his mind where they couldn’t take control of his limbs. There was only one thing that he could let matter right now.

Angel Dust wasn’t the only one who was struggling with the change in their afterlives.

The bedroom behind the door was still his own, technically, but he hadn’t thought of it that way in a while. They hadn’t been an item long before pink started bleeding into the otherwise lifeless space, bright clothes actually making use of the wardrobe, make-up left scattered in front of the mirror, Fat Nuggets snoring on Husk’s side of the bed more often than not. Angel Dust still had his room down the hall, Husk knew he got a lot of reassurance out of having his own space (and he had a lot more shit) but his paws brought him here first.

He knocked lightly, pressing his forehead to the door, “Angel? Baby, it’s me.”

There was a very deliberate pause where Husk knew there was a good chance he’d be told to fuck off, a static weight where lightning might strike or it might not. He held his breath, tail whipping anxiously, not praying, he wasn’t fool enough for that, but hoping pretty damn hard.

Eventually, he heard a soft murmur, the sound of fabric moving, “M’here.”

He took that as permission to gently ease the heavy door open. Their room was dark, almost completely, apart from the sickly blue light flooding out of the phone in Angel’s hands. The spider demon was slumped on the bed, angular limbs folded in like someone had taken a rolled up newspaper to him, the only part of him that moved was the thumb scrolling endlessly through some newsfeed. Husk could hear tinny versions of Angel’s exaggerated moans and squeals from any number of pornos, interspersed with canned commentary from the 666 News broadcast. It seemed like Vox wasn’t the only Vee helping Valentino play dirty.

Husk sighed, closing the door behind him and gently clambering onto the bed, though he gave Angel plenty of room, “Baby, maybe you should stop listening to that…”

Angel’s voice was thin and rough, like it had come through a belt sander, “He’s sending me them. Val. Making sure I don’t miss any.”

Husk swallowed back acidic anger, “Block him. You can put it down, Angel, it’s okay…”

“Used to tell yourself that at the roulette table, huh? Just put it down?” Angel flashed him a bitter look.

Husk couldn’t help it, he flinched. Immediately his boyfriend’s anger cracked and collapsed, horror and shame underneath. The phone slipped from his fingers, landing face down and dropping them into darkness. But the pentagram moon showed Husk more than enough, the tears bleeding down Angel’s face, his mouth twisted miserably as it swallowed him under.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

Husk sighed, holding out his hands, “I know you didn’t, baby, I know. Look, can I touch you? That okay?”

Angel’s two sets of arms seemed to be in disagreement. One set trembled closer to Husk’s, the other hovered over the phone, both pulling against the other and both terrified. Husk found himself doing it again, that thing that wasn’t praying, harder than he’d done over any green-felted table.

The stalemate finally broke and, thank fuck, Husk was the winner. Angel Dust crashed into him with more force than you’d ever think was in that skinny body, clutching him tight enough to hurt, not that Husk could find it in him to care. He felt warm tears soak the fur at the curve of his neck, welcomed them, brought his wings around to shelter the two of them, purred loud and unashamedly, rocked him the way he’d never been rocked himself but it felt right.

“I don’t get it,” the words came waterlogged and painful, “I didn’t ask for them. I didn’t ask for these kids but I’m doing my fucking best and now I have them, all everyone wants to do is take them away from me.”

For a moment, Husk was envious of his lover, two arms didn’t feel like enough to hold him, how was he supposed to compete when the hurt was this big?

“I know,” he rubbed his cheek against Angel’s hair, forgetting to be self conscious of his feline instincts, “It ain’t fair, baby. And…and I need you to know…if it’s too much, if you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to. You have a choice.”

Angel’s breath shuddered, two hands winding from around Husk’s middle, slipping down. He couldn’t see them but he knew where they were going, his own paws met them there. Demons glancing at him in the street would have no idea- well, they would now thanks to the fucking Vees- but Husk spent a good amount of his time staring at Angel Dust. He saw the gentle slope in his stomach, he knew where to press to feel it through the oversized sweatshirt he wore. He threaded his fingers through Angel’s so the two of them cradled it together, this little impossibility, this spark that had fallen through the cracks and somehow landed here in their afterlives.

“I wanna do it,” Angel Dust rasped, “I know it’s dumb and selfish but I can’t help it. I got ditched by my family and this…they feel like a second chance. And I know I don’t deserve it but I can’t let go.”

Husk shook his head gently, shifting so he could rest his forehead against Angel’s, “Listen to me. I don’t know why this happened, I don’t know what asshole is up there above Heaven and Hell and all this mess deciding whose a sinner and whose a saint, whose spunk gets to work and whose don’t. I don’t know why these kids are here but I know there’s only one explanation that makes sense to me.”

Angel sniffled softly, still looking down at their joined hands, “What?”

“You,” Husk breathed, running his thumb over that little knot low inside his lover, “You’re the only person I can think of, in heaven or hell or wherever the fuck else, who’s strong enough to do this. You’ve fought harder than anyone I know to be better than you were. And you’ll keep fighting for our kids, even when assholes like that bitch Val keep throwing punches. I think they’re here because you deserve that second chance, Angel.”

His slitted eyes had adjusted to the darkness, rewarding him with the sight of a small, trembling smile on Angel’s face.

“Well…that means you do too, right?” he whispered.

Husk chuckled softly, “Hell, I already knew I was on the path to redemption. I got you, didn’t I? Must be halfway to a fucking saint.”

Angel’s laugh was a shaky, broken thing but it was the sweetest sound Husk had heard in a long time, a prize he could never have imagined winning. To be trusted so much by someone who, by rights, should never have trusted anyone again, he wouldn’t have traded anything for that.

Angel reached down, fumbling around in the blankets until he found his phone. He held the power button down until the screen went fully dark then tossed it over his shoulder, letting it land in some of the clothes scattered on the floor. He seemed to breathe a little easier after, glowing at the proud grin Husk gave him.

“I love you, baby,” the words still left him quietly, like he was still unsure saying them, they were a trick he hadn’t mastered yet and was terrified to fumble, “You know that, right?”

Angel nods, plucking those words out of the air and clutching them so tight they were tattooed on his palm, “So you keep saying, Whiskers. Though I could stand to hear it a few more times…and I love you too. A whole fucking lot…” his eyes slid over his shoulder where he’d tossed the phone and it’s poisonous chatter, “Enough that it drowns out all that bullshit on most days.”

Husk laid a paw against his cheek, brushing away the tear tracks on his face, “And on the days it doesn't, I’m right here. And soon we’ll have two little brats running around, I hear they’re pretty loud.”

Angel let Husk tumble him gently sideways, their bodies finding a way to comfortably fit together in their nest of blankets, “Not soon enough if you ask me. I could have been just enough of a spider to lay eggs and save myself the hassle but nah, I had to go and fall in love with a mammal…”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Husk smiled crookedly, purring so Angel would feel it as he pillowed his head on his chest, “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Too fucking right you will,” Angel’s gold tooth flashed as he yawned, the sadness draining away and leaving him empty, “Over and over again, in a wide variety of different positions…”

Husk could feel Angel Dust still shaking, even after he drifted asleep. It wasn’t the end of it, he knew that the tide had just gone out. The next months weren’t going to be easy and hell only knew what would happen after that. He’d certainly had better odds in his time.

But Husk knew one thing for certain. He was all in.

#hazbin hotel #huskerdust #hazbin angel dust #hazbin husk #hazbin charlie #hazbin vaggie #huskerdust babies au #please reblog and comment!

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an0nymousmessenger · 1 year

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For I'll Keep Every Promise

Synopsis: He wakes up. Word Count: 2.4k tags. fluff, angst, happy ending Sequel to 'A Thousand Wishes Unheard' note: I was going to post this later but I think you guys need it. Ao3 Link

Darkness. That was all he could see. He felt nothing– as if he was floating in a neverending void.

He was dead.

He had to be. He remembers the bitter taste of blood coating his mouth– the way he struggled and choked on the very thing that ran through his skin. He recalls the loud ringing in his ear, growing ever louder as his vision faded out.

Well, he supposed he tried his best. Really. He gave it his all.

It just wasn’t enough.

What remained of his heart ached. He supposed he wasn’t able to fulfill his promise to you. He hopes you won’t blame him…he had held on till the very end.

Death wasn’t so bad. Before he went he was able to see his students, laughing and smiling, he even got to hold you close before he had left. Not to mention he even saw his friends again, and he had gotten to say goodbye.

He had no regrets.

Well…he supposes there is still one that lodges itself in the back of his mind.

It was you.

He had never gotten the chance to…

“Satoru,”

He turned his head to look at you, who was savoring your lollipop as you leaned back on the balcony.

Lemon flavored. The very sour kind.

He had a snide suspicion that it was to keep him away from stealing it…

“Satoruu~” you repeated, drawing his attention again.

“Hm?”

You flash him a smile, the kind of smile that lets him know that you are about to either stir up trouble or say something random.

It was the latter.

“What do you want to do when you're older?”

He snorts, “What kind of question is that? Of course– a sorcerer.” He wanted to add ‘what else?’ but decided it was obvious enough. Adding the last part would also ruin his good mood. His path has already been pre-designed and pre-routed for him. He has no other choice.

“No, what I mean is if all this didn’t exist.”

“Aw~ are you saying you would rather not have met me?” He sings out in a fake-pained voice, knowing that it was not what you meant.

You roll your eyes, having been used to his antics for a few years now, “Perhaps,” you say with a playful smile, “Who knows? Maybe I’ll be better off.”

“Nah, I doubt it.”

You sigh before turning to face him. You widen your eyes when you notice he is already looking at you, but quickly move on, but Satoru doesn’t let the red creeping up on the tip of your ears go unnoticed. “I’m saying if you didn’t have cursed energy and stuff…like normal people, you know?”

He wanted to laugh and point out that it sounded like you were indicating that people like you and him were the odd ones, but he decided to let it slide.

“I dunno, maybe I’ll start a singing career, something like that.”

“Pfft, so what? That you’ll get even more admirers and fans?”

“Exactly! What? Don’t you agree? My face is pleasant to look at.”

Scoffing, you say, “One of these days I’ll make sure to crush that ego of yours.”

He rolls his eyes before looking back out at the school grounds, watching the sun slowly set behind the forest of trees. Although he had said the first thing that came from the top of his mind, he supposed singing wouldn’t be that far reached.

After all, he excelled at everything.

"How about you?" he asks. "Do you have something in mind already?"

Observing the setting sun, you reply, "Mhm, yeah. Something like that."

"Really?" He sounds surprised, not realizing how seriously you were considering it. "What is it?"

Hesitating, you eventually respond, "It's... nothing."

His interest is immediately piqued.

"Come on! What's your idea? Share it with me!" He playfully pesters you with a grin.

"No!"

"You can't tease me like that! I told you mine, didn't I?" He whines a bit more before eventually coaxing it out of you.

It was when he saw you sigh, watching as the tension left your shoulders that he knew he won.

“Fine, I’ll tell you then. But you can’t tell anyone else– okay?”

He makes a gesture of zipping his mouth and throwing the zipper away, his curiosity increasing. It always does when it comes to you.

“I want to be…” you wait a bit, as if for dramatic effect, “...an author.”

You turn to look at him after a moment’s silence before breaking out in laughter.

“Haha- what’s up with your face? Surprised?”

Indeed he was a bit surprised. An author? He had no clue. When it comes to you it seemed as if he's only ever scratched the surface. It made him want to know more, want to ask more.

He never does.

"An author," he echoes thoughtfully.

"Yeah."

He wanted to ask why, but you had already started talking.

“An author. I guess it’s because I want to write stories, I grew up reading them you know? Made me feel safe.”

A hint of melancholy graces your smile as your thoughts drift elsewhere; it's a different kind of smile than the one before–a sadder smile.

"Who knows? I'm sure being a sorcerer has provided ample material for incredible stories. I'll be entirely unique. Maybe I'll even include tales about overcoming curses and how people like us save the day."

"Why not add in a ridiculously handsome guy who defeats all the curses with seamless ease too? Make sure 'remarkably attractive' is emphasized."

Laughing, you playfully smack his arm. "Okay, Satoru. I'll consider it."

He couldn’t help but break out into an amused smile. What an odd dream, he thought. Though he supposed he wasn’t against it.

Satoru Gojo excelled at everything, yet nothing he achieved seemed to measure up to you.

He felt his mind start to drift and fade away, threatening to join the other souls in their lost journey home. Wait…he called out. He didn’t want to go just yet. He wanted more time, more time to replay his memories, to live in them just for a second longer.

“Satoru,”

He could hear your voice, calling him in that familiar and recognizable way that was only special to you.

“Satoru.”

He wished he could’ve told you how much he loved hearing you say his name, it rolls off your tongue so nicely. He was never one to care about names, it never mattered to someone like him.

All he needed was Gojo – a name denoting his status, lineage, and power. His first name barely held any weight compared to his clan's. No one needed to know who Satoru was, no one ever did…so he couldn’t have cared less for his name- and yet you somehow made him love his name– only when you say it does it sound special– like it’s his name like he is someone.

Someone other than the honored one. Someone other than the strongest.

“Satoru!”

There were a lot of things he never got to tell you, another thing to add to his regrets. If only he had been brave enough…if only he had picked up his courage and told you everything.

“Satoru- please!”

He paused. Ah- what is that feeling? He could feel something wet fall onto his face. Was it raining? How could that be? How could he feel if he was dead?

And yet that warmth around his face only made him more confused. He could feel as if someone was holding them, cupping his face carefully as if he could break.

"Please wake up… Satoru, I beg you…"

His eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the sudden brightness.

The first thing he saw when his vision came back into focus was your face. Your crying face looking down at him with your hands cupping his face.

Then he looked around, realizing that the battlefield on which he had been sliced in half was gone. He was in a room, a hospital room.

He looked down and saw the rest of his body, no longer split into two. Had Shoko done this?

“Satoru!”

He returned his gaze to you. You were smiling, smiling, and crying.

Questions, so many questions flooded through him at that moment, but he decided that he could ask those later. Right now was more important, right now felt like it was all happening inside a dream.

“Hey…crybaby, seems like you you missed me?” He teased with a small grin.

You gave him a look through your tear-soaked face as if you couldn’t even believe what he was saying.

“Y-You! You bastard! You annoying– infuriating- stupid dumbass!”

“Aw, come on…” he drags, “You don’t mean those…do you hm?” Although the tone in his voice is light– playful even as if he hadn’t just returned from death, as if all he wanted right now was to live this moment to the fullest, he was dearly wishing this– whatever this was– to last a little longer.

He slowly brings his trembling arm to hold onto yours, he wanted to hold on to you tight, as if everything he was seeing was about to break, to fall apart for him to realize it was all a dream.

He waited for you to disappear, to return to the part of his imagination that was playing tricks on him.

Instead, you move sideways to hug him, crying onto his shoulders.

"No...no, I don't," you managed through choked sobs.

He hummed softly, "I guess I kept my promise after all, huh?"

You nod into his shoulder, still holding him tightly.

You and him fall into a comfortable silence, he lets you cry on his shoulders just as how you let him hold onto you.

Several minutes passed before you pulled away, sniffling and attempting to compose yourself while wiping away tears with your sleeve.

Satoru wanted to reach out and wipe them for you, but his newly healed injuries did not allow him to, moving his hand had already been hard.

It went on like that for a while; you sniffling and crying as Satoru stared at you quietly, taking everything about you in as if this was the last time he was going to see you, just the same way he did on that night underneath the torii gate, using his eyes to try to imprint every detail, everything, every aspect of you into his memory.

That night felt like a lifetime away.

He was the first to break the silence, “Where are the others?”

By now you had calmed down, and were able to answer in a coherent way, “Recovering…everyone is- they’re fine.”

Fine. Not good, but fine.

He’ll take it for now.

“We managed to win and…” you give him a look, “you know…the students declared their victory for you,” You say with a smile.

His students. They managed to do it, just as he thought they could. He sighed contently.

You then spend the next half hour going over exactly what had happened after he had passed out, how Kashimo had come out right after him, and how eventually the rest of the students joined in.

In the end, they had managed to pull through, but it wasn’t over. Sukuna had been dealt with, Megumi’s condition was unknown, and Kenjaku was nowhere to be found.

Shoko had indeed been the one to heal him. Immediately after the battle they were able to recover his body and managed to heal him back together just in time.

“We- we almost- I didn’t know if we made it in time or not…” You say, choking up again. He could see the tears you were desperately trying to hold back, to look brave in front of him, trying to break through.

“Hey, I’m right here, aren’t I?” He beckons you to come closer.

He eventually holds you in his arms, drawing slow circles on your back, as he knows it calms you, “Shhh, I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere else.”

You mutter, “Better not,” which causes him to laugh.

He wanted to let this moment drag on forever, just you in his arms, just you and him.

“This…this is real– right?” He says quietly, and in such a small voice he doubted you had heard him.

You raise your head to look at him, the soft kind of smile he’s always known playing on your face, “Yes, Satoru. This is real, as real as it can be.”

He can feel himself start to tear up, because if he had to be honest- he was scared too, he was terrified, but he had no choice. He had to play his role, his role as the strongest.

But now he could just be Satoru, just him holding onto you, keeping you close.

“Then I’m glad.”

Bonus:

“Gojo Sensei!” Yuji, the always energetic kid exclaimed as he ran into the room, followed by You, Maki, Yuta, Nobara, Panda, Inanumaki, Shoko, and everyone else.

They all had recovered for the most part and seemed to be relatively okay. They all wore relieved expressions as they entered the room to see that their Sensei was alright.

Yuji was the first to arrive at his Sensei’s bedside.

“Hey, kid!” Gojo Sensei waved. He had recovered enough to prop himself up and do basic movements, which to Shoko had been a miracle itself.

Yuji then began launching himself into the things that had happened while Gojo had been recovering, and Gojo returned the energy. Everyone got their turn, talking until visiting times were over and they had to be ushered out.

You were the last to leave. Just before you turned the doorknob Satoru called after you, “Hey- wait.”

You turn around, waiting for what he wants to say.

“When- uh when this is all over and when you have some free time, let me take you out, yeah?”

You barely ever heard Satoru Gojo stumble over his words, and when he did you know it was because he was nervous, and everyone knows Satoru Gojo is never nervous, yet that always seemed to be the exception when it comes to you.

You found it cute, the way he would try to seem aloof as the back of his neck became a beautiful shade of bright red.

“Yeah, but let’s save that for when you recover.”

“Don’t worry! I’ll be up and ready by next week,” he says as if it were a fact, his blue eyes seemed to shine even brighter.

You sigh, even after coming back on the brink of death he still acts like a child, but you smile nonetheless, “Next week it is then.”

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo fluff #gojo angst #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen #fluff

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