#but now and for the last years at least he's been AWFUL

[madamechrissy]

Just Friends!?

-Art in the banner from nek0zuu_ on X-

Pairings- Former Nerd! Gojo and popular F! reader

Summary - Satoru Gojo was the biggest nerd EVER in high school with you, next door neighbors, study buddies, you were the best friends in the world. Never having the courage to ask you -the 'popular girl' out- you never knew he felt for you. He ended up leaving town, moving to the big city of LA- getting famous with a modeling career, and lost touch with everyone from his old life. While you're working the family pub to help out your parents, years later, he finally comes back to visit, just to have you making his drink. Everything about him is different, aside from those pretty blue eyes and the sweet grin. You feel he's so accomplished now, and you're just a small town girl, but little do you know, you've never left his mind.

Warnings - Nerdjo turned famous and cocky, but he's still just a Nerdjo deep down hehe- this chap - lots of tension, angstyyy, misunderstandings, emotional, some kissing and heavy desire but mostly this chap is sfw, mutual pining, lots of feelings - Tag list closed

Based HEAVILY on the 2005 Rom com Just Friends - part of my amazingg moot @indiewritesxoxo's Friday night flicks! 🌙

<<<Part Four - Masterlist - Part Six>>> (coming soon)

Part Five

It’s been two hours since Satoru said he’d meet you, and you are as dressed up as you have been in years, hair curled to perfection, beautiful dress that’s hugging every inch of your body, pretty and dark red, long sleeves with lace all over them, and black tights underneath with thigh high boots. Your parents had been gushing over you when you’d walked out, doing a little spin and giggling.

That was two hours ago.

Now you’re touching up your highlighter, blinking mascara coated lashes that are far longer than you’re used to. He was used to models, so surely your skills wouldn’t be that level, but you wanted to at least try to look pretty for this… date. Yes it was going to be a date. He's only seen you casual so far, you're literally wearing lace panties and not Sailor Mars this time too.

The thoughts of last night make you blush, even as the moments tick by. To feel like that underneath him, so fucking beautiful and desired, with the boy you adored? It seemed worth whatever hurt that was coming when he went back home. You want to believe him, that he won't forget you again, but as the clock ticks it's hard to know if he's staying true to his word.

You call again, it's the third time in two hours, you hope it's not too much but now you're almost a little worried, shooting him a text instead, biting your lip as your fingers dance across the cool screen. 

Satoru, are you okay? It's fine if you can't make it! Just let me know you're safe, the roads are covered in snow.

You sigh, setting down the phone as your mom walks in where you're sitting by the window, watching the snowfall gently. “Hey honey, are you staying for dinner?”

It's your mom's sweet way of distracting you. “He might still come, mom.”

“Absolutely! But I am getting ready to cook, you know.” She puts a hand on your shoulder, gentle now. “You're so stunning.”

“Aw, mom...” You look back to see her blinking emotions, making your heart ache.

“He'd only be so lucky to see you like this. You know that?”

You look down shyly. “You see him. He's a whole model.”

“And you're you. And that's special too. Don't get too upset if…” She trails off a bit no. “Just, seeing you like that after he left was really hard for me is all.” You stand now, hugging her and inhaling the familiar scent of her as she blinks back emotion.

“You're scared I'll get hurt again.” She nods, sniffling now as you brush aside a tear.

“That was worse than watching any breakup. I'm really scared for you, it's not that I don't still love Satoru. I promise it's not that. But you're doing so good now.” you smile sadly, remembering the days you laid in bed after, crying and not leaving your room for weeks aside from essential needs.

You wouldn't get that way again. Even if he…

“Just watch your heart, it's a million sizes too big.” You smile tremulously up at her, holding her hands now.

“Get that from you two.” You both smile now, and a knock sounds at the door, making you jump in excitement, rushing to where your dad was opening the door now, and then pausing.

“Sukuna how have you been!?” Your dad says, and Sukuna chuckles, coming into view as he puts his hand on your dad's shoulder.

“I've been good, how about you, old man?”

“Old man!? I'll show you ‘old man’. Got a football you know!”

“Oh yeah? I'm down for a challenge.” He grins, and your mom blinks in surprise, looking at you, then at the door, when your dad invites the tall man in, and his ruby eyes catch you, making him falter, his lips parted.

“Sukuna…” You trail off, while his gaze drifts over you, heating you up with his look, before clearing his throat, walking over to you.

“I was right in the neighborhood and thought I'd say hi to the family. You look… beautiful, shit.” He rubs the back of his neck as he murmurs it, and your dad shuts the door to the cold, leaving you all basking in the warmth of the well heated home.

Beautiful, Sukuna had never said that sort of thing when you dated - maybe sexy, hot or whatever ridiculously horny statement he used to make, but then he had changed a lot. So had Satoru Gojo, and here you were, still the same girl, with two famous men back in town showing up, the doubts creeping as you realize how excited you were for it to be Satoru at the door.

“Are you going out or… getting back?” He asks then, you watch as snowdrops dissolve on his black overcoat, he brushes some off his pink locks, just a little damp from them melting.

“Thank you, I’m so delayed in my responses.” He chuckles as you get just a little flustered, he’s eyeing you so intensely right now, while you’re fidgeting with your hands in front of your lap. “I had a date but… he hasn’t um, showed up or answered the phone. So I don’t know my plans.”

“Idiot.” You glare, and he sighs. “Sorry, but only an idiot would not show up.”

“He could be… caught up with the show, or something. So I don’t know, he should still come. But for now, um… I may help mom cook?”

“Looking like that?” He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear, as your parents walk up now, and your dad has busted out his football, Sukuna chuckles over at him - he’s much thinner than he probably remembers, but he’s so much stronger than he was years back. “You’re ready to get your ass kicked, old man?”

“You’re a pro, but I’m old school.” Your dad winks over at you, and you giggle just a bit. He’d always loved Sukuna, where your mom was not his biggest fan, they had some weird male football bond happening.

But you haven’t seen your dad so excited in forever, he was a huge fan of Sukuna’s team, so you’re sure this is a trip for him. “You came to see my parents, or me?”

Your soft question earns a raised brow and an arrogant smirk, smacking you right back to the girl fawning over him in high school. “Both, I didn't know if you’d be home or not, but I was hoping. But also I wanted to… see him too, if that’s cool?”

“Of course it is.” You grin now, a hand on his broad shoulder, and he exhales, leaning a little low. “How are you two gonna play in the snow!?”

“Tch, it’s nothing brat.”

“Brat!? No, no. Not calling me that again.” You shove at the big man, as your dad starts bundling up, and you look at him with concern. “Dad are you okay to…”

“Honey, let him. He needs this.” Your mom whispers, and you nod then, smiling as your dad looks at you curiously.

“You worried about your ‘old man’?” He teases, kissing your head affectionately, and you’re so thankful for Sukuna then, something you’d never thought you’d say.

“Don’t catch a cold, now! Sukuna, take it easy on him.”

“Psh, no way.” Sukuna grins deviously as the two men run outside in the cold like psychos in the darkening sky, you stand by the door and giggle as you watch them, the sky a snowy mix of purples and pinks as nighttime comes.

“You’re awfully popular again, I feel like I need to make these boys ask permission again.” Your mom teases, you roll your eyes, hugging your arms as the brisk air hits, then peeking back at your phone.

No response.

But your text was read.

You swallow a bit, feeling sick to your stomach - was he… with Samantha? He said he wasn’t interested, but they had a history. This morning you’d laid in his bed for longer than you should have, inhaling his scent, lingering memories flitting through your mind until you’d finally left - and it took far, far too much effort, that room really felt like you and Satoru’s personal snowglobe.

“I’ll call one more time,” you say, and your mom nods understandingly, bundling up in her jacket now. “You headed outside?”

“I gotta see your dad like this for a few. Then we can cook dinner together, maybe Sukuna can stay?” You nod and smile at her, hand shaking when you’re left alone, pacing nervously. Your heels click on the old hardwood floors as you do, as it rings and rings and rings.

Did Satoru break his promise?

*****

“Shit, shit, shit. No reception. Fuck, do you have any, Samantha?” The blond model pouts, brushing back her blong locks.

“No, I wish! Ugh this town is so fucking stupid! Why aren’t we moving!?” She leans out of the window then, screaming out - “Move, townies, I have to take a fucking piss!”

He’d been stuck in this car in traffic for an hour with her, barely moving inch by fucking inch from some really bad accident, a four car pile up according to the radio - which is the only thing that’s working. Neither of them have reception, and no internet access on any of their devices in this particular area, maybe because of the storm, he’s not sure.

But this is hell.

You’re going to think he broke his fucking promise, you’re probably already giving up on him coming, and he had everything perfectly planned, for it to all start to fall apart, and now in this car with a psycho brat and nothing to pass the time, just the windshield wipers and the fucking heat blasting, with some fuzzy radio. He peers at his phone again, glaring at it.

“Boring, so boring! Ugh this whole trip! I can’t wait to fucking get back home, out of these backwoods.” She rolls up her windows and pouts, pressing closer over to the heat that’s blasting from the vents.

“Yeah, yeah I know. You’ve hated being in a ‘small town’ you yap about it enough.” She scoffs, crossing her slender arms and scowling at him.

“Well you’re no fun, all fucking broody over the little girl from the bar.”

“Yeah we are not talking about her.” His jaw clenches, blue eyes flashing, and she rolls her eyes.

“You’re just gonna fuck her, so do it and get on with it.”

“What!?”

“It’s what you do - fuck women, leave them. Or fuck them when you feel like it if they’re cool with sharing. Lucky for you, I didn’t give a fuck, because I had my own roster,” her words are the first serious things he’s ever heard from her, while she looks out the windshield, hugging herself under her jacket. “But that girl won’t.”

“What are you even on about, you didn’t want more than sex,” Satoru trails off then, when her eyes meet his again, softer than he’s used to. “You were fine just fucking, we never dated.”

“Well yeah, you don’t date, everyone in the industry knows, you have serious issues, you know?”

“Me, issues!? Samantha-”

“No. You do. Soon as we fucked you had a ride waiting for me as if I was some… escort? And all my friends say you did the same. Ever think it made any of them feel shitty?” Satoru’s stomach twists, looking back down at the phone and then at the road, avoiding her gaze. “Well, it did.”

“You felt great under me, all of you did. I’ve never had a complaint in the bedroom, okay?” She laughs a bit, sighing.

“You are a superb fuck, but if that’s all you’re gonna do to her, leave the poor girl the fuck alone.”

“You don’t know shit of how I feel for her.” He scowls at her, and she just shrugs a narrow shoulder, a nasty smile on her face.

“I know you, I know men like you, you’re an industry standard.”

“And so the fuck are you.” She snorts now, rolling her eyes again.

“Sure am, but I know what I am - you’re trying to act like you’re any better. Go fuck her then, and leave her like you do. Think that’ll be good? She’d be better off with me.”

“With you!?”

“Mmm, yes. At least I’d give her some affection after.” Satoru’s heart races as her words hit. “I kept fucking you because I liked you, I really liked you - until I realized you’re shallow.”

“You are not calling me shallow, you tell everyone in the city they’re poor because they don’t wear designer clothes. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“You’re as shallow as me.”

“You know, shut the fuck up please.” He keeps peering at the road, as the cars finally start moving, he checks the time and curses.

“Best you don’t make it, save her the heartbreak.”

“You’re suddenly really deep, Samantha. I don’t like it anymore than you being annoying as fuck.” She looks out the window, shaking her head.

“You don’t know any of the women in your bed. You don’t bother to.”

Satoru can’t argue it, he knows Samantha is right, and she’s read him like a fucking book, her words swirling through his mind - would he just hurt you? No, it’s different, you’re different, you’re the reason he became this way. The hurt that day, the rejection he thought he was going to get, along with Sukuna and everyone, it had made him high tail it and run.

And he changed.

Fuck who was he? Sometimes he’d look in that mirror at his perfect features and contemplate just that - who was he? Satoru Gojo, a model, a famous man on the runway with endless women, or was he that nerdy boy, the one who laughed with you till your tummies hurt? Who made popcorn and oreos for the two of you - the weirdest thing ever but you loved it - and watched movies in your room?

Could he ever be that boy again truly, was last night any sort of real attempt, or would he fuck it all up and hurt you again?

He can’t live with himself if he does.

“You’re right,” his murmur brings her attention to him, he’s exhausted from the shoot and the drive, and so is she, but her eyes soften a bit. “I was a dick to you, and everyone.”

“Understatement.” He just sighs, clenching the wheel with tight hands.

“Were you different before you were famous?” He asks, he’s never asked shit about her, it’s true - she was just fun when he wanted a psycho in the bed, he didn’t even see her as a person.

Sure she was indeed insane, but he didn’t have to treat her like shit.

“No, I’ve always been this way honestly. I didn’t change because I got famous, but I grew up rich.”

“Ah.” It’s quiet, as he takes a breath now. “I feel a lot for her.”

“I know, it’s written all over your face when you talk about her.” He looks at her once more, before focusing on the road again. “If you feel something, say it, I never hold back shit I want to.”

“No you don’t.” He laughs a bit and so does she, shifting a bit, eyes brightening now.

“I have internet, oh fuck yes. I can drown out your moody ass.” He sticks his tongue out, and she returns it, slipping in her ear buds as they come to a red light, and he pulls up his phone finally, seeing your missed calls come through and texts.

Shit, shit, shit.

He picks up the phone, calling it finally, but it keeps ringing, and he hangs up and tries again, only for it to do the same thing, making his stomach twist in knots. Did you think he wasn’t coming!? Were you upset, or mad? Were you ignoring his calls- god a million what ifs occur as he tries to focus on driving, to get Samantha back to the hotel so he can see you.

*****

“Oh god, yeah I remember that! So embarrassing!” You’re covering your face as your mom starts getting the plates ready and you have busted out your old pictures, Sukuna and you in football and cheerleader gear.

“You sucked at cheer, you were only allowed because you were so pretty.” He teases, and you gasp, shoving at him playfully.

“Oh whatever!? No way!” His hand comes to the small of your back as he grabs the plates you can’t reach, pressing him too closely against you.

It’s been another half hour or so, and at this point your phone was just by the entryway, you couldn’t keep calling and texting, you would come off super pathetic, so you’re just enjoying the ambience of being with your parents and Sukuna. He’s made your dad damn near giddy, and you’re thankful for that, but your mind keeps drifting to Satoru.

“I think everything is ready! Drinks?” You say then, and Sukuna smiles a little. “Let me guess, beer?”

“I’ll drink whatever you’ve got.” His tone and eyes make you tremble just a bit, as you remember being with him - sex was never your problem, your problem was Sukuna was a little shit then. He was your first, and the memories hit your mind a little too vividly, and he seems to notice, leaning low. “What ya thinking about?”

“Nothing!? Nothing. Um…” The doorbell rings now, you figure at this point it’s a neighbor, your hopes of Satoru are just shoved back so it doesn’t hurt as much.

“I’ll go get it.” Your mom says then, smiling over at you two, when Sukuna brushes his rough, calloused fingers against your delicate cheek.

“Kuna…”

“There’s that nickname?” You glare, and he just chuckles, tilting your chin up to make you look at the tall man then. “What is on that mind? Memories?”

“Of you being a dick.” He sighs, dropping his hand then.

“Yeah, I was. A big dick to you. An idiot.”

“No, I mean, look at your life? It’s amazing.” His jaw clenches a bit, hands gripping the counter a bit tightly as you hear murmurs coming from the living room, but your heart is hammering in your ears, blocking it out.

“It’s not all amazing, okay? I thought of you alot. I wanted to reach out-”

“Satoru is here, honey.” You blink in shock, as you turn to look at Satoru Gojo, for once a complete disheveled mess, breathless almost as he smiles at you and then it falls, as he sees your proximity to Sukuna. “Sukuna came over and is having dinner, do you want to join us?”

Satoru wants to kill him, he wants to rip his arms off for being near you - which is irrational, it’s stupid, but it brings back every memory of longing and need while he watched the girl he loved in Sukuna’s arms. When Sukuna dated you he stopped being an ass to Satoru, it wasn’t until after the split he started being a dick again - a big dick to many people too, just particularly Satoru.

The hatred and resentment burn him so badly, he hardly notices you until he blinks it away, sighing, seeing your gorgeous dress. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, you’re so fucking beautiful tonight, dressed to go out and dressed to kill, that dress hugging every curve he was dying to touch, to hold, to kiss upon. Earrings dangle off your pretty ears, reflection against your dress as you look at him.

“I am so sorry, I… can we talk?” He asks then, softly, and you nod, trying not to let your hurt or worry make you angry at him, you need to hear him out.

“Sure. Just a minute, Sukuna.” He nods then, and you walk out to Satoru, he takes your wrist gently, pulling you over by the stairs, exhaling as he eyes you up and down slowly, as if he was caressing you with his blue eyes.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, my god.” You look down nervously, biting your lip a bit, and he tilts your chin, leaning low, making you vividly remember his kisses. “Absolutely stunning.”

“Oh, thank you Satoru. I didn’t know where you… were… taking me.” Your pause speaks volumes, and he sighs, pulling out his phone now.

“I called so many times after I got service, there was a horrible accident and we got stuck for hours. I’m so sorry.” You hear it then, the desperation, as he shows you his phone. “Your messages didn’t come until then, I am so fucking sorry, I tried to get here as quickly as I could. But… I guess I’m too late.”

“What, no, no. You’re not too late.” You step closer, and he exhales, pulling you against his chest now, resting his head against yours. “Sukuna came to see my parents, we’re not on a date or anything.”

“Fuck…” His relief makes his shoulders slump.

“Were you… worried about that?” Your whisper makes him laugh softly, pulling back to look into your eyes, cool hand cupping your face.

“Yeah. I was.”

“Why?”

“Why?” He repeats, while your hands cling to his soft sweater under his black jacket. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“How serious can we get if you leave soon?” Your voice is full of hurt, full of worry, and he can’t blame you one fucking bit, especially after soaking in what Samantha said.

“I will never just abandon you again.”

“Will you forget me again?” Your tears swim in your eyes, and you step back, shaking your head. “Fuck, ignore me, I’m tired I guess.”

Your words crush his heart, he feels it, the pain he put you through now, blinking back his own emotions. “I never forgot you, how could I?”

“You did.” You look away, and he turns you back to him, you fall again and again, over and over, body reacting, heart gravitating toward him against any better judgement you should have.

“No, I never fucking did.” His husky declaration is met with your mom peeking out now, concern on her face.

“Are you all going out or staying for dinner? There’s plenty, Satoru.” He clears his throat, watching you rub your arms nervously, a million things he’s dying to say to you, to tell you, all stuck in his fucking throat.

“We could just hit the movies and eat here, what do you think?” You say to him then, looking back up, as he runs a hand through his white locks.

“Think you look too beautiful not to take to a fancy restaurant, but I also think I’d love your mom’s cooking again.” You smile tremulously at his answer, sighing and trying to compose yourself.

“Then let’s go.” You take his hand, it feels too good, your little one engulfed in his warm palm, while Satoru sets his jacket and pulls out a chair for you, glaring over at Sukuna, who just smiles.

“Satoru, I should… say sorry for being a dick.” He says then, making Satoru blink in surprise.

“What?”

“I was a dick. Football makes us go to therapy, it’s really making me a little bitch but, here it is. I’m sorry.” He blinks once more, while he sits on the other side of you.

“Shit um, thanks I guess.” He mumbles, he still hates him, but he’s not going to keep the tension at the family table. Sukuna reaches around you to pat his shoulder, smiling a bit.

“It’s like a reunion huh?” Sukuna says teasingly, hand now finding your thigh under the table, making you look wide eyed at him, burning over your black tights. “It’s kind of nice being here again.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Satoru’s hand comes to your thigh now too, and you shift just a bit, Satoru’s is higher, thumb brushing circles on your soft inner thigh.

Some reunion.

“It’s nice to see you all getting along, and seeing you all again. I know she really missed you a lot, Satoru.” Your dad says then, and you hear it, the tone. Your dad was very protective, and he was never cool with his daughter being hurt - with Sukuna you both mutually broke up, but Satoru…

He really just left.

Satoru feels it in his gaze, sighing now. “Yeah well, certain people made High school shit for me. So I left.”

Sukuna looks away, sighing, and you feel the pain in his voice. “Not everyone was so bad.” You say softly, he nods then, hand on your thigh squeezing as Sukuna’s eases off.

“No, someone was amazing, and I shouldn’t have just left her.” His words are said in front of the room, and the tension eases, your dad smiles just a bit.

“She is amazing, you know.”

“Dad!”

“She is.” Satoru agrees, then he nibbles on the food in front of him, sighing. “I’m losing my abs this week.”

“You are not, silly!” You giggle with him, as all of you begin to reminisce, to talk softly, until food is done, and you’re going to help your mom clean up, but she stops you.

“You have a movie to get to, go on.” You smile at her knowing gaze.

“Satoru, have her home safe.” Your dad says, and you roll your eyes.

“I’m twenty six!”

“Still!”

“I’ll have her home safe. Unless she… wants to stay at my place again. But we’ll let you know, promise.” He nods then, hugging Satoru firmly.

“Please do, the roads are slick, be careful you two.”

“We will be, dad.” You look to see Sukuna saying his goodbyes as well, and Satoru glares at him, he can’t help it, the jealousy raging.

“Let me warm up the car, mmkay sweets?” He says softly, and you nod, but he shocks you by planting a kiss right on your cheek in front of everyone, making your skin heat up against his lips. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Thanks, Satoru.” You go to grab your jacket, but Sukuna has already gotten it, gently placing it over you as you two step outside into the cold, and you look up at him in the now dark night, just the porch light illuminating his silhouette. “Thank you so much for coming over, Sukuna. Truly.”

“I had fun catching up, your old man’s strong, he’ll be fine.” He pats your head affectionately, when you hug him tightly.

Satoru watches from his car and feels sick. He can’t hear a word you fucking said, but Sukuna showing up when he was supposed to already left him one step behind. Sukuna wraps his arms around you, you literally disappear in the big man’s embrace, while he gets the heat going, looking away before he does get sick.

He wants you to be his.

Is it selfish, is it fucking foolish? What future could you two even have? And you were a girl who needed a future, security, loyalty. You weren’t a girl he could just have and ever let go, but all he can think of is having you, over and over. All he can imagine is his lips bruising and marking every inch of your skin, not leaving the bed for days and just ordering food when you need it, fuck he’d hand feed you.

Shit Satoru Gojo has never thought of doing.

“You’re welcome, brat.” Sukuna says softly, after you thank him for spending time with your father.

“No, it meant alot. Truly. You’ve changed so much, but you weren’t all bad back then you know.” You tease, he chuckles then, sooty pink lashes lowering over those ruby eyes as his breath comes out in a puff of condensation.

“I fucked up with you. If you ever… figure out… all that.” He gestures his head to the car, and watches as you blush furiously. “And it’s not what you want, you have my contact info now. I’ll always answer your call, okay?”

“Sukuna, that's corny!”

“Fuck off, I know.” He glares, and you giggle again.

“That therapist should be famous.”

“Bye, now, brat.” You giggle and smack a kiss on his cheek, up on your tiptoes, watching a blush form on his cheeks. “It’s an open offer.” He says, husky toned, you nod then.

“Please drive safe!”

“You too, be careful tonight.”

“I will. Good night, Sukuna.” He nods with a half turn of is lips and walks over to his own sports car as you get inside the warmth with Satoru, smiling and then gasping as he yanks you against him. “Satoru?”

“I’ve been dying to do this all day.” He whispers huskily, before pressing his lips against yours, holding you against him in the warm confines of the car. He drinks up your sighs as you melt in his embrace, those shocks coursing through your veins from his plump lips, from his touch.

“Mnh…” Your soft cry makes him throb in need, but he tries to hold back, taking a breath instead, looking down at your now swollen lips, caressing them with his thumb.

“I never forgot you.” He repeats what he said earlier, you kiss him again, eagerly, tenderly, and he moans as you do, tongues dancing as lips keep pressing, melding against each other. “How could I?”

“Toru, I’m scared.” Your whisper makes him pause, he pulls back a bit, hands on your face now, shaking his head.

“I know. And I’m sorry you are. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing when I forgave you long ago, just… don’t hurt me again. Okay? I can’t handle it.” He nods, feeling your vulnerability, and you then relax, kissing him over and over, until he presses you against the door, leaned over, his hands dragging down your body, you whimper so sweetly he almost devours you there in that car.

“Shit, shit. I need to…” He backs off, watching your breasts rise and fall, he has never felt this, the insane need, once you all kissed he knew it was over, but every kiss drives him more out of his mind, as he falls just as bad as he had then. “I’ll fuck you right here if we don’t go.”

“In front of my parents!?”

“Full high school nostalgia.” You laugh then, and so does he, to break the tension, as you shakily put on your seat belt.

“None of that, gonna give my dad a damn heart attack. He has enough shit to deal with.” He presses one more kiss before he backs out of your driveway, an arm over the seat, brushing against the back of your neck.

“He looks healthy and good, I was really glad to see that.”

“Sukuna cheered him up playing football.” Your words are innocent and sweet, but he feels it hit - the inadequacy. He was supposed to be your best fucking friend in the world, and an ex had a better connection and was more involved.

The pain and guilt eats at him, and it’s quiet then, as the snow lightens up, and Satoru drives carefully in the night, you put a hand on his thigh, and his falls right over yours, squeezing it tightly. “Thank you for even going out with me tonight.”

“Of course, I want to… spend as much time as we can.” Your soft voice hits his ears, as you lean close, pressing a kiss on his neck.

“Me too, I was so stressed out, god being stuck in the car with Samantha was torture.” You laugh a bit, but he can hear it’s tense. “Sweetheart,” you two come to a stop, and he looks at you now, the streetlights casting a red glow over him while the snow finally stops falling, and the look he gives you makes your breath catch. “I only want you, okay?”

“Satoru you don’t-”

“No, I do. There’s nothing between me and her alright?” You nod then, swallowing nervously, as he kisses your forehead far too sweetly. “I used to sleep with her. But we never dated, I… never dated anyone.”

“Never?” You asked quietly, and he laughs without humor, looking back at the road now.

“Never. I guess I had someone in my head. I guess I had someone’s faded picture in my pocket.”

“You… what?” He taps his pocket, and you reach down now, emotions hitting your throat when you see it, the last picture he’d taken of you. You’re bright, cheerful and so, so happy. “You kept this?”

“You didn’t like it, and were gonna throw it out, remember? I got mad about it, so I swiped it. It was beautiful.” Your tears fall on the faded, crumbled up polaroid, taking several shaky breaths now as the meaning sinks in.

“I didn’t like it then, but… now I do.” He smiles, the weight off his chest while you put it back in his pocket. “Why didn’t you reach out?”

Satoru sighs, pulling up to another light, hand on yours gripping tightly as he studies you with that lidded gaze, with his plump lips parted just so, eyes that you have always loved looking into. But now they’re different, they’re jaded eyes yes, but there’s so much unsaid in them, so much it makes you falter, when he takes your hand and kisses the back of it, lips brushing your knuckles.

“I was terrified of feeling it all again. Every feeling I had for you, I just… thought it was best to shove down. But, I guess they never left.” The words in the yearbook flash across your mind now.

Did he mean them?

“I guess I never shared all my feelings, either.” You say softly, he is driving once more, but keeps your hand up by his lips.

“You have no fault in anything, here. You were just… you. And I love that, how you’re you. You are still you.”

“You’re still you, too, Satoru.”

He blinks a bit, sighing again. “Am I?”

“I think so.”

You hope so.

You wish it so.

You have never felt what this is, even with him before, the intensity of just being near him enough to drive you insane, every breath and motion leading you deeper into the abyss that is Satoru Gojo. Opening your heart to someone who could so easily crush it all over again, who can tear it all apart so casually, but it’s as if you would take it all if it meant having him for just a bit.

“What movie are we seeing, hmm?” Your whisper breaks him out of his thoughts, of how the fuck he could make this work, of how he could express everything that’s been bottled up inside. Of how he could be that Satoru for you again.

He looks over at your gorgeous face, bathed in moonlight, as beautiful as the day he first met you in school, the inner beauty just radiating with your kindness, your heart, all too much to even look upon. Momentarily stunned he doesn’t compute your question at first, instead just drinking in the love in front of him, the love of his life that he shoved aside like she was nothing.

He’s not even sure he deserves you near him, but he’s not going to fuck this up, aside from life literally already fucking the first part of the evening up.

“It was your favorite, they’re doing a whole re-run of it. And we have time to catch the last showing.”

You bounce just a bit in your seat, so cute then, he fucking melts, he aches, your smile so precious he can’t fathom how he lived with just the memory of it. You’re brightening up his heart, his world, as he just stares at you, so enamored that he has to get honked at to drive at the light again.

When the two of you arrive in that movie theater, he can hardly focus on anything but your laugh, your glittery eyes as you two settle with your snacks in the old theater, that hasn’t changed one damn bit. He’s so lost in you he can’t remember what the movie is called, or what it’s about, an arm wrapped around as you nibble on popcorn, snuggling up.

It feels too perfect, and Satoru can’t fuck this up. Knowing he’s had you for years existing across the country and could have had this the entire time makes every bit of money he’s had feel hollow. His phone keeps going off, he keeps ignoring the vibrations until you pull back curiously.

“It may be important, Satoru, check it.” He sighs, looking now that it’s his manager. “Go ahead, take a call, I'll be fine.”

“Fuck it, he can wait.” He says then, checking the texts and his heart drops as he sees it.

He has a shoot coming up tomorrow night and then he has to get back to Hollywood for a magazine interview and photo shoot for Vogue. One more measly day with the girl he’s been missing like a piece of his heart? How the fuck could he even tell you?

“What’s wrong, Toru?” You whisper, he just turns the screen off, leaning close and kissing you, tasting salty popcorn on your lips and licking it, making you laugh breathlessly.

“Nothing, it can all wait.” His words reassure you, despite the lingering concerns, as he pulls you back against him and reclines the big black leather seats, the two of you snuggling under the blanket he’d brought as you fall into your favorite movie.

But you also fall deeper for him, for the boy you knew and the man you’re trying to learn, who’s heart thuds steadily under your cheek.

Could you handle him leaving you again, or just enjoy this while it lasted, savor every moment, could you let him go again?

Next chap will be smutty AND emotional AND angsty, yayyy hehe

taglist #1- @pinkyvomit @saitamaswifey @kachowness @vraiao @artbligh @psychoartiste @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @bsenpai @simp-for-wanderer @rjreins @emonaculate @myahfig4 @casua11ycrying @psycren @blushedcheri @ureuphoriasworld @frozenmallows @kanaojacksonofc @rcveriees @xlilycoco @yukimaniac @sypnasis @tokina @sharkubi @tztuoo @hyori2 @yesdere @gradmacoco @gamerhere @seikamuzu @xinsonyax @vvaoo @angie420 @ria54sworld @blue-musingss @mysticmyth @asimpinamillion @arabellasolstice @ilovebeansyay @notme000 @emochosoluvr @iv-vee @heh123321 @fushikamo @danilovesboba @spookyy-gracee @satorusleftnut @clqxuds @femaholicc

[alexispunkkk]

animal

♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰

god only knows — chapter 5

read the series!

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- warnings: religious trauma + guilt, kissing, kinda forcing yourself onto joel (?) I wouldn’t consider it dubcon or noncon tho!!, mentions of masturbation prior to this chapter, super super descriptive sexual thoughts, arousal in a religious context, blasphemous themes, mentions of the bible, sexual repression, extreme hypersexuality, emotional breakdown, emotional and physical intensity, seduction, emotional vulnerability, grinding if you squint, breakage of consent boundaries, so so much craving and yearning ugh it's awful, joel is a SWEETHEART and i love that man

- summary: showing up at joel's in the middle of the night in an absolute craze--one that he both feeds and puts the fire out of

- word count: 5.8k

on ao3

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You don’t change your sheets. Not right away, at least.

There’s something so sacred about the way your body trembled as you whimpered Joel’s name, finishing and gasping into your pillow with your church dress hiked up to your stomach. Something you can’t bear to wash out yet. It turned a corner in your life, leaving you on your knees again.

But not for God anymore. For something more physical than that.

The feeling of truly touching yourself for the first time, allowing your body to let go and succumb to what’s imprinted as your brain as impure, felt incredible. Like you’ve been missing out on it for so long–loserish, almost. Twenty-one and never having an orgasm or sex before.

It’s always been in a way to keep your devout innocence, like your father and the church had taught you to. Save it for marriage, don’t touch yourself. You’ll go to hell. 

But there you are, laying in your bed with a small patch soaked into your sheets, evidence of what you’ve done. Finished with a man’s name on your tongue. For once, you don’t feel dirty. You feel refreshed. Replenished, discovered. 

You’d lit a little candle when you came back to your senses after the orgasm. Usually, it was lit for prayer–now, it feels like something entirely different. The room smells of vanilla and smoke, air thick and heated alongside your own feverish need and confusion with what’s happening to you.

The shame seemingly vanished, changing color. Nothing is pitch black and suffocating anymore, but more of a deep red. Open and wanting. 

Exploring yourself like this for the first time, genuinely exploring yourself, seemed to open up a whole new world. It’s no longer worth it to save it, fuck that. God can go fuck himself if it felt this good to finish, and you’ve never even known.

And Joel. Oh, Joel. He’s now the only thing possibly occupying your mind. Like the Lord doesn’t even exist.

For the next six hours, you don’t leave your room. Don’t go downstairs for the lunch your dad offered, not even when you smelt dinner cooking later. Joel is completely inhabiting your thoughts, along with a mess of hypersexual images that you would’ve slapped yourself for envisioning just a few years ago. An entirely new spectrum. 

Joel bending you over, fucking you dumb into your mattress. He’s hitting deep inside your cervix, where your fingers can’t reach. His probably could. The cross above your bed would be gone. Joel’d have his head buried between your thighs, sucking relentlessly at your clit like it’s the sweetest treat he’s ever tried. Joel’d pull at your hair while you’re kneeling between his legs like he’s an altar, his cock stuffed deep down your throat until you gag and cry real tears. Utterly sinful, but beautiful. Nothing has ever felt so good compared to this, compared to finally opening the window to sexuality after a quarter of a lifetime. 

It’s overwhelming, actually, but in the best way. Everything seems to unravel in the next few hours and you’re in an absolute frenzy, fixated on the mere thought of Joel while your hand travels back between your thighs every few minutes. 

Like you’re unable to stop. You couldn’t finish anymore, but it still felt good. You came to like the feeling of overstimulation, especially the thought of Joel being the one doing so.

 He’s got you in a psychosis. A dirty, religious, sexual, sinful psychosis.

You’re tired by nightfall, but not ready to give up. Your mind finally travels back to the thought of church, remembering what Joel told you–he likes to go there, alone, every night around midnight. So maybe, just maybe, you’d show up to see him.

But it’s a little too far: showing up at church two hours after finishing on your fingers with an image of Joel painted in your mind. Sure, you don’t feel as guilty anymore, but doing that would lack basic decency.  

Instead, you’re at the edge of the bed, a quarter past twelve. There's a little lipstick smudged on your mouth, the one you bought and hoped to use in college. Sadly, it wasn’t worn much. Saved for a proper occasion, and tonight felt like the right one. 

The top of the package read ‘burgundy love,’ a corny but accurate representation of the color smeared unfamiliarly on your lips. It’s foreign to have makeup of this color on, but you want to feel sexy. Especially after today. A journey of sexual discovery most definitely calls for cheap red lipstick. 

In like manner, you have a thong you bought last summer with your friends on college break. They insisted on getting matching ones during a trip to the mall, as a gag, and you couldn’t opt out–plus, it could’ve made use one day. Today’s that day.

The fabric is lacy and untouched, resting perfectly on the supple skin of your ass, barely covering much of it at all. It covers your cunt enough, but will surely be soaked through in ten minutes when you’re thinking about Joel again. Girlish, sexy, feminine. Makes you feel just how you want to feel.

You’ve always known you’re pretty–the women in town praised you as a young girl, telling you you’d be a model and whatnot when you grew up. And sure, you feel pretty. But you’ve never felt sexy before, not like this. It’s truly an awakening for you, an overwhelming punch to the gut to masturbate and put on a thong and partake in all these little things that most girls would’ve done by sixteen. 

Your legs are shaven and bare, recovering from scrubbing them so hard the past few days. But still soft, moisturized with your favorite vanilla lotion. It’s paired with a matching perfume scent, sprayed on all the most important spots: collarbones, behind the ears, wrists, behind the knees, and your ankles. Nice and slutty. 

An oversized button down, one roughly resembling Joel’s (at least in your sick mind) gets thrown over the little thong and bra set you put on for the first time in your life. It’s black and thin, usually only worn when doing deep cleaning or on laundry day. But tonight, it feels ceremonial. Like armor. 

Like sin dressed up for worship.

You know Joel goes to church almost every night around midnight, he’d told you the other time you saw him. And you may or may not have watched him once. Not on purpose, but you caught his truck driving down the old road while staring at the window, and just had to get in your father’s truck and follow. 

As bad as it is when you’re in a weird state of sexual hysteria, something called to you. Told you to follow, told you to go. But, to keep the smallest bit of decorum, you couldn’t bring yourself to step into a church again today after the events earlier.

Instead, you go. 

To Joel’s. 

Slipping on a pair of tiny pajama shorts with the button down, you retouched the lipstick and gave your eyelashes an extra curl. Another spritz of perfume, a gargle of mouthwash, and you’re out the door. Sheets still unwashed, of course.

You get in your dad’s old truck, trying to start it up as quietly as possible in the late hour. Now it’s twelve-thirty, and Joel’s sure to get home soon. 

The drive isn’t long, you know where he lives from going there as a child to barbecues. From dropping things off for him with your father as a teenager. From last Friday when you watched him return home from his usual late night church trip. 

Joel, at least, is attempting to hang onto his religion. Even if it’s difficult and not very effective, he’s been going to church extra–every night, almost. Praying and trying to reconnect with the Lord after whatever it is that caused such a horrible disconnect with him and the church.

He’s still a man of God, just not as strict as he used to be. Slipping into the same habits and hole you’re falling into, but gripping harder onto the edges. He’s stronger, has more restraint than you. Maybe it’s because of his age, maybe it’s his faith. Or maybe it’s just you who belongs in Hell. 

You, on the other hand, have managed to become a complete mess in six hours. After returning from church and spending just a few hours in your bedroom, you gave up on hanging onto the Lord like Joel is. Slipped away, unregrettably. You’ve somehow managed a complete turn, abandoning the girl you were trying to grip to and switching to one who’s addicted to one of the worst sins. 

Within minutes, you’re waiting on the man’s porch. Getting there was kind of a blur. Dark sky and trees and cemeteries that you drove by, giving the night an uncomfortable chill.

Your hands are folded in your lap like a child who’s done something bad and doesn't want to admit to it, your throat dry from today’s activities, and the cold air biting at your bare knees. You’ve been practicing, planning. Not exactly praying, you’re not sure what to call it anymore.

When his car door opens, it pulls you out of a trance. You’d zoned out, didn’t even notice his truck pulling up in the gravel driveway, slow and steady. He slowed upon seeing you, not wanting to scare you.

He walks out, and you flinch. His shirt half unbuttoned like he’s already ready for bed, hair mussed and eyes dark. He stops moving and sighs at the sight of you sitting on his porch chair–seemingly innocent, for now, at least. But hiding the worst feeling yet. Also hiding a little thong soaked through and the thought of him fucking you deep in your mind.

He sees the lipstick, the way you’re holding your elbows as if trying to hold yourself together. There's a thin line of resolve drawn across your eyebrows, making you look somewhat confused. He can’t really read you this time. 

“Sweetheart…” Joel starts, almost like a soft warning but also a question. “You alright?”

He moves again, slowly stepping toward the porch and clicking his keys to lock the truck. You hear the sound of it, stealing a glance at the vehicle before looking back at him.

Looking back at his looming figure, the graying chest hair just barely peeking out where his shirt is unbuttoned more than usual. You can hardly see, lit only by the light of the porch in the dark. But he looks handsome as ever, distressed and sexy. He’s everything to you. Your new God.

Your neck cranes when you look up at him as he approaches, like you’re still kneeling to something holy.

“No.” You answer honestly. “But I think I figured it out.”

He’s skeptical of you–you’re acting different. Normally, you’re scared, shaking like a leaf whenever you see him ever since that night at the church. Too freakishly casual now, like you’re hiding something.

Which you are, of course. Hiding the desperate need for him, for his body, that’s threatening to escape you. You can’t scare him off, though. Not at his own house. He’s helped you, after all, so that’s not the goal.

“Yeah? What’s that you figured out?

You sit up in the chair when he asks you, pulling your leg up to set it underneath you, sitting on it. Your heel digs between your legs, trying to nonchalantly settle the now familiar wetness and aching that’s building while the two of you speak.

“God never felt close. Feel like I should give up.”

Joel doesn’t speak, lets you continue. 

“Been reading my Bible cover to cover all week, scrubbing myself raw in the shower and starving myself in hopes that it would help. But I still feel it.”

His eyebrow quirks, eyes widening at the suggestion. He steps forward again, stepping his right leg up and propping it on the steps of the porch. Makes your eyes flicker down between his legs for a second, imagining a bulge that isn’t quite there yet.

“Feel it?” He questions, tilting his head and running a hand through his beard of salt and pepper scruff. Hands look big. Beautiful.

“Yeah. Feel you, Joel. I feel you like I’m supposed to feel Him.”

His brows knit this time, something like pain flickering across his face–or maybe interest. Arousal? Confusion? You can’t tell. Neither can he. But he doesn’t interrupt.

“I don’t know what it is. Not love. But I’m scared it’s something worse.” You feel nervous telling him this, the weird flash of confidence from earlier slowly dissolving under his hard gaze. Your voice quivers for a second, quiets. “Like, devotion. I don’t know.” 

Joel’s jaw tightens like he’s bracing for an impact upon hearing you admit you’re devout to him. It’s bad, you both know–but he doesn’t want to guide you away. He wants to help you. Or fuck you. Whatever it is, he’s gonna be gentle.

You’re trembling, hands held in little weak fists now instead of open palms, no longer ready for a prayer.

Joel still doesn’t speak. Just stares, leg propped up as if begging for you to look. You do. Again and again, flickering between his face and crotch desperately.

“I lit a candle for you.” You continue, more breathless, ashamed and proud all at once. You feel the confidence coming back the tiniest amount when he doesn’t tell you to leave, doesn’t seem disgusted by the idea. “And I’m wearing the lipstick I bought in college. Never got to wear it. Thought it’d make me seem like a whore.”

“You’re not a whore,” he answers, too quickly. It’s the one thing he wants to remind you: you’re not a sinner, not a whore, not disgusting. Only human. But his expression is unchanging, still somewhat blank and hard to read. Joel’s never been too good with his show of emotions.

“I know. Maybe. But tonight it made me feel worthy.”

He nods, takes a careful step forward. Arms crossed, not too close yet, but standing next to the porch chair you’re sitting in. He hasn’t noticed your heel between your legs, pressing into the ache that he’s worsening by the moment. 

“You’re overwhelmed,” he finally continues, gently this time. Letting something show, at least. “Don’t gotta explain yourself to me.”

“I want to, though.” You whisper, eyes glancing up when he moves closer. Closer, closer, but so slowly. Until he’s almost above you, arms uncrossing. One hand holds the back of the chair behind your head, the other on his hip. Almost caging you in on that chair.

“I need you to hear it.”

At that, he nods. He reaches and gives your head a single stroke, reminding you of how he’d held you in the church that night. Stroked your hair the same way, whispered the sweetest reminders to help you out. But it worsens your case. Soaks you. You’re dripping by now.

Joel steps back, getting his keys from his pocket to open the front door. Score.

He opens it, walking in and turning to wait for you. Keeps his hand on the door, above your height, letting you walk under it so he can close it again in one swift motion. Slow and smooth and cautious. Perfect.

You’re pacing now, nervous energy unraveling in real time, getting better or worse every few seconds. You’re in his house. Alone with him. Wearing sinful lipstick and a stupid slutty thong all for a man almost three times your age. A man of God. Who’s somehow become your religion. 

“It’s like I discovered fire–I can’t unfeel it.” You start, breathless and messy while you try and move around the room mindlessly. 

He shushes you, but doesn’t say anything, grabbing your shoulder to stop you. Keeps his hand there, grounding you to the best of his ability with that rough gaze but gentle, warm touch. Sure, it helps calm you down, but it also adds timber to the fire burning in your lower stomach. Need.

“You’re–Joel. Joel, you’re like warmth to me. I found it, I need it so bad.” You continue, giving up now. He’s here with you, and you’re already dressed for the occasion. You didn’t wear a thong for nothing, so you practically beg him. Give in. Submit. “Please, I know it’s wrong. I know the Bible says it’s wrong, and you’re gonna tell me it’s wrong. But, please. Joel.” 

You finally stop, and he freezes in place. Stares, his chest barely rising with his breath like it’d been knocked out of him with your words. There’s nothing seductive about it yet, to Joel. He’s not smirking, he feels more like he’s witnessing and breaking something sacred. He’s almost scared to see you break down like this after the way you’ve been struggling for the past few days.

He saw the way your collarbones have been showing extra in your church dress, face thinning out unnaturally. Saw your legs scrubbed red and raw to cleanse yourself of sin. Now, you’re standing in his living room, begging. Entirely unholy and making a complete 360 of the girl he once knew. He’s terrified, he feels awful for you. 

Your whisper is softer now after admitting all that, after seeing the look on his face that demonstrated a sort of fear.

“I didn’t come here for anything. I just wanted to tell you–”

You begin, but he cuts you off. 

“You sure?”

The question drops like a stone, stopping you in your tracks. Shocks you, almost. His voice is careful, eyes scanning your face as if searching for something specific now. An answer, a reason to stop you before it goes any further.

You know you’re lying. Of course you came here for something. You wore something for Joel, put on lipstick and put perfume on the back of your knees. Lotioned your thighs and showered and shaved just for him. Maybe you don’t want to admit it, or maybe you do. Joel makes everything more confusing.

But all you do is nod. 

It’s not permission, not yet. Faith, maybe. 

Neither of you speak for a moment, the silence between you stretching out like a held breath. Your heart is beating against your ribs like it wants out, as if it could crawl up your throat and confess everything your body hasn’t yet exposed. You could explode right now, tell Joel what you did today. Tell him you thought about him the whole time, too.

The way he’s watching you is tender, understanding so deeply that it feels like he’s mourning. 

“You’re not a bad person, kid,” he says, quiet.

Your throat tightens uncomfortably, keeping in the wild mix of emotions. Just barely.

“But it feels like I am. Like I’m trying to make you one.” 

That makes him wince again. The thought of you feeling so bad and him being part of the cause breaks his heart. Little does he know, though, that tonight it’s not a grief thing–not more of that religious shit you’ve been crying about, but something else for once. You want him so bad that it physically hurts, and that’s what's breaking you. 

“No.” He denies, shaking his head. “You’re not.” His voice is firm now, just a bit. He’s trying his best to get you to believe him harder than you want to believe it yourself.

“You’re scared, you’re lonely. And you’ve been carryin’ that for a long time now.” 

He’s partially right. Of course, that’s true. He knows it and you know it. But he’s focused on the wrong issue right now, being gentle because he thinks you’re upset about church or God again. Thinks you need some help, some comfort. Doesn’t know that it’s because you’re so needy it pains you, doesn’t know that’s the reason you even showed up in the first place.

You blink fast, playing into the bit so he doesn’t figure you out. 

“Yeah. I don’t know what to do.” You whisper.

He steps closer, and you don’t move. His hand comes up, slow, so slow, brushing a hair back from your face. The same way he touched you in church, but somehow softer–almost reverent. His big fingers trace your temple and jaw, the curve of your eyebrows. 

And you feel it in every inch of your starving body. Especially between your legs again. You’re absolutely pounding, the same way you were on the way back from church earlier this afternoon.

Your thighs squeeze together, but Joel is too focused on your eyes to notice, trying to be a hero and read you. A hero isn’t what you need right now. You need a body. Touch and taste.

A few moments pass where he stares at you. The clock on his mantle next to the little carvings of birds he made ticks, so slowly that it gives the allusion that time is slowing now. All you can do is feel Joel. Feel his warm hand on the side of your face, feel his breath ghost against your skin like a spirit. 

You’re expecting him to continue, to tell you the same lines he’s been reusing each time he sees you. You’re not dirty, you’re only human. But this time, you don’t want to believe that. Maybe you want to be dirty, rebel against the Lord after the torture the church has put on you these past few years. 

After a day of obsessively touching yourself to the thought of Joel, he seemed unrealistic. Unreachable. Sexually, at least. He’s here physically, wanting to help you. But you’d never imagine any fantasies would come true. 

As if a prayer was answered, by some strange supernatural form of luck, Joel leans in.

He fucking kisses you.

It’s not of lust or need on his part. It’s soft, just barely there, like he’s afraid to scare you away. Quiet and intentional, his lips warm and slow against yours. Makes you feel like you’re alright for once even if something is breaking open inside of you. In his mind, you’re going through more guilt right now–you’re upset and scared and needing comfort.

But to you, it’s the most sensual thing you’ve ever felt. To be fair, you’ve never experienced something so intimate. A lousy kiss with a college boy you didn’t learn the name of until three days later, three days after he drunkenly left your room and left you with nothing. But this is sexy. So incredibly intimate, making the ache worse–a million suns burning in you.

Joel is solid in front of you, though. The fragile moment juxtaposes your first kiss, making you forget about it entirely. Surely it wouldn’t even register in your brain anymore. He’s cradling the sides of your face, trying to make you feel good, but you’re going insane.

He tastes incredible, a little soured by the taste of cigarettes and maybe some beer from earlier that day. But you don’t mind. He’s perfect in your eyes, in your mouth. In the feeling between your legs, in the heat crawling up your neck and in your lower belly where a fire is increasing past comfort. 

You let his kiss and touch settle over your skin and sink into your bones, finally allowing touch for the first time in your life. Both grace and sin in human form. Sexy but soft. 

Joel pulls away before it deepens, not allowing himself to get carried away because he knows it’s not what you need right now. To him, it’s not somewhere either of you are ready to visit.

But when he looks at you again, his forehead rests against yours and his thick thumb brushes against the corner of your mouth like he’s blessing you. 

“We’re gonna figure this out.” He murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. He’s gentle, too gentle. Fatherly with it, almost. The way he treats you so softly and kisses your forehead, it’s like he’s only trying to save you. You may have appreciated that a few days ago, but it’s not what you need anymore. Not enough. Not nearly. 

The absence of his lips against yours almost hurts. You’re craving him so badly, and now you’re cold again. Starving. There’s only a breath of air where seconds ago there was fire and weight.

It’s not just romance and comfort, but need. A low, deep ache curling in your belly in replacement of hunger. Him. So, so painful. You crave him, crave the weight of him pressed into you. The scratch of his beard on your neck. You want his voice in your ear, breath on your neck again, telling you that you look so beautiful in the lipstick and pretty little red thong you wore just for him. 

But it’s just the little kiss. He doesn’t want more, and you need more. Your fingers are twitching at your sides like they don’t know what to do with themselves–searching for something to cling to, to hold and feel. Joel. Your body is screaming. 

You move before you think.

In an act of utter desperation, your hands reach for his shoulders, gripping him and tugging him impossibly closer like a lifeline. You press your mouth against his in another kiss: this one messier and harder, no longer delicate. Outrageously frantic. Your breath hitches, your smaller stretch of chest flush against his big one, fingers finding the soft of his neck. Finding everything you can. The buttons on his old shirt, the little patch of hair on his stomach that leads to things you can’t seem to get out of your head. You want to undo the buttons, strip him, take him. 

To show him you’re not the little girl he once knew. You’re a woman, in lipstick and perfume and everything, and you’re done pretending you believe. You want him, he’s all that you believe in.

Joel stills. 

His hands catch your elbows gently, face moving quickly away to stop the desperate excuse of a kiss you pressed to his lips. His grip is firmer, pulling your hands away from his warm skin that you want to take a bite of. To lick and worship and savor.

“Hey–hey.” He whispers, shaking his head. “Uh-uh. Slow down.”

But you can’t. You cannot stop.

Your thighs clench together, the low pulse between your legs somehow quickening more. The ache that began in the church closet today and never went away buzzes in your fingertips when they meet his stomach again, trying to push up his shirt while your lips drag back to his. 

You press your hips forward into him without realizing, lips leaving his in mere seconds to drag across his jaw animalistically. Across his throat, groaning ferally against his Adam’s apple like a dog in heat. 

“Please.” You practically whimper, almost crying out to him. Like a plea to the Lord. Him, now. “Joel–I just–please.”  

“Shhh,” his hands envelop your wrists, pulling at your arms to anchor them in place and stop them from dragging into uncharted territory. 

When you ignore him and keep gnawing at his skin and kissing everywhere you can get, he toughens up–firm, harder than you’ve ever seen him.

“Hey.” He growls, yanking at your wrists to finally capture your attention. And he gets it this time. 

You look up, eyes once hazy with lust and now a little worried. You thought he wanted it–he kissed you, after all. How could he be stopping you now?

“Look at me. Enough.”

You don’t want to. You don’t want to look, don’t want to stop, don’t want to listen to what he’s saying. The notion of having Joel–a physical body, something arousing–instead of God, was supposed to be freeing. There were no longer rules, no more restrictions about what or what not you could do, what you could touch.

The only thing you want to do is burn everything to the ground until only he’s left with you. His touch. This. 

He says it again, tightening the grip on your wrists. 

“Look at me.”

This time, you do.

His face is flushed, jaw clenched tight–you’ve never seen him like this. He’s always quieter, keeps to himself, doesn’t let much emotion show. But he looks full of it now, full of something you can’t quite understand–not rejection, not disgust. But a similar ache to yours. Like it kills him to have to pull away like this, but he forces himself to.

“You’re not in the right place right now,” he starts again, trying his best to stay gentle, thumb brushing softly against your knuckles while anchoring your wrists in place. “This ain’t gonna fix you, kid. Not like this.” 

The gentle approach doesn’t work. Tonight, you’re something that needs to be chained up. Tamed and stopped. An animal, after just discovering how good it feels to be dirty. 

You try again, leaning forward with a desperate gasp and attempting to land your lips on his. Not even just the skin of them, but like you’re trying to get in his mouth. You want to be physically inside of him, he’s your God now. You want to sink your teeth into his tanned skin and melt into him. 

Your hips press again, and that’s his breaking point. He shakes his head for the millionth time, grabbing your waist with one hand and your hands with the other. The waist to stop you from moving closer, the hands to stop you from reaching down and touching him–partially in an attempt to stop you from discovering the fact that he’s hardening in his pants, as much as he hates to. 

“No.” He nearly shouts, but holds himself back. He can forcefully stop you, but he’d never actually yell. 

His hand on your waist pushes you, making you stagger backward until your knees hit his old leather couch. Creased and indented from many years spent lounging with a bear, his belt undone and tummy hanging out in comfort.

He wants to help you, not feed into those desires. Not that he cares about you not believing anymore, but this isn’t the way to go about it. 

“Sweetheart, you’re still your father’s daughter,” he huffs, stepping in front of you once you’ve fallen into a sitting position on his couch. “Don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doin,’ forcing yourself onto me like that. Ain’t the way to go about this.”

You try your best to listen, but your mind is consumed by the way he pushed you back onto the couch. Even in a moment where he’s trying to keep you in line, save you from going too far, you’re being disgusting. Can’t stop looking at him. At his vascular hands, at his angry face, at his stomach where his shirt is coming untucked, and definitely at his crotch where he might be twitching under the layers of fabric. 

Still, you manage to calm down. He’s never gotten angry with you like this, so it gives you a tiny moment of clarity. You gulp and nod mindlessly, finally giving up on the idea of getting into his pants tonight. 

So much for the thong.

He sighs, at least a little glad to see the fire in your eyes die down. And when your gaze flickers up from his body and finally lands on his face, he can recognize you again. 

“Look. I’m not gonna pretend to get it. I understand you’re goin’ through something, with God and shit, but this is too far. Just because you don’t believe anymore doesn’t mean you should be throwin’ yourself away like this.”

His words come to you in a more vivid understanding once you’ve managed to calm your filthy mind down, and it starts to hurt a bit. The realization dawns on you of what you’re doing, forcing yourself onto a man–on a Sunday, of all days. 

Tears sting your eyes in seconds. Not exactly shame, but frustration. It all feels like an unbearable fullness, you don’t know what to do. Not with your body, not with your heart, not with Joel. Don’t know what you want.

“I need you, though. Please.” You try one last time, except this time it’s quieter–unbelieving. You rub your nose when it leaks a little alongside the tears, sniffling and shifting in your seat.

Joel sighs. He looks so tortured, stressed. It makes you feel a little bad.

He sits down on the couch, leaning back and letting out a quiet noise with the crack of his knees. Old and manly. Hands reaching down to rest on his thighs. 

“Gotta slow down. Ain’t you, angel. Not what you need.” 

His hand moves from his own thigh to yours, just resting on your knee like a grounding presence. Settling you. And after all you just tried to do, he’s still patient with you. Like he actually believes in you and wants to help. 

Your savior. Your God. Your Joel.

A few quiet moments pass where you stare at each other, a few lonely tears dropping from your eyes, weighing down your lashes. Your lipstick is smudged. The wetness and ache between your legs is going away. 

And now, part of you wants to wait and believe him.

“...I need you.” 

The same words leave your mouth again, but in a different meaning this time. Instead of desperation and sexuality, it’s a softer yearning. You don’t just need him physically, you’re realizing you do need him to help you.

He nods in understanding, squeezing your thigh. His free hand snakes up behind you, wrapping around you to grip your shoulder. He brings his lips to your head, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of it, feeling your soft hair on his skin. Brushing against his cheek, making him want to rest his head there for eternity. 

“And I’m here. I’m not goin’ anywhere, but I’m not gonna take anything from you when you’re like this. You’re not steady.” 

What he says makes sense. You need to learn to control yourself, to deal with the urges and act slowly. What you did today wasn’t only desperation but a subconscious ‘fuck you’ to God–an extreme, blasphemous rebellion. It wasn’t the right move. 

You want to pull him close, but not to have you. Just to hold. 

Except you listen to him, not acting on everything you want. You go at his pace, let him hold you, because to you, he knows all. He makes it better. He’s ready to shield you from the world and guide you, even shield you from yourself.

“I’ve got you. Promise. You’re not alone in this, not tonight.” 

And somehow, for the first time since you returned home, you believe something. You believe Joel. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

HIII thank yall sm for all the support recently! i've been loving writing this fic so so so much i adore where the plot is going and DON'T WORRY there'll be some real smut soon (dual-sided, don't fret) comment or go in my asks if you're wanting anything specific to happen or be included and i'll try my best to feed yalls delusions! thank u love u mwah mwah mwah

@joeldarling @ssssc0m @melmel-fandom @rafeovermorals @lilac-boo @funkifiedzee

[dozyarchive]

✦ I See Us in Black and White ✦

Hands Free

   Music thumped through the space, drinks in every hand and smiles on every face. The club was nice, high end but still casual enough to feel like you were in some sort of movie. Neon lights pulse alongside the low house lights, coloring the world in jewel tones.

   “I never thought I’d see Lilli somewhere like this,” Alex comments, leaning closer to George so he could hear. The younger nods, eyes landing on the aforementioned woman. She was standing near the bar, talking with a woman.

   She was dressed for the occasion, a pair of fitted black pants and dark blue corset top, and black platform boots, making her tower over most of the women in the club. Her hair was in loose curls, down and framing her face. The two had already seen a few people approach her, men and women alike. The women had immediately been welcomed by a smile, Lilli letting them fawn over her outfit or looks. One had even given her a drunk but well meaning kiss on the cheek, leaving a messy lipstick print. Her friends had pulled her away, apologizing, but Lilli had laughed them off

   The men, however, had been assessed with a critical eye, tight-lipped smiles and cool indifference. It had cowed most of them, and they got the hint, excusing themselves after a few moments. One or two had to be told to move along, but none had reacted too badly.

   “Here’s another one, let’s see how he does,” George remarks, pointing to a man who had sauntered up.

   “Logan, you good mate?” The two men look over to the blonde just as the man stops in front of Lilli. Logan has his eyes locked onto her, body loose, but jaw tensed. Lando is smiling, softly laughing at the quick look Logan gives him before looking back to where his mother was.

   “Aw, Logie Bear! So protective of his mother. She doesn’t need security when she’s got you around.” Alex joins in on the teasing immediately, poking Logan’s arm. Oscar snorts from his position next to the man, but his eyes are also looking towards the older woman.

   “I mean, when you’re as beautiful as Lilli is, attention is normal, Charles joins in. Max mumbles something that sounds like an agreement. Logan finally looks away, side eyeing the men.

   “Hey, I’m just saying! Objectively, your mother is very attractive!” Charles defends himself. Logan rolls his eyes, and Oscar finally gives a full laugh, nudging his friend.

   “At least they’re respectful about it. Do you remember that engineer at Prema that opened with some line about her ass?”

   Lando and Max choke out a noise, Max on his drink and Lando on air. George looks at the youngest two with disbelief, while Alex’s jaw has actually dropped open.

   “Of course, I completely forgot him mentioning how good her bottom looked in the dress she had decided to wear and how he wondered if it would look just as good in something else, thank you for reminding me,” Logan answers, sarcasm and disgust dripping from his voice. “It’s not like I didn’t sock him in the face and break his nose immediately afterwards.”

   “To be fair, that was at least three years ago,” Oscar reminds him, but Logan just huffs out a breath.

   “No fucking chance,” Alex almost yells, kicking Logan under the table.

   “Oh trust me, there was a wonderful meeting after that. We’re just lucky that it stayed within the garage. The media would have had a field day,” Oscar answers in Logan’s place, smirking. “We’re even more lucky that Kyle, Lucas, or Lilli’s dad weren’t there. Lucas would have broken his legs, and I think Kyle would have snapped his arm or something. I don’t even want to imagine what Mr. T would have done.”

   “Shoot him,” Logan comments, voice dark. 

   “Forget personal security, she’s got attack dogs,” Max mumbles, staring at Logan with wary eyes.

   “She can handle herself, but she shouldn’t have to,” Logan remarks, downing the last of his drink.

   “I think she’s doing that right now,” George points out, nodding his head to where Lilli is standing, still in the same spot. Now, however, her posture is stiff, and she has a visible frown on her face. The man from earlier is still here, but he’s got her backed against the bar. Despite their position, Lilli is standing tall, not backing down.

   “Logan,” Oscar quickly grabs the blonde’s arm. Logan is tense, eyes lasered in. Alex also tenses a bit, ready to jump up.

   The man makes a move, hand reaching out and settling precariously low on her hips, practically grabbing Lilli’s ass. The rest of the table jumps to attention, while Oscar lets go of Logan, who jumps up instantly.

   “Don’t hurt him too bad, he needs to be able to receive charges, and he can’t do that if he’s in the hospital,” Oscar calls out. The group watches as Logan winds through the club with alarming speed for someone at least three drinks deep, reaching the man within seconds.

   “He’s going to murder him,” Oscar remarks, surprisingly calm. Lando and Charles stare at him for a second before focusing back on Logan.

   The blonde reaches up and grabs the man’s shoulder, pulling and spinning the guy partially around, despite Logan being a good three inches shorter than him. The guy is instantly in attack mode, getting in Logan's face and yelling.

   “Should we call a bouncer?” Lando asks, nervously eyes the height and build difference. The guy was buff, looked like he half lived in the gym. Not to say Logan didn’t have muscle, his arms were visibly strong, and obviously his neck, but it was a different kind of strength.

   “Nah, just watch,” Oscar waves him off, leaning back. 

   Logan had kept somewhat calm, not yelling or getting in his face. However, the second Lilli tries to move or leave, the man whips back around to grab her. This time, Logan doesn’t hesitate. He grabs the guy, sends a quick jab to the gut, making him bend over, and follows with a nasty uppercut.

   “Holy shit!” Alex jumps as the man falls down, out like a light.

   “Hope he broke his nose,” Oscar snarks, smiling wickedly.

   “Is he going to get in trouble?” Charles questions nervously, eyes scanning for security. Oscar shakes his head, still relaxed.

   “Logan’s friends with one of the guys here, and I think Lilli went to school with the owner.” Oscar finishes his drink, and the group relaxes a bit.

   “Look like the clean up crew is here,” Max remarks as a bar staff member and security guard approach. The staff member checks on Lilli, who just waves her off with a steady smile. The security guy talks to Logan first before speaking to Lilli. Then, the two grab the still unconscious guy and begin to remove him from the area.

   The bartender slides two drinks across the counter, says something, and gives Logan a high-five.

   “Five bucks says we get our tabs waived,” Oscar looks to Alex, offering the deal.

   “Raise it 10 that it’s only Logan’s and Lilli’s,” the older replies. Oscar nods and they shake hands.

   “You’re so calm, how?” Charles questions the youngest. Oscar just points to the mother-son duo, Logan now leading Lilli back over to the group.

   “Logan would never let anything happen to Lilli, and she can deal with people herself. You think that she would let herself become dependent on someone? She can throw a mean right hook, and probably kick someone’s ribs in. Mr. T and Lucas made sure she had access to whatever self defence classes she wanted.”

   None of them know how to respond to that, instead opting to greet Lilli and Logan as they finally arrive. Oscar scoots out of the bench, allowing Lilli to go in first, and then Logan. The Aussie sits last, buffering the end of the table.

   “Good show, boys?” Lilli cheerfully asks, sipping her drink. Lando lets out a stuttering laugh, Alex giving her an incredulous look.

   “Show is an understatement,” Max comments from next to her, but still giving her a bit of a side eye. Lilli laughs, turning and giving Logan a kiss on the cheek.

   “I was going to hit him where the sun don’t shine, but Logan got there first. Well, at least we got free drinks out of it. Mikey said all our drinks are on the house now, so order up gentlemen.”

   Alex groans while Oscar smirks. Logan gives both of them a questioning look, but doesn’t question it.

A/N. I See Us Logan is a feral little menace when he needs to be (when someone messes with his mom)

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy! Please check out my Masterlist for any of my other works!

1434 Words

[yandevsucks]

with the new stuff coming out about yandev, if you still somehow support him you need to reconsider your life choices

if you actually genuinely have NEVER seen anything about how shitty he is just look at this

this post is sponsored by the person who got mad at my url because it was "spreading hate online for no reason"

edit: actually, fuck being polite to people who don't deserve it, @/miserablehoney got mad at me for having this url and im gonna say that out loud. apparently i was "spreading hate online for no reason"

[oculusxcaro]

Hi everybody, sorry to have been so quiet lately! 2025 started off a little rough on this end but it's probably quite a bit rougher for some of you across the pond for reasons we all know and loathe already. Despite that, I hope life is treating you okay (or will start getting better soon - some of you have been through some really rough patches which none of you deserve and I wish things were better for you all 🙁) Just a smol life update about a little somebody I haven't mentioned for a while - R.orschach, my corn snake! It's been one whole year since he came home with me way back in 2024 as an itty bitty shoelace and he's uh, grown quite a bit since living it up in his lovely big vivarium?

Unfortunately it's the best photo of us since my health hasn't been the best these last few months (curse you winter!) but I'm determined not to let 2025 be a shitty year for writing like 2024 was! Making a spot of dinner really quick and then we'll see about tackling an ask or two. After not writing for a while, it's daunting af to even look at what's waiting but thank you all so much for your patience and love! Really hoping to get connected with you all again in spite of how awful the world state is rn. Keep holding on as best you can, people - nothing is forever and things will get better soon! <3

[crippy-tangerine]

Pros of dissociating so much you cannot tell what’s going on: it is easier to ignore bodily disability symptoms! Yay! Get to pretend you are healed and abled!! Able-bodied and healthy!! Yay!!!! We are the epitome of health 🎉.

Cons of dissociating so much you cannot tell what’s going on: it is easier to ignore bodily disability symptoms…. (You are NOT healed, you are getting worse!) (your body is deteriorating and all you do is pretend it isn’t happening) (uh oh!!).

-> Our body is low-key falling apart and we are simply ignoring it. This is so healthy and good. We are so able bodied.!! (/most sarcastic tone ever… This whole post is in a sarcastic and frustrated tone! Cannot recommend ignoring your symptoms at all!!! We just… Cannot get the level of care we need right now, and it is taking its toll…).

[festivalofthe12]

God but ngl it took me. WAY too long to rememebr that Kakeru doesnt like Tohru for some complicated backstory reason I don't even slightly remember anymore hahaha

Like cmon dude. You're both Sohma in-laws!!!!! How can you be having beef with the 1 person who a) is inevitably going to break the curse FOREVER, and b) is like the one person EVER to treat your borfriend with unconditional kindness. Absolute madness I truly cannot remember his reasoning at all.

[adore-gregor]

Lol I keep on doing this, saying I'd come back to tumblr to only disappear again 😂😭

[grimandghoulish]

.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: break-up, angst, hung-up yandere, anger issues, insecurity, threats to regrets

♡ GN reader

Thinking about pro-athlete ex-boyfriend… 

You know, the one you broke up with because he couldn't focus on anything but his career, the one you just couldn’t stand by and watch any longer as he nearly ran his health into the ground—not to mention your relationship—all to reach his goals.

He’d been so mean—meaner than you ever thought possible when you told him you couldn’t do this anymore—said it was a real class act of you to abandon him now when it mattered most. He’d made it about you not wanting a pipe-dreaming wannabe sportsman for a boyfriend, how you never believed in him anyway, how you never cheered for him, how he thinks you don’t even want to see him succeed. 

He’d been so loud and so ugly you’d been in shock for weeks afterward, unable to wrap your head around it. You didn’t even dare tell anyone—feeling it was a beast of burden you ought to keep for yourself. Oddly enough, you felt that if anyone knew or saw him like that, it would be not just detrimental to him and his image but embarrassing for you both.

And you hadn't spoken to him since. At least not face-to-face. He’d sent you a few drunk texts then and there, which you’d replied to in short, though mostly ignored. You’d thought about blocking him at one point, but you didn’t want to be dramatic, either. And suppose, in some way, you were still waiting for an apology.

But months passed, and nothing like it ever came, and so, instead of being bitter, you accepted that was just how the two of you ended. And that was that. 

Still, it's a little awkward. You wonder if you should congratulate him on his rise in popularity, how he’s finally getting all those long hours spent training back in full—but somehow, you feel it would just sound petty coming from you. And so, you don’t bother.

He’s got other people in his life cheering him on now—he doesn’t need a measly text from his ex. No, it's better to leave it be, is what you think.

Which is why it’s surprising when you get the dinner invitation. 

And following the initial surprise, you don’t really know what to expect of it either. But you end up accepting—some part out of curiosity, wondering what he might want after all this time, and another part hopeful it was to finally address the awful break up so that the both of you could move on without it hanging heavy over your heads and hearts.

This, however, was the last thing you had in mind when sitting down with him for the first time in a long time.

“Will you marry me?”

Your whole body flares up with something reminiscent of the feeling when you trip and fall—that type of split burn that rushes through you from head to toe and then leaves you feeling cold all over. Heart in your throat, you’re speechless.

Or no, you just don’t know where to begin.

“What are you doing?” you end up accusing—a little too harshly, maybe, but who could blame you? Looking around, you’re glad your table’s in a more private sector of the restaurant before you look back at him, eyes wide and brows knit. 

“I–we broke up a year ago and haven’t seen each other since—and you’re—” Your eyes fall back to the thing in his hands. It’s an outrageous ring. “Asking me to marry you?”

He makes no move to withdraw the offer—keeping his hands where they are, on your side of the table. “You said yes to the dinner. That must mean something. I thought—”

“Yeah. It means that I still worry about you,” you say. “It doesn't mean–”

“I fought my way up. I’m finally at the top,” he cuts you off in earnest. “I’m the best, and the world finally knows it now–”

“I don't care about any of that,” you state, feeling it should have been something you told him from the very beginning. “I'm sorry. But I never cared about you being the best. I just wanted…”

You just wanted the two of you to be like other couples—together and happy. You just wanted that to be enough, but it never was for him.

“Never mind…” you end up saying. “I think I should go.”

You’re about to get up when his hand, suddenly around your wrist, tightens in a harsh grip.

“I don't think you understand,” he utters, voice lowered with a hint of a growl. “It’s either this ring or I bury you in rumors that won’t leave you a moment’s worth of peace.” 

You go stiff while looking back at him.

Did he just… did he just threaten you?

You blink. He's got that same warped expression you remember from the last time you saw him, that very odd look as if the guy you know has been switched out with someone entirely different.

Only this time, it just as quickly disappears, and he lets go of your wrist, quickly pulling his hand to himself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that–I’m just—” he apologizes with a stutter, looking startled.

He puts his face in his hands. Then there's a sound—close to a sob.

“I’m just a mess without you.”

Goosebumps rise on the surface of your skin when hearing it. And swallowing thickly, you sit back down again, albeit a bit begrudgingly. But spotting how he trembles, you just can’t stop feeling sorry for him.

You sigh. “No, you’re not. You just…” Reaching across the table, you stroke his arm. “You just lose your head a little sometimes, that’s all.” 

He peaks up from his hands. A sheen under his eyes reflects the ceiling light, and your heart twists in your chest.

He really is a mess.

“But I know you…” you try smiling. “You were always destined for greatness.”

He takes your offered hand in his, stroking it, then sniffs, voice fluttering weakly, “Yeah, well…”

He keeps his head low, resting it in his other hand as if he just couldn't muster the strength to sit straight or even attempt to pull himself together.

“If I'm so great, why wouldn’t you stay?”

He sounds as if he’s been holding things back for the entirety of the year since you left. Broken now... it's all spilling out.

“Because," you start, even though your throat’s tight and you’re fighting back tears of your own, your mind hasn’t changed.

You didn’t come here to get back together. 

"You want to go places, I just can’t follow.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks, Enji ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ CSM – Aki ♡ BLLK – Reo, Isagi, Rin, Sae, Yukimiya, Karasu, Shido ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi ♡ WB – Sakura, Suo, Kaji

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[joelscruff]

is it that sweet? (joel miller x f!reader) 18+

masterlist | a/n i've had no motivation to write lately but this randomly popped into my head the other day and suddenly my brain was like okay let's roll!! let's do this!! let's jump in!! so idk what that says about the current state of my subconscious. anyway this is filth! pls read the warnings! love u. summary: you probably shouldn't let some random middle aged man on the beach take nude photos of you, right? right? rating: 18+ explicit warnings: pervy!joel, age gap, voyeurism, coercion, objectification, sneaky picture taking, nude photos, paying for sexual favors, dirty talk, praise kink, pussy pronouns up the fuckin wazoo, oral (f receiving), nipple sucking, unprotected p in v sex, standing sex, creampie word count: 8.4k ao3 dividers by @saradika-graphics 🤍

He's been watching you for about an hour. You'd sussed him out almost immediately after settling onto your beach towel and digging into your bag for your sunscreen, mildly aware of the shape of him in your peripheral vision. He's old, definitely in his late fifties, but certainly not the most unattractive man who could be eyeing you. You're used to it by now anyway, almost feed into the way men seem to gawk at you sometimes now that you've finally thrown caution to the wind and stopped giving a fuck about your beach body. You used to be self conscious about your curves, your tummy, your thighs - you decided this summer that it had to stop.

And you're glad you did. Because now he's staring at you, this unnamed, completely anonymous middle aged man only a few feet away. And it feels fucking good.

Should it feel good? Probably not. Should you tell him to buzz off and leave you alone? Take a picture, it'll last longer, something like that? Probably. But will you? No.

You like feeling his eyes on you.

Older men like you, you've noticed. They stare. They stare more than men your own age - boys, really. Twenty somethings who try to play it cool and more often than not come across as disinterested in their interest. They're cowardly, obnoxious. And you suppose some older ones are too, especially the ones with wives - they want you to be impressed by them, ooh and awe over their high paying jobs and big mansions, their fancy cars that they think make up for their tiny dicks.

But every now and then you'll come across one like this. You can read him like a book, peering at him from over your sunglasses every so often as he lounges behind a vibrant blue umbrella. His eyes caress your bare shoulders and chest, your exposed stomach, your soft thighs. They linger on the places they shouldn't and it makes you tingle. He's appreciating what he sees, basking in it, taking his time.

You could be content just lying here and letting him look. He is handsome after all, greying curls and soft scruff flecked with white, golden skin that almost glows underneath the sun. His legs stretch out over his own towel, long and lean and strong. He's got a soft looking belly, hanging out a little bit over his trunks, and now your eyes linger for a little longer than they should.

But you won't say anything. If he wants to talk to you, he has every opportunity to. You're not going anywhere for at least another hour, not until the sun starts setting and it's time to head back to your friend's vacation home. You've only been in California for a short period of time, but it's like it's somehow molded you into a different person - a more confident, sexier version of yourself that's been dying to get out for years. A version of you who lets this old man stare and get his fill as you smirk and turn over on your towel, arching your ass up into the air.

Oh, he likes that. You can tell because of the way his jaw clenches, neck tightening as his eyes fall to the globes of your cheeks. With a barely there smirk, you arch a little more, stretching and flexing and letting him take in the way your bikini bottoms barely contain them. Your breasts hang low onto your towel, practically overflowing from their own containment, and you have to admit - you're getting a little wet posing for him like this.

He licks his lips, eyes flickering downward again to something closer to him, something in his hand. You crane your neck a little bit to peer around the blue umbrella, and your breath hitches.

He's taking pictures of you.

It's obvious now, should have been obvious this whole time, really. Only one of his hands has really been visible, the other settled low against his side behind the umbrella. Now you can see that he's got his phone angled toward you, the camera peeking slyly out from behind the blue nylon as he repeatedly taps his screen with his thumb. To test him a little further, make sure you're really seeing what you think you're seeing, you push down into the sand with your hands and rise up a little bit on the towel, almost into a lazy downward facing dog. Your tits jiggle below you, threatening to escape, and out of the corner of your eye you watch as the man adjusts the camera to get a better angle. His thumb and forefinger glide across the screen, undeniably - and unashamedly - zooming in.

You're definitely wet now. You know you shouldn't be. You know this has probably gone too far and you should get up and leave, potentially tell someone about the creep on the beach taking photos of women in bikinis.

Instead, you make eye contact with him, settling back down onto your towel with your ass still perched a little in the air. He seems to freeze, eyebrows going up in the realization that he's been caught. In response, you blink slowly at him, pout a little bit as if to say, Really? You arch your back a little more and shimmy your hips, tilting your head as you continue to gaze over at him, eyes going a little hooded.

Come fuck me, you're almost saying, even though you know there's no way in hell you're gonna let him. It's just funny to watch him squirm, phone gripped tight in his hand as his adam's apple bobs in his throat. You arch a little more and then grind your hips into your towel, flattening yourself against it, holding his gaze. You rest your head and smile at him teasingly.

He's getting up and shuffling toward you in no time at all.

"Hi, darlin'," are the first words out of his mouth when he reaches you, and you certainly did not expect a Southern accent to fall from those plush lips. He's gorgeous really, now that you can see him up close - wide shoulders and big arms that strain against his white shirt, strong chest covered in little freckles, chocolate brown eyes that shimmer in the sunlight.

"Hi," you say with a smile, blinking up at him.

"I'm sure you saw what I was doin'," he seems a little embarrassed, voice apologetic as he scratches the back of his neck, "I know I shoulda asked, but you seemed so relaxed, I didn't wanna disturb you."

Bullshit, you only came over because I smiled at you. Any other reaction and you'd have run for the hills.

"I'm Joel," he reaches his hand down for you to take. For some reason, you shake it without hesitation. "I'm actually a photographer, believe it or not."

Huh. You raise an eyebrow at the words, doubt immediately swimming in your mind as you assess him.

"If you're a photographer, where's your camera?"

He chuckles, "Back at my hotel. I just came out here to relax, wasn't plannin' on takin' any photos. But then I saw you, and, well..." he smiles at you sheepishly, "You're just so pretty, darlin'. Never seen somebody like you before."

The words are not special. They're nothing you haven't already heard, nothing he hasn't probably already used on countless other women. And yet... you smile back at him, cheeks warming a little at the way the compliment sounds coming out of his mouth in particular, all Southern and sweet. "Thank you."

His eyes suddenly leave yours to flicker back toward your body again, scanning the length of you. As if on instinct, almost to show off, you tighten the muscles in your ass cheeks and then release, letting them jiggle a little bit under your swimsuit. He swallows tightly.

"Would you be interested in posin' for me, sweetheart? There's a little spot down the beach, outta sight. Still public though, of course. I wouldn't ask you to go anywhere unsafe," his eyes linger on your ass for a few more seconds before he's meeting your gaze again, soft and sincere, "I'd love to get some pictures of you in that bikini, and some with it off too, if you're comfortable with that."

Oh, he's fucking brave. You can feel disgust brewing in the pit of your stomach, a scowl beginning to dawn on your face. This is where you should draw the line. This is where you should get up and leave, tell him to go to hell, tell him he's a pervert and-

"I'll pay whatever you think is fair," he continues, "How's three hundred as a starting point?"

On second thought...

"Beautiful, baby," he's telling you softly, "You're so pretty like that."

You hum in contentment, laying in the sand with a little smile tugging at your lips as Joel maneuvers around you with his phone, snapping pic after pic as you peer up at him through rays of sun. You're a little ways down the beach now, in a sparser area behind some rocks. He was right about it still being public - if something happened, you know you could raise your voice the tiniest bit and be heard immediately by people on the other side. Somehow though, despite his forwardness and slightly perverted habits, you trust that he isn't going to force anything on you.

You've already got three hundred dollars in your purse. He'd given it to you before you'd even gotten up from your initial spot on the beach, placed it in your hand with a grin as your eyes widened. You suppose you could've taken the money and run, but part of you wanted to play it out, test the limits, see what else he'd pay you for.

Which leads you here, laying sensually in the sand with the strings of your bikini dangling a little looser off your shoulders and hips, a little careless, a little more teasing. The poses so far have been pretty basic, and you've tried your best to emulate what you think a supermodel on the cover of Sports Illustrated would do. Based on Joel's responses - excited nods and gentle praises - you think you're doing a good job.

"Turn over now," he tells you with a playful grin, "Put that cute little ass in the air again for me."

It should be demeaning, the way he's talking to you. There's a lot about this situation that should be wrong, and yet you can't help but feel pride swell in your chest at his directions, his compliments. You do what he says, flipping over to dig your hands into the sand and arch your back, turning your head to eye the camera directly with a sultry little smile on your face.

"Perfect," he's murmuring, thumb tapping the screen like his life depends on it, "That's so perfect, honey." You listen to the fake little shutter sounds the phone makes, still wondering if he's even really a photographer. Would it even matter? Wouldn't you have still let him do this anyway?

With this new angle you can feel the loose strands of your bikini top starting to slip, unraveling at the back and trickling gently against your sides. You watch with what should be a worrying lack of urgency as it cascades down onto the sand below, leaving you topless.

He whistles low under his breath, "Well, would you look at that. The girls are out."

"That's an extra fifty," you say with a coy eyebrow raise, "Or else I cover them back up."

"Extra fifty, no problem" Joel echoes, "Can you shake your ass for me again, darlin'?"

You nod, tilting your head and peering back at him as you tighten and release your muscles with a giggle, basking in the way he stares at it, like it's a five course meal he's about to devour. You do it a few more times, arching your back a little more and spreading your thighs slightly to allow for more recoil, more jiggle. He makes an odd sound in the back of his throat and you grin.

"How much to take these off too?" he lowers the phone and peers at you with pleading eyes, brown and soft, "Huh? How much extra to show me this lil' peach, honey?"

You grimace, looking down at the sand and trying to calculate an appropriate cost in your brain. You bite your lip, "You know that's not the only thing that'll show."

"I know," he murmurs, eyes trailing downward again to eye your ass, still perched high and plump, "Your peach and your pussy then, how much?"

Fuck.

"I won't touch you," he promises softly, "You can just tug it down and show her to me, lemme see her up close, yeah?"

Her?

Her.

"Christ," you mumble under your breath. He's filthier than you thought, and not in a bad way - in a fucking hot way. "Another fifty," you decide, voice firm, "And... and I wanna see you put the money in my purse first. And no touching my... her."

"I can do that, sweetheart," he's already digging into his wallet and yanking out the money, opening your bag slightly to place it inside. It could be counterfeit for all you know; this whole thing really might be a completely worthless venture, and yet -

He watches as you reach backward to untie the strings of your bikini bottoms, doing it in one fell swoop and then spreading your thighs again, knees digging into the sand. You arch and press your face against your towel, feeling goosebumps rise all over your skin at the knowledge that he's staring at where you're now completely bare.

You hear him groan, a rough little sound that goes straight to your core, and a few little shutter sounds go off, "Now, that's a pretty little pussy you got there, baby."

Heat rises throughout your body, up through your chest and to your cheeks. You turn a little to look at him shyly, lashes fluttering when you see where his gaze has settled.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, honey, she's so pretty," he breathes, "She's all wet. Leakin' for me, you see that?"

You can't see it of course, but you can feel it; feel the way you're dripping, knowing that he can see it, has a 1:1 view of the way you throb and drool for him. This random old man who about twenty minutes ago you'd never spoken to in your life.

"And your little clit is sayin' hi to me too, babygirl, can see her pokin' out." Fuck. You squirm a little in place as his camera continues to go off, legs spreading a little more unconsciously as you tilt your head downwards and close your eyes. Your clit twitches under his stare.

"Swollen little thing," he breathes, barely loud enough to hear, "Perfect pussy."

Jesus Christ.

"Roll over for me again, sweetheart," you hear him say quietly, "Show me all those pretty parts."

You don't know why, but you whine a little at his words. It's subconscious, a burning desire you can't describe as you slowly flip over and lazily lay back on your towel to show him your entire naked body. He stands over you with his brow furrowed in a gentle kind of way, eyes appraising you up and down like you're some kind of goddess. And fuck, he's kind of making you feel like one.

"Legs open a little bit, baby, that's it." You obey, spreading your legs and looking up at him with lidded eyes, lips parting a little. You bring your arms up to rest behind your head and he takes note of the way your tits bounce for him, shivering back and forth beneath his gaze. "You're perfect," he murmurs, "You're absolutely perfect."

"Stop," you say, unable to stop a grin from spreading across your face, "M'not perfect."

"But you are, darlin'," he shakes his head, eyes full of wonder as he kneels down to get some closer pictures. You watch as he brings his phone down directly in front of your pussy, snaps a few close-ups of your puffy lips and swollen clit. "I'd love to kiss her, honey, if you'd let me."

"N-no," you say quickly, though your voice cracks, "No touching."

"I'll pay you extra," his eyes return to yours, locking your gazes, "You name it, baby. I'll pay anything to taste how sweet you are down here."

You look at him calculatingly, tilting your head. Anything?

"Two hundred," you practically whisper, "In the bag."

You're half expecting him to tell you that he's run out of money, that he couldn't possibly give you any more than the four hundred he's already blown on this. But he surprises you, reaching back into his pocket to grab his wallet and tug out the bills. It's like he has an endless supply, and you're beginning to wonder if maybe this is a hobby of his, something he prepares for, carries money around to be ready to spend on women like you. Maybe he's rich rich, has unlimited money to throw away, and this is just his weird perverted thing he does on the side of something else.

Maybe you should have asked for more.

But he's already kneeling back down into the sand and you're already opening your legs wider for him, allowing him to settle between them and lean his head forward to place his lips gently against your pussy. You watch with heavy lids as he kisses you so softly there, his mouth tender and inviting and deliciously scratchy from his scruff. Without really thinking about it, you reach down and run a hand through his curls, smiling a little fondly as he kisses you again, and again, and again.

"That feels nice," you breathe, watching as he continues to press incredibly slow and gentle kisses to your cunt in an almost respectful way, a reverent way.

"Good," he murmurs, lips vibrating against your core, "Want it to feel nice for you, baby."

You let out a soft moan the second his tongue breaches your folds, wet and warm. You watch as he closes his eyes and seems to get lost in it, tasting your pussy like it - or she, as he'd said - is some rare delicacy he's never indulged in before. He trails the tip of his tongue through the mess you've made, maneuvering your puffy lips and flicking it against your clit. Your hips buck and another moan slips out, quiet and pitiful.

"That's it," he murmurs against you with a little half smile, "So sweet for me, honey." He dives back in immediately and slowly plunges his tongue inside your entrance, fucking into you a few times before carefully pulling back and opening his eyes to peer up at you again. God, those brown eyes are fucking sinful. He gives you one more smile and then reaches down to grab his phone.

"Gonna get some more pics of this messy girl, okay?" he breathes, and you're a little startled when his left hand is suddenly coming down to touch you there, two fingers carefully scissoring you open. You don't say anything, too horny to protest, too intrigued to see what he's going to do. "Gotta open her up a little," he tells you softly, answering your unspoken question, "Wanna take a little peek at what she's hidin' inside her, baby."

A little whimper falls from your throat again as his fingers scissor you wider, holding you open and baring your hole to his camera. You can feel your walls twitching and pulsing, contracting and leaking; you can only imagine what it looks like. Your eyes roll a little when his middle finger taps your clit, another gush of arousal flooding past your opening.

"Look at this lil' hole, huh?" he's murmuring, but your eyes are closing and your head is falling back onto the towel as he plays with you, "Oh, she's alllll messy for me down here, baby. And it's no wonder your clit came out to see me, she loves gettin' played with, don't she?"

Christ, he knows how to talk. His words send another helpless little sound past your lips, thighs trembling as he slowly caresses your clit with his finger, pressing down on it with just the right amount of pressure.

"Aw, you're all sticky here again, baby," he whispers and you whine, feeling your juices dribble down toward your ass, "Shh, I'll take care of it," and then he's leaning back in to lap at your folds, a little faster this time, more desperate, "Tastes so good, pretty girl. So sweet."

He suckles your clit into his mouth and you let out a breathless moan, brow furrowing as he suctions the swollen nub and lets one of his fingers fall to slip inside your entrance. You're so close you can feel it, coiled inside and ready to snap at any moment, his thick index plugging you deliciously as his tongue swirls. You tighten around it, thighs squeezing a little around his head, and then-

He's pulling away, removing his mouth and finger. Your eyes flutter open and you watch as he stands up with a little groan, older age apparent in the way he clutches at his back and exhales once he's upright. You want to tell him to get back down here, finish what he started, but part of you feels like it'd almost be letting him win, somehow. This perverted creep on a public beach that's somehow managed to lure you away and get you naked, take photos of your body and eat your pussy. He doesn't deserve to have you beg for him - even if you want to.

"Can you stand up for me now, honey?" he tilts his head, squinting against the sun and smiling like he didn't just ruin your orgasm.

On shaky legs, you manage to pull yourself up from the sand and stand before him in all your naked glory, legs crossing a little as you squeeze your thighs together. He smirks but doesn't say anything about it, instead angling his phone toward you again and snapping some full length photos. You immediately do your best to go back into Sports Illustrated mode, posing a little and trying to ignore the ache between your legs, the relentless throb of where his mouth just was.

"Squeeze your tits together for me," he tells you, voice a bit deeper, rougher, full of arousal, "Cup 'em a little, show me those cute lil' nipples."

You do as he says, biting your lip and showing the camera exactly what he wants to see. Your nipples are peaked and hard, begging to be teased and tugged, but you refuse to do it yourself - you're not giving him the satisfaction, not after what he just pulled. He takes a few up-close pictures, camera so close to them that you shiver with sensitivity, the smallest bit of air from his movements causing them to tighten even more.

"Those are so beautiful, baby," he murmurs softly, gaze trailing upwards to meet yours, "Can I give 'em a kiss too?" God, his eyes are so fucking soft and sincere, like fucking boba pearls. You wonder if anyone's ever been able to say no to him.

You swallow, keeping eye contact, "For another fifty, sure."

He chuckles at that, "You drive a hard bargain, darlin'."

"I know what I'm worth."

He smiles, nodding slowly, "That, you do." He pulls out his wallet and slips another bill into your bag, then shuffles toward you again. You try to keep your breathing calm when one of his hands comes up to cradle your bare back, pulls you in a little bit as he lowers his mouth to your right nipple. With hazy eyes, you watch as he presses the softest little kiss to it, then does the same to the left.

Part of you wants to pull back and say that's it, that's all you get, just to see what he does, give him a taste of his own medicine. But then he's wrapping his lips around the pebbled bud and suckling, your eyes going glassy, jaw dropping a little as your hands come up to hold his shoulders. Your pussy throbs at the sensation, thighs rubbing together again as he suctions just the right amount and swirls his tongue all over the hard peak. It's impossible not to let a quiet moan fall past your lips, something he returns with a little mmhmm around your nipple, a wordless I know.

It feels so good that you feel your guard going down even more than it already has, feel your head falling forward to rest against his. His greying hair is so soft, so warm from the sun. You blink slowly and inhale, cheek smooshing into his temple as he sucks and sucks and sucks, then turns his attention to the other one. Little whimpers are tumbling past your lips, your hands squeezing and caressing his shoulders as you feel yourself starting to drip down your inner thighs.

It's so fucking intimate, much more intimate than you anticipated. And when he finally pulls away and comes back up to peer into your eyes again, leaving your nipples puffy and a little sore, you betray yourself by leaning forward to kiss him softly, tugging his bottom lip into your mouth and returning the favor with a little suckle. You feel him smile against you, the hand on your back tightening as he brings his other one up to tangle in your hair. His lips are plush and wet - a little chapped from what he's just done to your nipples - and he tastes like pussy.

It's fucking heavenly.

"I wanna show you somethin', babygirl," he murmurs against you after a moment, and you nod a little too quickly, a little pathetically. You're starting to realize that you're losing the battle here, if there ever even was one.

He pulls back a little, eyes still soft. You watch as he reaches down to his swim trunks and unties them, heart suddenly in your throat as he slips his hand inside and comes out with an absolutely beautiful dick. It's long and thick, rounded and full at the tip with an extremely suckable looking mushroom head, as well as a prominent vein trailing up his shaft that makes your mouth water. You both stare at it for a few seconds without speaking, your lips parting but no words coming to mind.

"You wanna take some pictures with my cock, honey?" he asks you quietly, and you think he's probably looking at your face now, watching your expression, but you're still just staring at his dick.

"W-what?"

"Just a few, like...well..." he shuffles forward a bit and very gently presses the warmth of his cock against your bare stomach, letting the tip sit just above your belly button, "Like this."

Your brain is blank.

"That okay?"

His cock is so heavy.

"Darlin'?"

And warm.

He pushes some of your hair behind your ear, cradles your face in his big hand, "I know, honey," he murmurs, "You just gotta say okay."

Okay?

"O-okay," you finally whisper.

"Yeah?"

Yeah. You think it but don't say it, can't say it. You feel beyond overwhelmed, eyes still glued to where his throbbing tip is smooshed into your belly. You can't stop looking at it, ogling it, awed by its impressiveness and girth, the way it leaks a little onto your skin. You've never seen a dick this pretty before. You almost forget that you're standing there without any clothes on, barely aware of the shutter sound as he snaps multiple pictures on his phone.

"Good girl," he murmurs softly, "That's a good girl, just look at it."

Every few seconds he repositions a little, pulling you in closer to capture the way his cock stands at attention between your bodies. Precum gurgles from the tip and makes a sticky mess in his happy trail, dribbling down onto your skin. Without thinking about it at all, completely unaware of even doing it, your arms are suddenly around his waist, holding him close with your gaze still locked onto his cock.

"Yeah, that's for you, baby," he tells you softly, grinding his hips a little bit against yours and essentially fucking his cock against your stomach, "You did that to me."

It's only when he suddenly takes a small step back, holds the base and angles it downward to gently prod the sticky head against your pussy lips, that you finally come to your senses.

"Wait," you gasp out, yanking yourself back from him and shaking your head, "W-wait a second."

"M'sorry," he says quickly, brow furrowing as he puts his hands up. His cock hangs from his trunks almost comically, bobbing up and down as he takes a step back, "Shoulda asked first."

"Y-yeah, you should've," your voice cracks, heat flooding your face, "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me just then, that was too far." Why the fuck are you apologizing to him?

"S'not too far," his words are gentle, alluring, "We're just havin' fun, aren't we honey? You were havin' fun, got lost in it. It's okay."

You take a breath, staring at him as you try to get your bearings. Were you having fun? Is this fun? What the fuck are you even doing right now? Your thoughts are cloudy, hazed with arousal and attraction to this complete stranger in front of you. Are you really gonna let this continue? Is it really worth it? Your gaze falls back to his cock and the question is almost answered for you.

"What am I doing?" you ask aloud, a breathless little laugh escaping your lips.

"You're just havin' fun with a new friend, s'all it is."

You raise an eyebrow at him, trying to ignore the way your hands tremble, "Is that what you are? My friend?"

"I'll be anything you want me to be, darlin'," his mouth turns up at the corners, eyes sparkling, "I sure would like to be your friend."

He peers at you for a moment, waiting for you to speak. Your mouth opens a few times but no words come out, your thoughts scrambled as you try to make heads or tails of this situation. You're suddenly painfully aware of the fact that you're still completely naked, and you quickly peek your head over the rock formation to make sure there's nobody nearby - there isn't.

Why are you checking?

"C'mere," Joel finally says, and you turn back to look at him with your lip between your teeth. He's standing there with his arms open a bit, cock still heavy between his legs. By all accounts, a fucking perv. And yet...

And yet.

Fuck it.

You're back in his embrace in no time, hooking your head over his shoulder and allowing his cock to press warmly into your skin again. You close your eyes and sigh as he brings one of his hands downward to squeeze your ass.

You know what he's going to ask before he even says it.

"Can I put it inside you, darlin'?" he murmurs softly, pleadingly, "Just to get a pic of your pussy all full?"

You don't say anything.

"Won't take more than a minute," he urges, "I promise, baby. Just wanna see it stretched around my cock. Don't you wanna see that, pretty girl? I'll pay extra, whatever you want."

More silence.

"I know you wanna see it," he's relentless, his other hand coming down to squeeze your other cheek and pull you impossibly closer, "You wanna feel that, don't you, baby? Big cock fillin' you up before you go?" His middle finger slides between your cheeks and settles at your pussy, slowly teasing your entrance, "Don't gotta do anything at all, just gotta stand here, we'll do it standin' honey."

"Standing?" you ask softly, pulling back to look at him with intrigue, and your response suddenly has him grinning from ear to ear as he slowly inserts his finger. You shiver, eyes fluttering closed as he fills you with it.

"Standin'," he repeats, "Just like this, baby, don't gotta do anything 'cept open your legs a little for me. You can do that, can't you?" The hand on your ass comes up to hold your chin; he pinches it gently between his finger and thumb and gives you another soft look as he starts to fuck you in earnest, "I know you can, 'cause you're a good girl, yeah?"

"Y-yeah," you breathe, arms tightening around his body.

"Yeah," he adds a second finger, smile faltering into a sympathetic pout when you let out another soft moan, "And you want that cock, don't you? I can see it all over your face, honey. Don't gotta pretend."

"I do," you whisper with a nod, swallowing thickly and trembling in his arms, "I want it, I do."

"So..." he's waiting for you to say the words, to tell him to go ahead and put it in, do what he wants, let him take control. His fingers are relentless inside of you now, plunging in and out at a speed you know he's purposely using to distract you, cloud your decision making.

Which is why his eyebrows go up in surprise when you're suddenly reaching down to grab tightly to his wrist, yanking his fingers out of your pussy in one swift pull.

"Three hundred," you state, "Take it or leave it."

To your surprise, his face alights with a gigantic smile, a deep laugh tumbling past his lips as he nods and digs his hand into his pocket, seeking his wallet one more time, "Yes, m'aam," he grins, "I'll take it."

You've never had sex standing up before. Not like this, face to face and completely upright with your feet planted on the ground. It's a little awkward at first, Joel having to crouch a little to align his hips with yours, one hand gripping your waist while the other grips his phone. God, this fucking phone. You're pretty sure you'll never wanna see a phone case with this ugly shade of cerulean blue again, let alone hear those obnoxious shutter sounds.

Your annoyance is quickly overpowered by the sensation of the warm head of Joel's cock pressing gently to your pussy. You look down to watch, lip between your teeth again as Joel snaps image after image of the way his tip crowds your outer lips, pushes them apart. You have to admit, it's certainly a sight to behold.

"Yeah, look at her open for me, baby," he's murmuring, thumbing the base as he slowly rubs his cockhead back and forth through your folds, "Bloomin' like a little flower."

The top of your head rests against his shoulder, face angled down to watch what he's doing. A tiny whimper falls from your lips when he very slowly eases the head of his cock inside of you, the stretch barely noticeable with how wet you are. He releases your hip to reach down and open your pussy lips with his thumb and forefinger, exposing where you're joined.

"Tell her to smile for the camera, babygirl," he whispers, and while part of you wants to roll your eyes, another part can't help but feel a gush of arousal at his words, soaking his cock even more, "Good, that's good."

He feeds his cock to you slowly, making sure to take as many pictures as he can. Little whines and squeaks erupt from your throat and your hands claw at his back, fingers tangling in the white crocheted material as he fills you up. It's only when he's fully sheathed inside of you that he suddenly tugs his trunks down a little more to expose his balls, heavy and round and full. You stare at them with a longing in your eyes you can't describe, lower lip trembling as you watch them bounce and settle against where you're joined.

"There you go," he murmurs, snapping one last picture before tossing his phone into the sand and bringing his hands up to cradle your back, pulling you close, "All done, baby, that's it."

Your toes curl in the sand as you embrace the feeling of being so full of him, his tip pulsing delicately inside the deepest parts of you. A distant thought in your brain wonders why he just threw his phone on the ground, but it doesn't seem to matter when you feel like this, so full and wet and warm, lost in a hazy glow. You bury your face in his shoulder, letting out quiet little whimpers as he pulls you in tighter. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, seemingly reveling in the moment too as you stand there listening to the ocean waves, impaled on a stranger's cock.

"How's that feel, honey?" he asks you softly, thumbs tracing shapes along your bare back, "Hm? Feel good?" You don't answer, just nuzzle your face against his skin and let out another soft whine, hands clamoring underneath his shirt to grip his back. He chuckles, "Yeah, I know, baby."

You both stand there for what feels like forever, until you finally have enough sense to pull away from his shoulder and get a look at his face. He's watching you fondly, brow furrowed, eyes still incredibly soft and inviting. He really is gorgeous. Pervy, but gorgeous.

"You dropped your phone," you mumble, words faint and slightly slurred.

"Don't need it anymore," he murmurs, "Got my pictures."

"Then why are you still inside me?" you ask softly, eyelashes fluttering, "If you're done?"

He shrugs, smiling, "'Cause it feels good, don't it?"

You stare at him for a few seconds but end up nodding regardless, turning your face a little to peer over at the ocean, "It does," you admit, "Feels really good."

"Mmhmm," he kisses the top of your head again, then your temple, stroking his fingers through your hair. The way he touches you is reverent, delicate, like you're something fragile he needs to keep safe. It's not what you'd expected, that's for sure. But something you're not as sure about is what happens now, where you both go from here.

It doesn't take long for him to decide.

You feel his thumb on your clit, drawing your attention away from the ocean and back to his presence. You peer at him through bleary eyes, a dazed little smile curving your lips as he carefully rotates the swollen nub. His belly caresses yours, warm and soft, and you smile even wider.

"Feel good?" he asks you again - tender, kind.

"Yeah," you whisper.

The hand on your back comes up to cradle your hair, pulling you in close again and allowing you to rest your head against his smooth chest. You moan as his thumb picks up speed, the sound muffled by his tan skin.

"You want me to make you come, honey?" he murmurs, fingers brushing carefully through your hair, "You wanna come all over that big cock inside you?"

"Yeah," you repeat, a little broken this time, "W-wanna come."

"You've been so fuckin' good for me, you know that?" he breathes, barely a whisper, brow furrowed as he continues to rub your clit, "Posin' all pretty, showin' me that soft little pussy, lettin' me taste her," he gives a low whistle, shaking his head, "And now she's all full, huh? She full?"

You nod, eyes rolling a little, "Y-yeah." Apparently yeah is currently one of the only words in your vocabulary.

"She all messy for me?"

Again, you nod, expression blissful as you let out a moan, "Yes, Joel," you whimper, and you're pretty sure it's the first time you've said his name this whole time. It's like you've been trying to be disconnected from it, from him, and now suddenly he's everywhere; inside you, in front of you, above you - there's no escaping him. And you don't want to escape - what you want is him. Badly. Desperately.

He seems to realize this at the exact same time you do, the moment he hears his name fall from your lips. Which is why you're not surprised in the slightest by his next words.

"What if I wanted a pic of my cum leakin' outta this little pussy?" he whispers, mouth suddenly directly next to your ear, sending insane amounts of pleasurable tingles throughout your whole body, "Huh? How much would that cost? Tell me."

"You can't," you mumble, lightheaded, but you're lying to yourself, completely lost in the pleasure he's giving you, the movement of his thumb and the girth of his cock.

"Only take a few seconds, honey, m'already close," as he speaks, you feel his hips slowly begin to buck, cock pulling from you for only a moment before easing back in, making you shudder, "You don't gotta do nothin', 'cept show me how she drools when she's full. You can do that, can't you baby?"

"Joel," you whine again, eyes shut tight as you dig your toes into the sand, holding tight to his back as he slowly starts to fuck up into you. He's so big, so thick, plugging you full and then leaving you again, slow and warm. You can only imagine how it would feel to have him burst inside of you, to fill you to the brim.

"I wanna see her drool, honey," he murmurs, voice desperate again, full of arousal, "Wanna see her push it out."

"Fuck," you moan, high and whiney as you suddenly grip both sides of his face in your hands to peer directly into his eyes, "A thousand," you whimper, your hands clawing at his scruff as his hips pick up speed, as his hands fall to your waist and hold tightly as he starts to pound up into you, "A thousand and you can come in my pussy."

He presses his forehead against yours, lets out a guttural sound and then hisses, "Deal."

And for some reason, you believe him.

Getting pounded while standing upright is a fucking trip. His nails dig into the pebbled flesh of your hips, knees bending and unbending as his cock fucks up into you relentlessly without stopping or slowing. Your hands are still holding his face, eyes locked with his as your mouth pops open in a silent scream, thumbs digging into the apples of his cheeks. Holy fucking shit.

"I know, I know, I know," he's groaning, voice wild and unhinged, groans vibrating in his chest, "Fuckin' take it, s'what you were made for, honey. Knew it the second I saw you, knew you were gonna go wild on that dick."

"Please," you moan out, tears pricking in your eyes, the sensations almost too much to bear, "Please, please." You don't even know what you're begging for, thoughts muddled as you release his face and wind your arms around his neck, "Keep fucking me, keep fucking me, don't stop, please."

"I got you, honey, I got you," you feel his thumb return to your clit as he speaks, the sounds of your skin slapping together almost rivalling the sound of the ocean waves, "You gonna come, pretty girl? Huh? You gonna cream on my cock?"

"Yes," you practically squeal, and before you can really process what you're doing you're suddenly jumping up from the sand to wrap your legs around Joel's waist, ankles tangling together behind his back. He has no issue shifting positions, his arm cradling you and holding you in the air while his thumb continues to ravage your clit. You feel it building in your stomach, tightening more and more with the insistent pressure of his thumb and the continuous thrusts of his dick hitting your cervix over and over.

"Ohh, I feel her, baby," he groans in your ear, "Sloppy little cunt wants to make another mess, doesn't she?" And that's all it takes for your orgasm to hit you, your legs squeezing tighter and tighter and tighter around Joel's body as you moan and whine and cry, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and shaking in his arms. It's like having the wind knocked out of you, arguably one of the best orgasms you've ever had in your life, your eyes rolling back into your head as you sob into his neck.

"Joel," you whimper, pussy pulsing repeatedly around his dick through the aftershocks, "Joel, come inside her, please."

"Oh, fuck."

You feel it then, the twitch of his cock and the warm ropes of his release pumping into you. You sigh almost dreamily, burying your face in his shoulder and listening as he groans, feeling the way his fingertips dig into the soft plush of your ass. It's steady - there's so much more than you thought there'd be, and the sensation is enough to make you whimper again, murmuring his name one more time as he empties himself.

You stay like that for a moment, the ocean loud in your ears, all other sounds seemingly drowned out by the hiss of sea against rock and sand. Eventually, he carries you a few steps to your towel, your ears ringing and his body trembling a little as he carefully lowers you down. You let go of him a bit reluctantly, a pout on your lips as he lays you out and then slowly pulls himself from you with a wet squelch.

"Good girl," he's murmuring - you realize he's been saying it the whole time - "Good girl, that's it, open your legs."

There's no hesitance at all anymore, not after that. You open your legs wide with abandon and sit up on your hands, watching with heavy lids as he grabs his phone from where he'd discarded it, bringing it down to your leaking pussy.

"Look at that," he breathes, awestruck, and your eyes trail downward to see what he sees. You feel heat return to your cheeks when you see the way his creamy white release is slowly beginning to dribble out of you and onto the towel.

"Wow, that's a lot," you whisper with a faint little giggle, eyes coming back up to look at his face as he watches it drip. You're not sure he hears you, intensely focused on where you're swollen and leaking, but you don't mind. You push back lazily on your hands and smile fondly at him as he takes his precious photos. In the afterglow, you find that the shutter sounds aren't that annoying, not really.

"Open her up for me, baby," he tells you softly, "Spread her wide and push it out."

You sit up a little, feeling drowsy and dreamy as you reach down and pull yourself open with your hands. You apply a little pressure, closing your eyes in a daze and hearing the wet little sounds as you push his cum out of you and onto the towel. You hear him groan, hear the shutter sounds again, and you can't help but grin.

"Are they good?" you ask him, genuinely wondering, "Is she pretty?" As you speak you pull yourself a little wider, allow him to take one more picture as close inside as possible before he pulls it away.

He looks up from his handiwork with that familiar soft smile on his face again, brown eyes shimmering in the sun that's already beginning to set, "You're perfect," he tells you, "And don't argue with me, I just gave you almost two thousand dollars."

You snort, releasing yourself and falling backwards onto the towel to stare up at the sky. Your limbs feel heavy, eyelids drooping as you watch Joel in your periphery slipping his soft cock back into his trunks, as well as his phone.

"It's real money, right?" you ask, a little unsure.

"I promise it's real money," he says with a chuckle, walking over to stand over you, "D'you wanna come back to my hotel with me and get cleaned up? Maybe have some more fun?"

You bite your lip, "Would you pay me?"

"I'd pay you."

Admittedly, as reality begins to wash over you, the idea doesn't sound anywhere near as appealing as it might have an hour ago. With a little effort, you sit up again and reach for your bikini, half buried in the sand near your feet.

"Nah, I think I'm good."

Joel reaches his arm down and you take it, letting him help you to your feet. As you put your bikini back on, you watch with a little smile as he digs the rest of your money out of his wallet, slipping it into your purse like it's just second nature at this point - which, it basically is. He stands there then, a little awkwardly, like he's not sure what to say.

"Well, uh, thank you, darlin'," he finally says, taking a step back and nodding toward you with a kind expression, "Not many girls would have, um... not many would've done this. I'd offer you my number, but I get the feeling that's not what this is."

You wince, shaking your head, "Yeah, this, uh- this isn't gonna go anywhere, sorry. But it was fun."

He nods, "It was. And, I mean, those pictures aren't just gonna collect dust, I can tell you that much."

You laugh, walking forward a little to pick up your bag. You stop in front of him and, after hesitating for only a moment, lean forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. Just a peck - a goodbye.

"Have a good rest of your summer," you tell him as you pull away, heat rising in your cheeks again as he looks at you with those beautiful eyes, "And uh- maybe try to be a little more covert with that camera."

This time it's his turn to blush, his cheeks tinging a dark shade of pink as he laughs and tosses you a wave, turning to begin walking away from you. He only makes it a few steps, and then-

"Hey, Joel?"

He turns on the spot, a hopeful look in his expression that makes you wonder, if only for a moment, that maybe you're making the wrong choice.

"You're not really a photographer, are you?"

His blush deepens, a look of embarrassment crossing his features, "No, I'm not. But after today, I just might try my hand at it."

[aeristudios]

Toxic

ᯓ★𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It doesn't matter who Seungcheol is with: He will always be yours.

ᯓ★𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: ex boyfriend!Seungcheol x reader

ᯓ★𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: pwp, exes to fwb, 18+

ᯓ★𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: drinking, cursing (the least of your worries tbh lol), cheating, outside sex/exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), clit stimulation, dirty talk, pet names, cream pie (im not gonna hold you, one position idk what to call it lol), they are both toxic I'm ngl

ᯓ★𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 2.1K

ᯓ★𝐀𝐍: Idk man. Cheol really got it going on. Thank you @lovetaroandtaemin for looking at this for me at the last minute. This is probably the first time I have been inspired to write something and finish it in a day lol.

"😏"

You knew this was a bad idea. You had no business texting Seungcheol in the middle of Seungkwan’s party that you were both at, especially while he was sitting next to his girlfriend. Unfortunately for you, he looked good as hell, wearing those gold-rimmed glasses that you liked and his usual black shirt and grey sweats combo. You were nothing short of turned on and didn’t mind being the toxic ex for the night.

 Fuck it, we ball, right? 

You smirked as you pressed send, sipping your lemonade and white tequila. The bravado flowed through your body as you looked across the room, waiting to see his reaction as he slid his screen up. His girlfriend, some cherry-picking girl he met while visiting his parents, looked away at the perfect time as he read your text, biting the bottom of his lip. His eyes searched the room until he saw you, a gleam of mischief in his eyes as he mouthed one word to you: Really?

You shrugged, feeling confident that you got his attention, and turned your attention to your best friend Seungkwan, who told a story that you were zoning in and out. This isn’t your first song and dance with Seungcheol. He’s the ex that you can’t stand to be around but can’t stop yourself from being underneath, either. He’s intoxicating, addictive, and, to be frank, the best sex of your life. You two can only stop fighting when he is either fucking you into the mattress or if you’re sitting on his face. Call it toxic, sure, but you love every second of it. 

“What are you drinking there?” Vernon grabbed a stool and sat next to you, a red cup in hand. 

“Just my usual pink lemonade and Patron,” you raised your cup.”You want me to make you what I got?”

“Yeah, sure.” 

You slid off your stool, your skirt accidentally rising up your legs as you walked to the other side of the table, mixing your usual concoction with a side of lemon. You gazed at Seungcheol again, who was entertaining whatever conversation his girlfriend was having as she sat on his lap. Jealousy consumed you as you watched his hands caress her legs, his chin resting perfectly on her shoulder as if he were the boyfriend of the year. You may not want to be with Suengcheol, but that doesn’t mean you want him with anyone else, either. He’s yours until you say otherwise. Possessive, you know, but you don’t care. 

“Here, Vern,” you handed him his drink. “I made my best one just for you.” 

“Aw, you shouldn’t have,” he replied. “You don’t have a crush on me now, do you?”

You cock an eyebrow, leaning against the counter. “You wish.” 

“Uh-huh.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, took another sip of your drink, and scoped out the scene in the kitchen. Seungkwan, Soonyoung, and Seokmin decided it was time for drunk karaoke as they belted their hearts out to some songs playing on the stereo. Cheers and wallops filled the kitchen, and you even sang with them for a bit, temporarily taking your mind off Seungcheol as you enjoyed the good vibes. Your voice cracked and croaked, but you didn’t care; you wanted to have a good time.

Over an hour later, your throat was dry and tired, and you bowed playfully as you stepped outside with bottled water, needing some fresh air. Sitting on one of the swing chairs, you pulled your buzzing phone out of your pocket, reading three messages from Seungcheol: 

“Wya?”

“?”

“???”

You snickered and typed a response, about to press send, when the crunch of leaves followed by a person's figure came from behind you, his wooden cologne greeting you before he did. 

“Seungcheol,” you remarked, crossing your legs. 

“You don’t know how to answer your phone now?” He was slightly irritated. 

“I’m afraid I don’t,” you reply sarcastically, leaning back against the seat. “I’m surprised you’re still here.” 

“Why?”

“I thought you would’ve left with Little Bo Peep over there.” 

“You’re a brat.”

You shrugged. “I know.”

You earned a chuckle from him, and you joined in, patting down the seat for him to sit next to you. The air shifted between you two, going from light to heavy with sexual tension. The thought of the last time you were together, when he had you bent over his counter, his fingernails digging in your hips as he fucked you from behind, brought desire into your heart and jolts of excitement in between your legs. Looking around, you notice the only light that can be seen is from the full moon, and it’s hidden behind tall oak trees that give you enough privacy… enough to…

“So, about that text,” he said, getting straight to the point. “That was very bold of you.”

“Well, yes,” you replied, smirking as you looked at him. “I want what I want.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he chuckled, running his fingers through his hair. “Did you want her to see it?”

You turned to him slightly, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he said bluntly. “Did you want her to see the text?”

You keep a good poker face, but you are annoyed. Seungcheol can read you well, and when you shifted your seat, his gaze became too intense to handle. "And what if I did?"

“Hmm,” his voice trailed off. “I never thought I’d see the day where you’d get jealous.”

“Oh please,” you scoffed, your eyes flashing with anger. “The fuck do I have to be jealous of?”

Your irritation knew no bounds, and you knew you had to get away. You would never admit that envy burned at you when you saw Seugncheol and his little lamb of a girlfriend together. She was starting to integrate into your friend circle, and you hated it. It reminded you of the main point of why you kept breaking up after you soon got back together: he refused to commit to you, but he had no problem with doing it with someone else. 

You suddenly got up and dusted off your legs, leaving your water on the seat and making your way back to the house. “Have a good night, Cheol,” you called out. 

You were halfway to the door when heavy footsteps were heard from behind you, followed by a pull of your arm as you were dragged behind a tree. Seungcheol’s hands grabbed your face as he placed a desperate kiss on your lips, making your knees buckle.

“You are so annoying,” you mutter, tugging at his hair. 

“You love me,” he whispered against your lips. 

“Whatever.” 

His tongue invaded your mouth as his hands hiked up your skirt and pulled your panties to the side. His index finger found your clit and rubbed it softly, a sweet moan escaping your lips. He smirked against your skin as he started sucking on your neck, nipping at you softly as he trailed to your collarbone. 

“God, you smell so good,” he spoke as if under a spell. “You’re perfect. I couldn’t leave you alone if I tried.” 

Not giving you any time to respond, he suddenly dropped down, his face facing your core as he pulled off your panties and shoved them in his pocket. Hiking your leg up, his tongue swiped at your core, earning a long, guttural moan from you as you braced yourself on the tree. You felt filthy and so alive, listening to him feast happily on your pussy while you babbled incoherently, tension building as you softly rode his face.

“Feels good,”  you mumbled, pulling his hair tighter. 

“I know, baby,” he breathed against your thigh. 

“W-we don’t have a lot of time,” you barely breathed out. “Somebody will come looking for us.” 

“What if I said I didn’t care?”

The thought of being caught should’ve scared you and made you feel ashamed, but instead, it set you ablaze. Fire and desire were all you could see, and you wanted him even more. “Show me how much you don’t care, then.” 

Seungcheol left one lasting kiss on your nub before shoving down his sweats, revealing his thick cock already dripping with precum. You watched him rub it on his shaft, your mouth salivating as you watched him lubricate himself, tiny veins popping out on his length. You’ve never told him this, but you’ve always thought he had the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen. It’s clean and thick, and you love the way it fits in your mouth. 

Seungcheol kissed you again, lifting up your leg as he lined up to your entrance, entering you slowly. 

You threw him a puzzled look. “You don’t want me to—”

“N-No,” he sputtered as he filled you up. “You might have had a point about there not being enough time.”

You laughed softly as he pulled out and, without warning, snapped into you, grabbing the back of your neck. His eyes penetrated yours as he fucked you deeply, your walls clenching around him as he hit every spot. He looked desperate and in love, his low groans spilling out of that beautiful mouth of his.  

“Fuck,” you cried out. 

“Shhh,” his lips pressed against yours. “They’ll hear us.” 

“I don’t care.” 

You felt tingling in your core, a dam ready to break as he continued to fuck you hard against the tree, whispering nasty things in your ear. You begged for more, goading him to fuck you harder until he sent your body falling over a cliff into a pile of ecstasy. You felt hazy, riding out a high as Seungcheol fucked you through your orgasm, his pace sloppy as he reached his peak. 

“It’s okay,” you nodded. “Cum inside of me.” 

You were already on birth control, and you didn’t mind being filled with a load. It was a pleasure to see his eyes roll back as he emptied himself inside of you, his warm breath against your skin as he slowly came down from cloud nine. He stilled until he was completely empty, kissing your forehead while he pulled out of you slowly, a long, sticky, messy following after. 

“That was…”

“I know.” 

You adjusted your skirt, the adrenaline wearing off, and now feeling the implant of tree bark on your butt. You did your best to make yourself look normal sans the missing panties. 

“I need my panties,” you reached out your hand. 

“Do you?” Seungcheol asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

“Yes..?” You stated the obvious. “I would like to prevent as much cum as I can from running down my leg.” 

“Hmm, maybe I would like to see that.” 

You pinched his shoulder and grabbed your panties from his left pocket, shoving them on and flattening your skirt one last time. You looked at the back door, the party still in full swing as everyone had moved into the living room. “I’ll go first, and you can come in a few minutes, okay?” 

He nodded, and you walked back to the house, slipping in quietly from the backdoor. You poured yourself another drink, swirling it slowly before drinking it, taking it all in. True to his word, Seungcheol comes in a few moments later from the front door, sneaking into the bathroom for a few minutes and then coming out to greet his girlfriend. She looked at him puppy-eyed and in love, and all you could do was laugh. If only she knew. 

“Hey, there you are!” Seungkwan exclaimed as he waltzed into the kitchen with a bowl of chips. “You disappeared on us.” 

“Sorry, I needed a bit of air.” 

“Ah, it’s okay, friend,” he twirled around, almost running into the refrigerator. “Are you staying in the spare room again?”

“Mmhmm,” you nodded. “I brought a change of clothes.” 

You attempted to take another sip of your lemonade before realizing it was all gone. Moving to grab another bottle, Seungkwan suddenly moved closer to you, inspecting your neck.

“What is that?” He asked loudly. “Is that a h—”

“Shhh!” you pinched him. “Do you want to announce it to the whole party?”

“Wait,” he lowered his voice. “You and Cheol were gone for a long time. Oh, please don’t tell me you’re at it again.” 

“Fine,” you shrugged. “I won’t tell you.” 

“While his girlfriend is here?!” Seungkwan gasped. “You are so bad… Tell me everything later.” 

You nodded as he returned to the living room, and you were left alone to make your last drink before joining everyone. The party went on for another hour before people started leaving, Vernon and Seungcheol were among the last people to leave. You hugged Vernon by and attempted to nod curtly at Seungcheol before he pulled you into a hug. 

“I’ll text you,” he whispered in your ear.

“Okay.” 

Maybe you don’t hate him… you might even love him still. But one thing you know for sure: this is far from over. 

[pseudowho]

Stoic

When Gojo assumes Nanami Kento's lack of PDA for the reader shows a lack of desire for her, a tipsy Kento is quick to correct him.

Warnings: 18+ drabble, Kento goes on a smutty rant

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'A quick drink' after work had soon turned into two, three, four. Shoko took full advantage of the rooftop bar's balcony, smoking and idly chatting; Higuruma and Atsuya gossipped and quipped, snorting into their drinks; Satoru observed Kento and you keenly behind his dark lens; you stood, excusing yourself to the bathroom as Kento gave you a gentle smile.

"I'm sorry," Satoru interrupted loudly when you were gone, his pot boiling over, "I just-- I just don't get it, Nanami." All eyes were on Satoru and Kento now-- Kento, with one thin eyebrow raised in quiet disdain at Satoru, and Satoru, with his elbows planted forward on his knees in challenge.

A few moments of silence. Kento huffed, "Should I be apologising for someth--"

"--you've been together for years," Satoru interrupted, "and I'm just not convinced. She could be-- she could be a coat rack for all the affection you show her, you're supposed to not be able to keep your hands off her--"

"--you want me to grope my fiancée in public, am I correct--"

"--well maybe, anything to show that you love her--"

Kento laughed out loud, deep and humourless, continuing to chuckle into his glass, scoffing to himself; "Love her," he rumbled, swirling his whiskey, amber eyes flickering and carnal in the firelight.

Shoko had turned, smirking, to watch the scene. Atsuya leaned back, scowling, chewing on a toothpick with crossed arms. Hiromi leaned, glimmer-eyed, into the drama, one hand cupping his jaw and the other clasping his wineglass. He picked up the bottle, slowly beginning to pour another glass.

"I don't love her," Kento spat, downing his glass of whiskey in one smooth swallow, hissing and slamming the glass down on the table, "I worship her. I'm obsessed with her."

Satoru was silent, mulish, as Kento continued.

"I would walk through rains of bullets for her," he mused aloud, "I would cut off fingers with blunt knives--"

"Nanami, alright, I'm sorry--"

"Any second I'm not with her," Kento continued, his voice quieter, darker, the group leaning into him, "is a second wasted. I don't know what point there was in the years I spent without her-- probably just there to build me into even a semblance of the man she deserves--"

"--why are we doing this--"

"-- and when I'm not thinking about talking to her, watching her, being near her, holding her, or-- fuck, just having her look at me goes bone-deep...I spend at least eighty-percent of my time thinking about different ways to make her cum--"

Satoru was blushing now, his face in his hands, while the others leaned into Kento's mild breakdown with awe, "--fucking hell Nanami, I didn't mean--"

"I almost died last week, at work," Kento mused, as a laughing Hiromi slid the glass of wine down the table to Kento, which he caught seamlessly, "because I was too busy thinking about how her mouth had felt around my cock the night before, because I was pondering the many applications for my tie, because I was thinking about how incredible she felt underneath me--"

Atsuya and Shoko whispered together, Hiromi now giggling to himself unashamedly; "Oh he's really going for it--" "I know I know, shhh, let him finish--"

"--and I've been sat here with her all evening, resisting the urge to strip her, tie her wrists together and have her ride me until I go fucking blind, all because of social-fucking-propriety, just for some long streak of jizz like you to say I clearly don't love her--"

Satoru had shrunk in on himself now, his soul quietly leaving his body, mortified and put to rights as Kento tsked, swirling his wine before downing that, too. He accepted the bottle Hiromi slid towards him in approval.

"...it really just is rather rude and presumptuous of you, isn't it, Gojo?"

The group sat in stunned silence as you returned, sitting beside Kento and laying a hand on his crossed knees. You felt the bizarre tension; Hiromi unable to conceal a blush as he looked at you, Shoko giving you a knowing smile around her cigarette, Atsuya unable to make eye contact. You smiled uncertainly.

"...what did I miss?"

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Still waters run deep 💀💀💀

[nikovraskol]

crack baby ; prologue

wc ; 1572 masterlist after dying, you expected to be greeted with the open arms of the void swallowing your body, mind and soul. what you didn't anticipate is waking up sixteen once more with a chance to change your fate -- but something strange is happening, why are the locks changing and why are all eyes suddenly on you ?

tw ; death, neglect, brief mention of drugs, curse words

prologue, one, tbc..

Your death was completely preventable.

As you lay on the concrete floor of the cold alleyway, you can’t help but feel a sense of peace. Yeah, sure, you were shot 5 times and you’re currently bleeding out in some piss-smelling drug-ridden pavement. At least you’ve died in a somewhat honorable way, people will have a tell to tale, whether it’s good or bad, you’ll be remembered for a while.

Or maybe that’s wishful thinking, maybe the lack of blood is making you delirious. There’s no way you’ll be remembered as anything but the child that haunts the manor, that stalks around, staring at the residents of the Wayne manor with hopeful eyes. A child who doesn’t belong, who’s body isn’t able to fill in the cracks in the family, a child who wasn’t able to give anything, to devout anything.

A child of 21, but a child nonetheless. 

The way you got caught up in the shooting was so unbelievably stupid, you were too nice to refuse taking on an extra shift from your co-worker, working overtime for free because you didn’t know how to say no. You got caught up in a fight between goons on your way home. For a brief moment, that small child you had buried foolishly believed your father would swoop down and protect you.

Then you were shot, again and again and again.

You don’t want to die, you decide at the last minute. You want to go back in time, to tell your poor 16-year-old self that yearning for the love of a family who doesn’t have love to give is foolish. A foolish child dying a foolish death.

And then, your eyes shut for the last time, you can almost hear your mother’s low humming, the smell of the dingy, old apartment you used to live in with her, you can taste the cold food she worked to provide (you can feel her hands on your neck, can hear her apologies ringing over and over as she cries).

It’s peaceful, almost nice.

Until you wake up – and your first thought is; what the fuck?

Your hand instinctively moves to your lower abdomen where you were shot – you were shot! You remember the burning pain shooting through you, so why on earth are you unharmed and.. in your bedroom?

It’s strange, why are your old posters up? Trinkets you distinctly remember throwing out, clothes you don’t wear thrown about – and that’s when it happens.

Your eyes catch a reflection in the mirror, your reflection. Your reflection that isn’t yours, why is

your hair shorter? Why are you so small– why are you.. Sixteen?

“What the fuck?” You hiss, jumping out of bed – wobbling as you whip your head around, taking in every nook and cranny of the small room. “What the fuck?!” 

You jump towards the mirror, leaning in as you slap, pinch and stretch your face, awed by the youthful appearance, you had forgotten how cute you looked. No, that seems like the wrong word, you looked sixteen. Just an average sixteen year old, healthy and alive (somehow).

A few moments ago you were lying in a pool of your blood in a run-down alley, an unloved 21 year old – now you’re sixteen again, and you have a chance to change the inevitable! If you ignore the pit of dread in your stomach. Sixteen had been the worst year of your life, full of anger and hormones and teenage drama. Sixteen had been the year you struggled the most.

On the bright side, at least you had a trial run..?

“Young Master (Name)” A british, familiar voice calls out and you tense, whipping your head around to see Alfred. It had almost slipped your mind, Alfred is alive. He’s standing before you, as straight and proper as always, smiling at you as if nothing had changed. As if you hadn’t sobbed at his funeral, as if you hadn’t cursed your family for dragging him into their mess, as if you hadn’t spent countless nights at his grave, as if–

“Are you.. alright?” He asks, taking in the flabbergasted expression on your face – to which you straighten up, nodding with a shaken exhale as you ignore the churning of your stomach. You felt nauseous, everything felt too real in an uncomfortable way. A very uncomfortable way – the mix of emotions threatening to consume you.

“You didn’t come down for breakfast, I was beginning to grow worried.” He explains, taking in the way you nod blankly once more, his brows furrowing. “Is– everything alright”

“Y– yes, I’m just not hungry, I’ll– have something later.” You can’t keep your voice from trembling, you’re five seconds away from breaking down and sobbing before him, but you don’t want to worry him. You need to figure out a game plan, you’ve no time for stupid pleasantries like food, plus even if you tried to eat you’d probably throw up then break down sobbing.

“Alright, Young Master. But please, eat something before noon.” Alfred sighs, clearly worried by your peculiar behaviour, his eyes lingering for a moment too long before he leaves your room, shutting the door behind him with a resounding click. Oh fuck, how are you supposed to interact with anyone in this family if a two minute interaction is enough to have you trembling? Whatever, it matters not! You fumble around with your face for another moment before letting out a long sigh, your head already aching from the bewilderment of the situation. You shuffle over to your bed, plopping down with another huff. You had no idea what to do, no plan to go forward, but you had to figure something out. 

You couldn’t stay in the Manor, you couldn’t deal with the dismissive eyes, the fake words of reassurance. You couldn’t stand curling up in your room, listening to the distant sounds of laughter as everyone celebrated without you. You couldn’t stand being that child again.

“I need to leave.” You say with more firmness than you had intended, your eyes set on the mirror before you. Of a sixteen-year-old (Name), staring back at you with pitiful eyes, you’ll get them out, you’ll give them a future – you’ll give yourself a future.

“Okay. Now, where do I begin?” You mumble, staring up at your ceiling before reaching for your phone. Time to go house hunting at sixteen. Yipee.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Alfred was picking up your plate with a thoughtful expression, breakfast had always been your favourite time of day because it always gave you a chance to see your family. No matter how you felt, or how busy you were. How peculiar.

It’s unusual for you to so blatantly skip it, there’s also that whole thing with your demeanour. Something in you had shifted, and he didn’t like it – it felt as though you were slipping away, as though you had resigned, as though you had stepped back, content in living as a shadow lurking in the dark corners of the Manor.

That simply won’t do. 

He won’t give up on that smiling child, looking up at him with their front tooth missing, dirt staining their clothes as they ramble on about how they found a top secret hide-out, how they can’t wait to tell your big brothers their adventures. 

Well, he’s sure with a few clever strings pulled he can finally put you on centre stage, with the lights shining on you. He just needs to remember to reserve a front row seat, for himself, of course.

“What the fuck?” You grumble, repeating that sentence for the nth time as you angrily type on your phone – why is every apartment in this city and the city over so bummy? It’s either too expensive or overridden with rats or overtaken by gangs.

You never moved houses in your past (?) life, staying in the Wayne Manor was easy once you accepted the inevitability of chasing after a fruitless relationship. Plus, the housing in Gotham and Bludhaven has always been..

Well, it could be better!

“(Name).” Your heart jumps out of your chest as an strangely familiar voice calls out for you, dark, low, paternal. Who on earth?

Your heart sinks as your eyes shift to the figure at your door. Batman, Bruce Wayne, your father, is in your room? What the fuck? This had never happened in your life, certainly not at sixteen. You can recall every single time you’ve ever seen your family, so why? Your hand curls around your phone as you gape up at your father. This isn’t supposed to happen. The one thing grounding you through this crazy, disconnecting experience was the comfort that you were familiar with your future, that you had a grasp on what events are bound to go down.

You’ve been awake for about twenty minutes – how’s it already changed?! Inside you, a deep part of your soul shifts, the air in the room suddenly being sucked in by his overwhelming presence, his eyes – cold and calculating, sizing you up as if you were a specimen, as though you were a pretty piece of silver at an auction and not his flesh and blood, your breathing become uneven as you try to grasp at your memory, anything that might've slipped your mind regarding interactions with your father.

You draw a blank, this has never happened. It's not supposed to happen – what the fuck?!

“Let’s go for a walk.”

yall i feel like this sucks i havent written in like two years im so rusty omg im so embarresed ill die bye

[vampiremourning]

i got to enjoy relatively clear skin for just under a year after going on isotretinoin & now fucking. i get the Joy of dealing with some other new skin condition on my face that just doesnt want to fuck off

[bet-on-me-13]

The Ambassador

So! It was finally happening. After Years of Pleading with the Guardians and other Ruling Bodies of the Galactic Community, the Justice League had finally gotten then to agree to create an Alliance with Earth.

With an Alliance, Earth would gain the Protection of Multiple Empires and The Guardians, which would mean an end to the Constant Alien Invasions they faced. There was also the legal opening of Trade Routes between Planets to exchange Technology and Resources on the Galactic Scale.

Of course Earth would return the Favor, legally being able to defend it's Allies with its unusually large population if Superheroes and quickly advancing Tech, while also trading Tech and Resources between Planets.

Of course the battle was not entirely won yet.

They still needed to begin Negotiations to see if both sides would even agree to the Alliance in the First Place, as well as decide on the specifics of the Treaty. The United Nation's would decide on Ambassadors to represent the different countries, while the different Alien Governments would send an Ambassador Each.

When the Ambassadors arrived, they asked to be introduced to the Representatives of the Planet. Except, they claimed that there was a missing Member.

They claimed that there was one more Major Kingdom on the Planet, the most Powerful One, which they felt must be at the Negotiations.

When asked who this missing Ambassador was, they simply replied, "King Phantom of the Infinite Realms, he and a Shard of his Kingdom reside on this Planet, do they not?"

Now they are working around the clock to find this missing Kingdom, because the Alien Ambassadors refused to negotiate without the most powerful Kingdom at the Table, and they woud not wait forever.

Just who was this "King Phantom", and why had he not revealed himself yet?

...

Sam and Tucker sat on the Couch in their apartment, staring at the TV as the Chosen Representatives for America finished their Speech. Apparently the Peace Talks had been put on Hold for a few more days as they did some last minute preparations. Something about making their Guests more comfortable before they began discussing politics.

"Hey Danny, they're delaying the Negotiations for a few more days." Sam called over to the Kitchen.

"Aw, what?!" Shouted Danny from the Kitchen, sounding extremely disappointed, "I just finished making all the Popcorn!"

"I know Honey, its too bad." Tucker comforted his Partner, "Let's marathon Star Trek instead, how about that?"

Danny slumped out of kitchen and into the Couch between them, steaming bowl of Popcorn in his Lap, "I guess. We can make good use of all this popcorn at least."

Sam patted him on the arm, "Hey it's okay, the Talks will just take a few more days."

Danny shrugged, "Yeah, you're right. Man, what I wouldn't give to be in that Room."