#but when its just bad bad foolish good

[dappersautismcreature]

the ao3 badboyhalo tag has gotten a million times worse after purg one and bolas 💀

[guckies]

I feel like if you willingly bring up a childs hopes in getting something when you know their parent can barely afford it and price an item you know the child loves high then telling the child about it. Somewhat forcing the parent to buy it or either let down the child then you’re the shitty person. Especially if that person is supposedly your good friend and you know they don’t play around when it comes to their child.

[todayisafridaynight]

I like yakuza 4, but I like it in the same way I like eating Too Many Edibles and waking up in a different state, yknow? Whole thing is a fever dream I barely remember but I'm pretty sure there were parts I liked

if eating edibles is anything at all like playing Y4 then i will continue to be the annoying straight edge i am

[bmpmp3]

recently i decided to start playing a new mobile rhythm game as i wait for sif2 to come out in english and a day later i nearly chopped off the top 4mm of my index finger by accident (blanket knitting incident). is the universe itself trying to stop me.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: yandere, captive reader, minor wounds, shackles, mental deterioration

♡ GN reader

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking up at you sheepishly from where he kneels before you, your feet in his lap as he carefully unclasps the second metal cuff from your ankle—leaving roughed skin in its wake, cut raw and swollen as badly as the other. “But, you know, I would have taken them off sooner if you’d been good.”

You don't answer him—not feeling like nodding and agreeing, though not exactly feeling up to doing the opposite anymore either. Tired of it, you remain quiet, and you look away instead—flinching and hissing as he carefully handles the wounds with disinfectant, balm, and bandages.

When he’s done, he rests his cheek on your knee—stroking his hands up and down your claves tenderly. “I really am sorry,” he repeats—voice soft and silken, nuzzling into you with big puppy eyes looking up at you. “You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”

There’s a disturbance in your head—an indecision—toiling and swirling like a storm, making you sweat, almost shiver. Should you behave for once? Do what he wants and avoid another punishment—or do you still feel like fighting? Is your dignity worth it? Do you still wish to take the risk and run now that you’re unfettered and free to try again? Or would you like to finally give it up?

This is a test. You know it. No doubt.

He’ll surely catch you if you try. You know that, too. It’s been proven, and you’re not foolish enough to keep holding onto any such false thing as hope.

So then, why try?

Well, it’s a stupid question, and yet you find yourself contemplating it—whether you should try anyway, even when failure is guaranteed. You think, now that you're really thinking about it, the only thing keeping you going is sheer and hollow principle.

Yes, principle—one based on the understanding that if you try, even if you fail, you can at least say you tried—one where the simple thought of giving is detestable. Back then, even weighing the options was unthinkable. Do or die—no in-between, nothing more or less.

But that fire within feels faint now—a low flame just barely weathering the storm, all alone in the cold, in the dark, just waiting for a final gust to blow it out once and for all.

It's an ugly thought, but you think what you really want isn't to find the strength to keep fighting but for someone to say it's okay to stop. You just want a sanction—a blessing—someone to blow the candle out for you.

And acknowledging that, you might as well blow it out yourself.

If the point holds no value, then fighting for it must be even more empty—right?

You sigh.

“It’s not that bad." Lifting a hand, you run it smoothly through his tousled locks with a smile. “Actually, it already feels better.”

The worst or best part about it is how strangely freeing it is—now that you’ve let go. The trouble of remaining vigilant and hostile is an exhausting feat, and now that you’ve put it to rest, you’re left feeling unfettered—like you can finally breathe again.

He kisses your knee, then rests his chin atop it—giving you a similar smile. “I’m glad.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Dabi, Hawks, Shinso ♡ JJK – Geto, Gojo, Naoya ♡ HQ – Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Suo, Togame

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

[screampied]

ALEJANDRO! — GOJO SATORU. ☆

➤ popstar!gojo masterlist

headline. after an argument regarding gojo’s career, you two take a break and it hurts. you aren’t together, so why should you care? maybe the fame is getting to gojo’s head after all. because you see him get a new assistant the very next day.

word count. 6.9k (crying)

warnings. fem! reader, popstar!gojo au, tiny angst ending, angst, unprotected, praise, dirty talk, you make up, squírting, implied multiple órgasms, overstim, dumbification, size kink, mixed feelings, impact play.

“satoru, are you even listening to me?” you furrow your brows in sheer annoyance. the popstar, more like the brat continued to look past you as he spoke. sometimes you questioned why you’d even put up with him for so long. of course, you grew a liking to him, as did he for you, maybe?

it was a brief silence and he rolls his eyes, burying his hands into his pockets. “i heard you. i just don’t care,” he replies before dramatically yawning. “i’m adding that track on the album whether you like it or not.”

you blink twice, he was so unserious. it was as if for a split second he forgot who he was.

the gojo satoru. the two of you were in public, currently outside of a shopping mall. he was secretly buying copies of his cds to get more sales before this meaningless altercation started. “i just think it’s not a good idea,” you sigh, feeling as if you probably weren’t gonna get through to him. “the label was strict on the duration, and—”

“you know what?” gojo abruptly cuts you off, trodding towards you. he leans forward, giving you a quick second glance before letting off a subtle scoff. “i can���t. we’re…this thing. whatever it is, we’re done,” and your eyes widen. him referring to whatever this thing was between the two of you as just something. perhaps it was foolish of you to think it would be something more.

without even thinking, you spit out, “fine. maybe you should get a new assistant then.”

“maybe i will, because someone doesn’t know how to fuckin' manage their client properly.”

oh.

it was an awkward dead silence after that. the awkwardness was so much, you could hear a pin drop.

as you glance up at the popstar, he looks unreadable. not a single thought through that brain of his. with hands buried in his pockets, he scoffs. “ya know how easy it is to replace you?”

“satoru, i’m trying to help you,” you furrow your eyebrows, briefly gawking around and trying not to make too much of a scene. you doubt lowering your tone a few notches would help. most likely, this little argument would be on the front headlines of tmz soon. “you don’t make the best decisions when it comes to things like this.”

“it’s gojo to you,” he rolls his eyes, and he turns his heels, staring to trod away. he pulls down his designer shades and he’s so dramatic. strutting down the sidewalk, he pulls out his phone before his lips curl into a pout. “address me right.”

you let off a sigh, purposely stepping right in front of him. he looks down at you, literally with a look of annoyance and slight vex.

“whatever, fine….gojo,” and you stare at him. honestly, the more you thought to yourself, why were you trying so hard? normal people would have taken the hint, but you…you felt the urge to keep testing his patience.

yet perhaps that wasn’t the brightest idea, because after all, you were dealing with a posh and snobby international brat. “firing me is only gonna make you look bad. besides, you know how the press-”

“princess, let me put it to you this way,” gojo mumbles, a toothpick casually sticking out near the corner of his mouth. the popstar gets right up close to you. you loathed how good he smelled—a rich cologne scent. specially, his own signature cologne from his very own brand.

the more he inches closer towards your face, the more you feel a tingly feeling creep its way inside your stomach. “i want nothing to do with you anymore, assistant,” and his voice, it had little to no emotion—you give him the same share of eye contact, trying to stand your ground but for some reason his words hit you like a gut punch.

a full blown gut punch to be exact. you’ve managed this brat for practically a various length of months, only for all it to go to waste from a stupid argument.

“you’re replaceable, and if you don’t wanna do your job then i’ll find someone else,” he shrugs, dusting off the shoulder parts of his leather bedazzled jacket. gojo tilts his head, studying your facial expression. in the midst of saying something, he continued, “besides, you said it yourself. to get myself a new assistant.”

“so you’re just throwing this all away?” you utter, a mere deadpan plastered on his face.

gojo grows quiet as you speak, yet he groans with a subtle eye roll. the secondhand embarrassment got to you too. again—why were you trying so hard? a question not ever you yourself could answer at that particular moment. “did me saying 'i love you' not mean anything?”

oh fuck.

you didn’t mean to say that. but at this particular moment, you kind of didn’t care.

maybe you were just a tad bit delusional but it couldn’t have been just you. out of all the times you spent with this popstar, getting to know him, saving him the trouble of getting himself hurt by fans….anything.

there had to be something there … right?

you did tell gojo you loved him out of the blue. just right after the grammys last week, it slipped out. one of the most embarrassing positions you’ve been in.

and the worst part was that gojo didn’t even say it back. more like he figured girls with him always said they loved him after having a mind-blowing orgasm from him. so you brushed it off, laughing it off awkwardly and he did the same. yet, you decided it’d be the smart idea and bring that simple reoccurrence up right now.

gojo runs a hand through his hair, pulling the tooth pick out of his mouth before scoffing. “not this again,” and with another sassy eye roll, he shifts his feet into the ground, “you’re not gonna win this argument, princess. it was fun, i’ll admit that.”

stupidity couldn’t have plastered on your face even more than that particular moment.

gojo left you there, unemployed and a total idiot.

for whatever reason, the strange ache in your heart tightened as you watched him walk away with that same fake-grin he’d have for the entire world to see. winking at his multiple die-hard fan girls.

although, it’s barely the next day before you spot gojo at some expensive shopping store reserved for only a-list celebrities. seeing him wasn’t what initially caught your attention, it was seeing him with another girl.

that made your eyebrows curl up into the biggest furrow imaginable. by him saying you were easy to replace, you didn’t think he’d be so quick.

giving her the exact same treatment he gave you, you nearly choke on your pretzel, observing the two of them.

gojo has an arm slung over her, his loud laughter that could be heard from just about a mile away.

was this jealousy you were feeling? it would be stupid, the two of you weren’t even together nor were exclusive—yet seeing your client, well ex-client made you feel a certain type of way. it was not to anyone’s surprise, seeing the numerous headlines of celebrity gossip headlines talk about the entire kerfuffle.

whatever happened to you…?

lots of people speculated the two of you were dating on the low, especially after what occurred at one of his most famous controversial performances. gojo fucking you whilst his mic was on the entire time. you’d probably never be able to live that down with him, neither would he to say the least.

you didn’t even know his new assistant’s name, but you already disliked her. the way she’d laugh at literally anything that came out of gojo’s mouth. he could let off an obnoxious belch and she’d think it was the most funniest thing in the world.

after a while, they end up leaving and you let off a irritated scoff.

maybe you were dramatic, but you wouldn’t lie and say that it stung a bit. the thought—no, the sheer reality of being replaced. you thought you were getting somewhere with the popstar.

out of the many myriad talks the two of you shared, including him even opening up about his past relationship—you figured maybe there was some kind of spark. but maybe, you thought wrong.

gojo said he was going to replace you, and that’s exactly what he did.

coincidentally enough though, you stayed over gojo’s penthouse the last time the two of you were together. you still had his key and forgot to give it to him. dragging your feet towards his residence, you grumbled.

how convenient.

you really weren’t in the mood to talk to him. besides from last time you could remember, he ended up ‘accidentally’ misplacing your panties too.

you decided to suck it up, making your way towards the popstar’s well kept home. you pause at the doormat that read in bold grassy letters, ‘home of a guy with a large dick’ and gibe. so unserious, to think he was one of the most popular pop artists known to date. he was always known to spend his money on the most witless things.

bawling up your fist, you prepare to knock on the front of the door. but instead, you just unlock it with the key. there’d be no point, besides, you’d be in and out, right? wrong…

because the moment you open the door, stood a real tall and shirtless satoru gojo. it was as if he knew you’d show up.

“mhm. just can’t get enough of me, huh,” gojo cocks his head towards the right, giving you a long four second glance. you felt your face get hot, the singer was in nothing more than a towel wrapped around his waist. his figure, quite slim and well built. droplets of water raced down his v-line, and you couldn’t help but sneak a long stare. “should get ya arrested for trespassin'.”

your eye twitches, finding it hard to look at him in the eye before you grumble. “i’m not stalking you, idiot. i came to give you your spare key back,” and then as he’s blankly staring at you, you halt your speech a bit before mumbling. “…and i came to get my panties back.”

“girl…huh? you’re mumbling. can’t understand ya.”

gojo sneers, and you hated how flawless his perfectly toned body was. it was distracting you, your thoughts, words, everything. the way the white towel was just barely hanging onto his waist.

his waist…so slim.

he was perfectly sculptured from his hips to further down. with a hand of his, he tugs the fabric of the towel up a bit, you were just about to spot a few specks of white hair. his happy trail, one of your favorite things about his body. how the hair just ran down and down. his sharp v-line was a force to be reckoned with. it wasn’t much a surprise that gojo was fit though, he was a trained dancer after all.

“i said,” you start to repeat yourself, trying to snap yourself out of whatever lewd trance he had you in. “…i want my panties back.”

“you came to see me jus’ to get those back?” gojo smirks, intaking a sharp breath before running a hand through his dampened hair. “is this your way of telling me you’re not wearing any panties right now?”

“i—” you utter, being cut off by mere embarrassment. gojo giggles at your lack of response, raising his head just a bit whilst awaiting your response. “can you be serious? why would i show up to your house without any underwear?”

gojo smugly grins. “you tell me. besides, what makes you think i have them?”

you glare at him and he pokes his bottom lip out. “fine, whatever. geez,” and then he moves in front of you, closing the broad door shut. you make your way inside of his doorway, awkwardly shifting your weight with your feet as he took a few steps back. “it’s in the ah…laundry room. had one of my maid’s do the load ‘n they got your stuff mixed up with mine.”

you follow gojo towards downstairs, where his huge laundry room was kept. it’s not like you had to necessarily follow him. you knew the layout of his penthouse like the back of your hand. nevertheless you were on his heels, pulling down on your skirt at the awkward silence.

was he just gonna be quiet the entire time?

him walking in front of you gave you the perfect chance to stare at his back, his back muscles specially…

it was unintentionally sexy, each step he took you watched as his muscles flex and crook together. still, he wasn’t exactly dry. it was a few leftover droplets of water racing down his back. you could make out a few scratch marks near his back as well, you were trying to remember if that was your doing or someone else.

“watch your step.”

immediately, you get cut off with gojo’s words and you fall face first into a steep like area. he groans, catching you with quick reflexes. “still so clumsy,” he mutters, and you stare up at the popstar. he returns a gaze, and then he looks away, getting you back on your feet. “c’mon..”

it was gauche—being handed your own bawled up panties. “um, thank you,” you tell him with the most somewhat neutral expression. gojo studies your eyes for a moment before nodding. the silence was killing you, and right when he was about to make his way back upstairs, you tug on his arm. “wait.”

“yeah?” he sighs deeply, bringing a hand towards his face to wipe his eyes. “did you forget something else?”

“no,” you roll your eyes, dragging your words out slowly. “you know why i really came here.”

“do i?” gojo tilts his head, leaning against the dryer. his towel hung onto his slim waist for dear life. you hated how he was playing coy, he knew the exact words that was about to go past your lips. “help me understand.”

you glare. “you don’t even like your new assistant.”

“woah now, that’s not true,” gojo brings his hands towards his hips. such sassy mannerisms, it made your eyes roll into the very back depths of your head. “for your information, i actually adore april, vivian, eh…whatever her name is.”

you deadpan, and gojo simpers. “…oh,” and his voice pitches a deep low. it makes you feel a bit of tingles in areas you’d rather not disclose. “is this your way of telling me that you miss me? you miss us?”

“obviously you don’t.” you utter, meeting straight eye contact with the popstar. the smile that lingers across his lips, he inches a bit closer towards you and it makes you nervous.

“i never said i didn’t miss you,” gojo snickers.

each inch he creates towards you, gradually closing the inelegant distance between the two of you, he brings a hand up to your face. it catches you by the upmost surprise, and he strokes a thumb against your cheek. “it’s clear you missed me though. can’t last a day without me. maybe you really are my biggest fan.”

the nerve, it made you narrow your eyes and gojo only smiles. “mhm. but fine, maybe i did miss you a little. kinda miss being put in my place if i’m being entirely honest, princess.”

you look up at him, and he’s very much serious from what you can tell. gojo’s thumb stroking against your cheek was so undeniably sensual. you intake a sharp breath, and he’s giving you an intense stare. suddenly, you felt hot and that’s when you come to the hurried realization that you were completely cornered. 

you were pinned back against the front door of the dryer, he had you right exactly where he wanted you. “you didn’t have to be such an asshole, though.”

“maybe,” he says, and then you gasp once he leans right into your neck, planting a single kiss near your collarbone. you almost forgot what his touch felt like. if it was anything about gojo, it was that he could never get enough of your taste. “i didn’t mean it. i jus’ wanted to piss you off.”

“satoru—” you’d grumble, yet that’s when he softly cups your chin.

“yeah yeah. scold me later, baby,” he murmurs, and his voice was so raspy. it was as if he was longing to kiss all over you, coat your skin with a plethora of invisible markings. it’s exactly what he does. his touch felt so warm, the same smug grin never leaves his face—oh, how you hated it. although, the more you stared at his perfect lips, the more you wanted to kiss him. “you want a kiss?” he hums, as if he’s nonchalantly reading your mind again. you give him a nod, pressed right up against the cold dryer and his body—gojo swipes a thumb over your lips, inching closer and closer before he pauses. “mhm. i’ll give you a kiss if you tell me pretty please.”

you’re sending him straight daggers. as gojo presses right up against you, he’s so close that the soft fabric of the towel brushes all on your skin. it tickles, and you then feel it push up against you. his bulge, his bulge that stuck out despite having a lengthy towel shielding his pure nudity from underneath his torso. your lips quavered, desperately wanting to feel his own mouth mash against yours. “s-satoru.”

“mhm. for an assistant, ya don’t seem to like followin' instructions,” he whispers right next to your lip. the warmth of his breath wafts right beside your own lips and it makes a small whine fly right out of your mouth. “you missed me so bad. all like this for a kiss, adorable.”

“prettypleaseprettypleasee,” you’d pout, and you don’t even realize you’re pouting until he smiles, pointing it out. gojo gives in within seconds, squeezing your chin and bringing you into a deep passionate kiss.

it started slow like it always did, with that same thumb of his coolly skimming beneath your chin, you part your lips. chaste—the perfect word to describe the kiss, it was a mixture of sloppy and straight lust. gojo had a sweet taste of peppermint on his tongue, you moaned the moment he started to get handsy. a smile curls against his lips once he feels your failed attempt to yank his towel off.

gojo only then reaches down between your legs, past your skirt — pulling up your thigh, he hums right into your mouth once his fingers only feel nothing but soft skin. “ooh,” he briefly pulls away, sneaking a kiss near the inner part of your jaw. “i was right. no panties,” and then he tsks. “how unprofessional.”

“shut up,” you huff, and he lets you remove the towel. gojo’s dampened body collides against yours, and he’s almost grinding against you—you initiate the kiss this time. wrapping both arms over his broad shoulders, your tongue continued to battle for dominance with his. each nanosecond his breathing picked up, casually racing within itself. everything around you felt warm, you felt like you were floating, burning up hot, but floating.

it’s only been a day, perhaps half a day but it felt like years. you didn’t care if this made you appear to be obsessed or whatever. all you knew was that you wanted this stupid popstar.

gojo slips off a whine once he feels you reach for his length, giving him a few concise strokes. “f-fuckin’ damn, i’m a little sensitive from earlier,” and as he breathlessly speaks between kisses, gojo’s the one to grow a bit timid now and he gives you a dazed glance. “heh, don’t look at me like that. it turns me on when you’re angry at me.”

“you’re so weird,” you deadpan, and you shudder even more. feeling a hand over yours wrap around his length. gojo’s nostrils briefly flare up, and as he’s intaking a breath, he tosses the towel to the side. you glance down, staring at his bulge and it makes the popstar a bit…nervous.

“f-fuck,” he’d groan, and that’s the exact moment where out of nowhere—gojo lifts you up. he sits you on top of the lid of the dryer, spreading your legs open. with a big hand, he slowly but surely pries them open, taking a good peak between them. “such a bold girl. comin’ to see me like this,” and he presses his lips towards the inner part of your thigh. you moan, watching gojo then lap out his tongue to lick a long stripe right near the crevice of your leg. “taste just as sweet as i remember.”

“don’t tease me, ‘toru.” you’d whine, feeling him leave sloppy kisses and bites all over your thighs. he ran his tongue up your leg, stopping right once he reached near your slick entrance.

gojo hums, cerulean eyes meeting yours for a second. his gaze was forever attractive, the way his eyes would trail up and down your body. he leans up close towards between your legs, and uses two fingers to spread your folds apart. “don’t tease me ‘toruuuu, she says,” he mocks your whiney delivery, and the popstar briefly laps his tongue against your clit for about three seconds. those three seconds was enough to throw you over the edge. his tongue was so long and pretty — a pretty bright pink, and you stared at it the entire time. “hm. assistants shouldn’t be this soaked.”

“don’t e-eat me out, wait,” you breathe, grabbing a fistful of his perfect whitened strands. gojo looks at you with a pompous grin, just preparing to dig in before you pull his head up. “just fuck me.”

“well excuse me then,” he rolls his eyes, making a fake caught off guard gasp. gojo takes one look at your glistened slit, a tiny pout going against his lips. “but how else am i gonna warm up my vocals, princess?”

“…you can’t warm up your vocals by eating pussy, satoru,” you mutter, not even believing you have to say that…then again, it’s satoru gojo. you shouldn’t even be so surprised anymore. the cute scowl that plastered across his face only widened. he sits up, moving you closer towards him. you sat on the cold lid of the dryer, and you watch as he springs his cock out.

gojo grouses. “oh fineee, be boring. let me starve, whatever,” and he’s so sassy it’s cute, the way his eyebrows curl up into a furrow. his dimples press against both sides of his temples, and you gasp once he aligns himself against your sleek entrance.

“i can’t even be that mad,” he suddenly breathes, a bit of a shakiness nearing his tone. “you’re so wet f’me, damnnn,” and you bite your lip as he starts to sink himself in. his fat tip - it prods against your folds, squeezing itself inside with such ease. “missed her bad,” and he pauses, watching himself disappear inside your cunt. the loud welcoming squelch your cunt made as a response to gojo’s length was music to his ears. your legs felt like mush and he presses a hand down your thigh. “listen to her, how she talks to me all nasty.”

“h-hurry up, satoruuu,” you’d whimper, his dirty talk sending you straight shivers to roam all throughout your body. he’d always speak to your pussy as if it could talk back, one of the many filthy things he’s loved doing with you. you couldn’t wait anymore, you wanted him. one thing about gojo, he loved more than anything to take his time with you.

he wanted to make sure you felt every inch of him. your jaw dropped, feeling how thick he started to stretch you out. spurts of his own pre-cum coating all against your entrance.

he pants, starting to pant before he sinks a bit further inside of you. “uh—! don’t rush me. ‘s rude,” he creates a faux pout, and he briefly pulls out to slap his throbbing plump tip near the very front part of your entrance. he was teasing you so bad, you didn’t even register that you were laid flat on top of the machine, legs sprawled and your jaw nearly hanging. he was so big, such inches to leave you stuffed for many many for days. you hugged his cock much thanks to your walls, and gojo groans. “s-so warm..”

gojo was so hard and pent up, he gnaws on his lip before going in just a bit further. he starts to pant a bit, staring at how good you grip down on him. nice and snug, he brings a thumb towards the top part of your clit, smearing your own slick over your folds before he’s just about half way in. “you take sooo f-fuckin’ long.”

he giggles at the way your words were a bit slurred, your tummy heaved as he was gradually easing himself inside. “thought i told ya not to rush me, princess,” and you moaned once you felt him present you with an abrupt thrust that makes you jolt back—grabbing onto his arm. “mhm. what did i say last time? patience is a virgin, heh.”

“it’s virtue, you idiot.” you whined, your eyes nearly roll back from how good he splits your wetness into two. gojo was long, deliciously lengthy with such fat girth. he wasn’t particularly thick, but he had quite the height on him.

“virgin, virtue, same thing.” the popstar cheeses, and you moaned once he finally starts up a pace.

you had to cling onto his wrists, babbling off all kinds of pathetic whimpers. your sweet whines bounced off the walls—just reverberating across the entire room. you hope no one heard you.

his muscles, way near his ripped abs . . they clench and flex, and it’s so attractive. his body was almost dry, almost. however, he was just a bit damp near his happy trail and past his sharp v-line.

“f-fuckkk,” you’d swallow, barely being able to hold on. it only took a few pre-thrusts for him to figure out his pace and seconds later, you’re being ruthlessly drilled into. his hips, the way they struck into you at a sensual movement had your head spinning. nails of yours claw into his arm and he smiles, making sure to reach every spot.

regarding yesterday, gojo wasn’t necessarily lying. he didn’t mean everything he said, he just likes to talk and talk and talk.

much of that was quite apparent, and he knew you’d come running right back to him. misplacing your panties or not. although, the big question was forever a mystery with him.

…did he love you?

what do you even consider this ‘thing’ you two have? multiple unanswered ignored questions. gojo’s hips were smooth against you, jerking back and forth. he’s got a hand gripping onto your thigh as you’re sat up against the cold lid. you stupidly confessed to him, and he figured you were just saying it to say it.

unprofessional, sure. delusional, maybe…

but you knew you couldn’t be crazy. there had to be at least something between the two of you. the way he kisses you, friends don’t just do that. friends don’t kiss like that.

…is what you kept telling yourself.

his strokes had you losing your mind, sputtering nonsense—gojo watches you, and he leans up close to bring a finger towards your lips. a thumb of his pulls your bottom lip down, and he inches closer before giving you a fervent wet kiss. he ran his tongue against yours, and he was stuffing you so full that your legs merely gave out. “h-harder,” you’d whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist. a smirk tugs on his lips and you spot his dimples poke out through your half-lidded peripherals. that’s when gojo then decided to deepens his hits. “harder, harder, harderrrr..”

“slower, baby yeah?” gojo teases, and he purposely brings his hips to a slowing halt.

the frown that goes against your lips was too cute. the popstar chuckles, his dick twitching inside you. he’s stirring up your insides perfectly before he stops his pace. you whine, scratching at his back this time and he hums. “ohhh. don’t like that? ‘m sorry,” he didn’t mean that apology. not in the slightest. he goes back to playing with hour bottom lip, stroking against it before sliding a finger into your mouth. “such pretty lips, so good for suckin’.”

you moaned, immediately sucking his finger before he adds another. he swabs all around your mouth before you briefly end up gagging.

“forgot how sloppy ya always get for me,” and he’s fucking you so deep, your warmth drives him wild. his base, the way it smacks and thwacks right against your entrance has your mind going in a loop. “get my fingers nice ‘n wet, good girl. coat ‘em real sweet. juuuuust like that, princess.”

his candied words, it had you pulsing.

the moment gojo starts up his vigorous pace again, you’re whimpering. he can never stand still though. one second you’re sat on top of the dryer, the next he drags you towards the cushioned sofa. you crave more of him, his dick reached all the right spot and oh, your maw was dropped.

“s-satoruuu,” you’d huff out, and he’d have you in a subtle mating press now. he’d have you on all fours, but he was a lazy man. he’d prefer to look you dead into your eyes the moment you were reaching your inevitable peak. “so d-deeeep.”

“perfect fit for you,” he murmurs in a husky rasp.

gojo’s balls deep, it’s a tight fit and he’s just ramming right into your dripping cunt. you coat him with so much of your slick, it’s messy.

exactly how he liked it too. you whine, feeling him drive such rough thrusts into you. this position, it was so lewd. the perfect angle to grab you by the chin and shove his tongue down your throat. it’s what he does too, sneaking various kisses near your lips, the very corner of your mouth, anywhere and everywhere.

gojo groans, feeling you start to grip and grasp a bit tighter against him. it’s his turn for his eyes to roll back, and he looks so pretty. your pussy’s got him in a trance. a trance he never wanted to escape out of.

“damn, y-you’re so soakin’ for me. makin’ me jus’ as messy as you, baby,” he pants, and you feel him continuously twitch inside of you. gojo lightly lifts up your leg, and he starts to nibble near your ankle. you whine, feeling yourself approach a nearby orgasm. the thought of leaving a slick mess on his cock made your mouth water.

you needed it.

he slams back into you each time, it gives you whiplash. sweetened murmurs of his name were the only words to leave past your spit-glossed lips, and you moan a drawn out, “t-think ‘m getting close, ‘toru. really close, fuckkk.”

“wait a little, princess,” he slyly remarks, and you feel his hips piston. you were dumbfounded, stupid even. his stamina, practically non existent. right when you think he’s finished he starts up again. you’re dumbly nodding your head in endorsement from the way he’s got you thumping back against the cushion. “wait for meee.” and he starts singing.

he’s mocking you, he strokes your chin before flashing you a teasing grin. it’s not funny anymore once his voice cracks and he clears his throat to play it off. “eheh.”

“i c-can’t,” you’d stammer, and you gasp once you feel a single coil within you snap. you’re an entire mess underneath him. his dick, so lengthy it made you salivate entirely. gojo reached every single orifice inside of your pussy, every edge, every corner. like most people knew the layouts of places, he knew the exact layout of your pussy. every single time. “oh my g-goddd.”

gojo’s jaw tightens, and as you’re being pummeled into the mattress. you end up squirting, gushing out so much.

gojo doesn’t realize it until he looks into your dilated irises, and pauses. “oooooh,” he purrs, his words sounding in the form of a curious question. “did you just squirt?”

silence was your answer, and he just hums. gojo stares down, bringing a thumb towards your swollen slit, massaging against the entrance and you shudder. “fuck. you fuckin’ squirter,” he coos, his voice grows a bit low, a deep deep low. you pulse, making a cute attempt to hide your face but he pulls your hands away. “awwww, baby, baby. don’t hide that face from me. i like my assistants messy anyway.”

you were drenched beneath him, gojo leans in to kiss you.

so sensual yet filled with the most passion. you whimpered, feeling his toned body rock against you. hands of yours roamed down his back, pulling him close and he allows his tongue to part right against yours. he didn’t know what it was about you but he knew for certain that you were addicting.

his taste, it was enchanted with sweetness. minty and all, you allow his tongue to ghost amongst your own — and that’s right when gojo moans into your mouth.

he’s buried deep into you, and he briefly pulls away, a pretty cobweb of glistening spit departs from your lips and he groans. “damnnn, ‘m cumming too,” and it was so abrupt. he didn’t expect it.

once goio’s load came, it was so thick.

stringy, multiple ropes shot inside you to make you permanently feel his warmth. mating press, the most perfect position if not one of the best positions to get stuffed full like this.

“s-shitttt,” he starts to whine, and it was far more then be intended for it to be. you were being pumped full of cum, it takes a lot out of him. quite literally, he pauses his hips and takes a moment.

there, you laid and lingering over you with the most feral look was gojo. his weight briefly lingers over you — and the look he’s giving you, you’re pulsing heavily. he starts heaving and heaving, beads of sweat racing down his and before he blinks. “milkin’ me s-so much,” and then be slowly lifts your leg up, throwing it over his shoulder. “still have more though. wanna see your tummy all plump. spillin’ everything out, just for me to see.”

and he does exactly what he says, gojo even pulls out just to watch his own cum spill out. it makes him pout, and he plugs his dick back inside once he starts up again. you moaned, feeling the stickiness all over your inner thighs. it was his favorite part. watching his own viscid cum run down your plush thighs, only to then shove some of it back into your folds.

the popstar was addicted to you, there was no doubt. sure, he’d be a drama queen and say he’s done with you — but you and him both knew the sheer reality. perhaps gojo shared the same feelings, he just didn’t wanna admit it.

falling in love in the entertainment industry was always a scary thing. especially for gojo. but part of you wanted to change that. if he’d let you.

gojo fucked you through numerous positions.

each one leaving you with teeth-shattering orgasms. it was never ending, it felt so good that you never wanted it to end. it was to the point where sweet cacophonies of, “s-satoruuu,” and “pleaseeee,” rang throughout his ears. only he could make you whimper out the prettiest babbles for him.

he’d have you riding him at this point, and he’s in the midst of dumping another warm load right into you. gojo stares in awe at how your hips grind and move effortlessly against him. he’s got a hand attached to your right hip, and he spanks your ass. “f-fuckkk, keep movin’ like that. make me cum, make me fuckin’ cum.”

and once he came inside you for probably the umpteenth time, you steady your hips, leaning in to give the popstar a kiss near his neck. he moans from your touch, pulling you close to him as your legs felt nearly nonexistent.

“good girl, easy e-easyyy,” he purrs against your ear, and you’re putty within his hands practically. he runs a hand down your back, moving a few strands out of your face before he’s panting right with you. he grows quiet for a moment before swallowing. “damn. that was,” and he’s breaking between each of his words, pulling you right into his bare chest. “. . so hot. you should really get more jealous like this, princess.”

“i wasn’t— i wasn’t jealous,” you huff out, leaning back to stare at him. gojo smirks, his eyes averting towards your lips before back towards your face. “but satoru. you still— you never answered my question from before.”

he raises a brow, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his palm. “hm? what question.”

“…okay,” you intake a breath, feeling as though you had ran an entire marathon. “what does this mean? you um.. never said anything about being exclusive.”

“do you wanna be exclusive?” gojo sneers, cocking his head towards the left.

“i’m being serious.” you mumble, he’s still buried inside you and you shift a bit on his lap.

the popstar rolls his eyes. “girl, so am i,” and he plants a kiss near the corner of your mouth. “the press already thinks we’re dating. especially after seeing us bicker like an old couple in public.”

“so...” you look up at him, returning a kiss near his lip. your eyes basically spoke for you and he understood what you were trying to hint at.

“sooo,” he mimics you, stroking a thumb against your hip.

“if we’re gonna be together, you need to fire that new assistant.” you grouse.

“oh right riiiight,” gojo snickers. “i’ll fire her extra hard just for you, baby.”

you pause with the most noticeable deadpan. “that doesn’t even make sense.”

gojo simpers. “geez, we gotta work on that sense of humor. anything i say is supposed to be funny to you,” and he wraps an arm around you—you feel warm, pulled into his strong warm embrace. “mhm. but now that we’re finally together, i do wanna start off by saying how much i love you.”

“huh?” you croak.

gojo smugly grins, nudging you. “you heard me. i love you,” and he kisses your lips for a split second, only to pull away to watch you fully register what he just said. after what felt like ages, he finally said it back.

“r-really?” you’d softly utter, starting to feel warm all over your body. it was all your mouth could mutter out, your eyes were slightly agape and you couldn’t believe he’d return the same feelings.

“mhmmm,” he nods, stroking your back. gojo brings you into a kiss, and you kiss back, wrapping your arms over his shoulders.

you felt a weight get lifted off your shoulders, and you lean forward towards him, a brief body language sign that you wanted to start up again. his sweet taste had you whining for more, your legs locked over his waist…. and that’s right when he squeezes the right part of your ass. a good firm grip, leaning back for you to take control of him.

“so he loves you, huh.”

you’re interrupted by a low raspy voice, you break away . . . and everything was so quick, a blink of an eye. you’re staring at gojo and his reaction was just as yours was slow. he stares, not at you—but from behind you where apparently a tall broad figure was.

a loud bang rang throughout the room, and gojo choked out a gasp. again, your reaction was slow. for a second, it was like time stopped. you watched in front of you as gojo clenches his heart, a faint breathy gasp for air before he falls backwards. it was the screeching ring of a shot.

you heard what sounded like cocking in the background and you immensely crawl off of gojo’s lap.

“s-satoru?” you stammer, not even believing your eyes—you were far too scared to look behind you, let alone look near your peripherals. gojo grunts, his eyes flickering and you then after seconds later, you end up turning around to see him.

toji.

“hey girl,” he nods, that familiar smug expression never leaving his face, “miss me? i let you have your fun for a while,” toji snickers, blowing the smoke out of the muzzle. as he walks towards you, his footsteps were awfully loud. you froze, glancing down at gojo who had a awfully pale color starting to quickly take over his skin.

words couldn’t leave your lips for whatever reason, it was as if you were mute—lip locked.

you felt numb, entirely so. gojo’d just said he loved you back, and now he looked almost lifeless.

“what do you think would be a better headline? ‘famous popstar found unresponsive at the scene!’ or uh.. ‘popstar 'satoru gojo' gets into a fight with his assistant’s boyfriend and things get a little…messy’.”

“we aren’t even together anymore. fuck you, toji.” you spat, fat incoming tears blinding your vision practically.

“you did that a long time ago, sweetheart,” toji purrs, you could hear the enjoyment in his voice. “and technically, we never broke up,” he corrects you with a shrug. “oh boo hoo, enough with the tears. should be thanking me, really. no one can love you like i can. told ya i’d come back for you,” and then he chuckles behind your ear, a rough hand going on your shoulder. “now let’s go home, princess.”

[hungharrington]

a little less conversation, a little more action, please

[rings bell frantically] CALLING ALL PPL WHO HAD BAD SEX EXPERIENCES!!! if that’s you, this is for u :D ! this has been in the drafts 4 months and i’m excited to set it free! enjoy! 8k words, fem!reader, oral (f receiving) MDNI THIS ENTIRE BLOG IS 18+

You think you might be the only person your age in the whole of Hawkins who doesn’t seem to get the hype.

Couples have been caught all over in the act. At the drive-in cinema, in the back of the cinema, hell, even beneath the bleachers at school — tongues down each other's throats and pants around their ankles, so caught up in each other that they don’t care about consequences. That it’s that good, that it’s worth the risk. 

Sex. 

You just don’t get it.

Once upon a time, one boyfriend ago, before you’d ever experienced it, there had been an inkling of eagerness within you. Curiosity twined in with piqued interest, you wondered eagerly about when you’d find someone who’d show you all about why sex got its reputation. 

And then you had it— with Samuel Cosgrove in his twin bed when his parents were out of town, 3 weeks into dating him. Your expectations crumbled. 

You decided quickly that everyone must be lying if that was what you were supposed to be looking forward to. It wasn’t… sexy. You didn’t feel sexy having it either.

It only left you feeling somewhat awkward and a bit foolish, with Samuel trying to ruck your shirt up even though you had asked to keep it on. Embarrassment crept in easily at how you seemed to be half a step behind him the whole time, not quite warmed up, not quite sure if this was the mood, not quite ready to take all your clothes off. 

The springs on his bed were loud and squeaked with every shift of weight. The whole thing sort of hurt more than anything.

You chalked it up to the first time, dredging together your hopes even as they rapidly deflated inside you, cemented by Samuel’s sloppy kiss that missed your mouth and landed wetly on the corner of your lips when he finished. 

His sweat stuck to your skin and you didn’t feel sexy, or good, or relieved or anything else the dozen Cosmo magazines under your bed promised you would. 

Next time, you said to yourself. You had even confided in your close friend, admitting to the underwhelming experience, and asked quite plainly when it ‘got good’. 

“The first time always sucks!” She’d assured you, her voice a hushed whisper over the diner table.“Trust me, the first, like, three times totally suck.” 

You didn’t mean to but, subconsciously, three became the number to reach— get through the first three terrible times, and… all would be peachy in paradise. 

And so when the next time was… underwhelming, you weren’t exactly surprised. Worse, was how it wasn’t anything Samuel did but what he said that stuck with you long after he’d drifted off on your sheets. Lying in the cradle of your hips, Samuel had traced his hand up your legs and then frowned, yanking his hand back. You had startled, propping up quickly to ask him what it was. 

“You’re spiky,” he said, chuckling in a mean way. You could feel your chest ache pathetically at his words and you instinctively tried to curl your legs in, wanting to hide them away. So what if they were? It was the middle of winter and he’d surprised you, showing up at your window to sneak in. 

When the fourth time happened and disappointment weighed heavy on you again, you deduced the truth. Sex was some big scam- some stupid joke that everyone was in on and just pretending to enjoy. 

It was easier to blame sex if only so you didn’t blame yourself. But… it niggles in the back of your brain, a line-up of indisputable facts that all point to the same thing. That, maybe sex isn’t the problem — but you are. 

And, look, it’s not really a problem when you’re not dating or seeing anyone.

… Enter Steve Harrington.

Admittedly, Steve was not someone you thought you would ever date. Or maybe it was the other way around, that you thought that Steve would ever date you.

His reputation as a bit of a player was as far from something you were interested in, especially considering your feelings towards sex, but… he had sort of proven you wrong every chance possible.

One month of dates and it’s been no more than holding hands and kisses on cheeks. You’ve kissed him properly, of course, once or twice, but lest you give him the wrong idea, they hadn’t been much more than a quick kiss. Steve still seemed to glow afterward, no matter what. 

It made you feel good. Safe. Warmed you to know he was happy with whatever affection you felt ready to bestow, and never pushed for more. 

You could tell he wanted it. It was hidden in the flex of his fingers and even the not-so-subtle adjusting of his pants when he’d invited you over for a dip in his pool. You’d shown up in your bathing suit— and it was the most amount of skin Steve had ever seen from you and it did not go underappreciated. He had been touchy, hands skirting up your sides, but still respectful. 

And strangely enough, you find yourself… wanting it too. 

Wanting for his touch, thinking about letting your own hands wander across his skin to find what makes him sigh, makes him groan in pleasure, what might make him whine. It surprises you, the ferocity of your eagerness, how it presses your thighs together tightly and licks pure arousal up your spine — even when Steve’s not even trying. 

(He was, you just didn’t know it. Steve knows exactly when girls seem to be looking at his arms and he’s unashamed to say he will flex his muscles and pretend he hasn’t. Robin has caught him doing this several times.) 

And today has been nothing short of wonderful. 

A balmy Saturday which you found yourself swept up in Steve’s company over at his house, laziness fuelled by the golden sun rays of the day. 

You weren’t even doing anything in particular, just enjoying being near each other. You had stretched out on a pool lounger with a book in your hand for the most part and it was with giddy delight that Steve seemed more than chuffed to just lay beside you, sizzling in the sun and then occasionally cooling off in the pool. 

Which is a spectacle all in itself. 

The sight of his chest gives you one or two steamy ideas, especially as it drips with water when he pushes up on the edge of the pool. His biceps bulge deliciously as you peer over the edge of your book, not as subtlety as you might think. You honestly don’t even mind if he catches you staring, not when this is your view. 

Your eyes trace the sparkling drops of water as they roll down his chest tantalizingly slow, through the chest hair between his pecs, down, down, trailing down his happy trail— fuck, okay, he totally caught you staring. 

Your eyes dart back up to his face to find Steve’s already looking at you, his eyes holding a playful mirth to them. His smile looks just a little bit cheeky. Bastard. 

Water splatters on the tiles where he walks as he pads over to collect his towel bunched on the end of the lounger beside your own.

“Good book?” He asks sweetly.

He says it as he scrubs the towel over his face, drying it off and then starting on his hair— he gives it a quick rub over rapidly so that when he pulls the towel away, his hair is sticking up in every direction. He holds the towel to his chest and gives his head a quick shake, like a dog, shaking out the extra water.

When he looks up at you again, beginning to towel dry his bare chest, you realise you haven’t even attempted to answer his question. 

“Book.” You echo. Steve chuckles a little bit and it kickstarts your embarrassment, finally remembering to say something else. You hold the book up to gesture with it, “Yes! It’s good, it’s…” 

Steve’s resumed drying himself and you find your words leaving you as the towel drags down his tummy, leading your eyes with it. Your mouth feels suspiciously dry. Want. You want him.

“It’s…?” 

He’s teasing you again. You startle, wondering if he’s purposefully trying to put on a sensual towel-drying show for you. You’re surprised to find you’re actually glad that he is. 

It feels like another subtle way to affirm all his affections for you without all of the touchiness you’ve yet to reach with him — come and get me, it’s like he’s saying, if you want. 

You snap your book shut. “It’s too hot to be reading, I think.” 

Steve frowns in his worry and steps forward, closer to you. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead lightly. “You feelin’ too warm? Y’gotta careful being out here too long if you aren’t gonna swim.” 

He sounds on the concerned side but there’s a touch of cheek in his voice too, like he knows why you haven’t turned the page for the last 5 minutes. It stokes the firey feeling that’s beginning to burn in your gut. A smile curls at your lips and you huff a little laugh, leaning back and batting his hand away from your forehead. 

“Yes, mom.” You jest, hand falling back onto the lounger. You lean back onto it to get a better view of him. “I’m not too hot.” 

Steve grins. “Oh, I would say the opposite. You are, in fact,” He leans in closer, one hand coming up to push some hair behind your ear. His hand lingers, fingertips on the edge of your jaw. “Very hot.” 

You couldn’t stop your reaction if you tried— which you do try, some sputtering cough with a duck of your head as you feel your body flush hotly at his words. His forwardness is something you’re still getting used to.

Just as you’re about to stumble through a poorly constructed sentence, Steve saves you— reaching over to grab his rumpled t-shirt and pulling it over his head. A small, disappointed, part of you wilts. You catch yourself from being so obvious, scooping up your bookmark and stuffing it in a random page. 

Steve offers his hand out for you to take. “C’mon, we both need some water I think.” 

You ponder if there’s a second meaning to his words as you trail along beside him, letting him lead you back through the sliding glass doors that open to the kitchen with your intertwined hands. Steve gives your hand a quick squeeze before he drops it to open the fridge, peering inside. You lean back against the counter, arms folding loosely over your front and allow yourself to look at him. 

Your boyfriend. It sounds even a bit strange in your head and you know if you tried to say it aloud, it would get caught on the way out, tripping over your teeth. Calling him your boyfriend cements all those expectations you worry so much about… even though, not-so-secretly, you revel in the fact thats he’s your boyfriend. 

“Thinking hard over there, I can see,” Steve comments teasingly and you blink, realising he’s already looking at you. He must have asked you a question and you missed it. 

“What?” 

Steve laughs a bit, pink lips pulled into a slight smirk. He shakes the bottle in his hands a little bit, bringing your attention to it. “Did you want to try some of this? I think it’s sparkling and…” 

He trails off, pulling the bottle closer to his face to scan over the front of it. You can’t help but think the furrow in his brows as he reads is adorable. He hums, obviously not finding what he’s after, and flips the bottle over. 

“…raspberry flavour?” He finishes, looking up at you, brows raised. He gives a little shrug. “That sound nice?” 

You think about it for a moment and then shake your head. Steve laughs in agreement and places ii back in the fridge, some mumble about his mom leaving it here the last time she visited home. He turns back to the fridge still rummaging. “Okay, anything in particular you want?” 

You are thirsty but… your stomach swoops as you realise it’s for something else altogether. If you want it though, you’ll have to ask. 

“Maybe, a kiss?” 

Steve freezes for an instant, then he whips around like he’s not entirely sure he’s heard correctly. The fridge door clatters loudly and he quickly grabs it, stopping the rattling bottles and looking mighty flushed when he shoots you a grin. 

“A kiss?” He checks. He lets go of the fridge doors to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly, too aware of his own unsubtle eagerness. “I heard that right, didn’t I?” 

A nervous chuckle scrapes out your throat but you nod. You uncross your arms but can’t settle them, crossing them again nervously as Steve comes closer. His brown eyes scan your face intently, searching to make sure he’s getting every signal right. 

When you smile assuredly, Steve sighs in relief and his shoulders drop an inch. He smiles too, his hand reaching up to hold your faces cupping your cheek. His strokes across your cheekbone as he talks. “Oh, thank god. I was beginning to think, maybe, you just weren’t into kissing me.” 

Then he leans in— and you hold your breath without meaning to. 

The thing is, Steve is a good kisser. A very very good kisser and even your strange gaspy noise as you try to remember to breathe is not enough to ruin the kiss. His plush lips capture yours and have you feeling as hot as the day, a heat blooming in your chest and spreading like wildfire. Your fingers flex at your sides. 

You push up on your toes without even thinking, to steal more of his touch, and when Steve breaks the kiss, you’re embarrassed to find yourself chasing his lips. You clear your throat and avert your eyes, sinking back down— embarrassed at showing how much you’d melted under a single kiss. 

You just don’t realise how it looks to Steve. 

“You do… right?” 

Your head pops up, eyes widening as you try to comprehend his question. 

“Like… kissing you?” You ask meekly, more embarrassed that he’s asking for confirmation. Embarrassed that you’d somehow been overly eager and also convinced him of the opposite in one kiss. God, maybe there is something wrong with you. 

“Yeah.” Steve nods, pulling back a little further from you— like he needs physical space in case you say something absurd like ‘no.’ 

Your hands react faster than your mind, reaching to grab his shoulders to stop him from putting space between you. 

“Yes!” You say loudly. You try to rein in your embarrassment for his sake, swallowing your nerves which feel thick and swollen in your throat. “Yes, I like kissing you. It’s just, I’m… I’m worried.” 

How do you say this? How can you explain that you’ve been so afraid of your kisses going a few steps further because then- then when things get heated and Steve’s expecting things, you have to explain that — that what? 

That you’re not really sure if you even like sex, or maybe that it just doesn’t seem to work for you or — or that there’s probably just something wrong with you that means you can’t figure out how the hell to relax and enjoy sex- and that it’s not his fault but probably totally yours but— 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Steve cuts into your spiralling thoughts, having seen the dilemma spilled across your face. “Stop thinking what you’re thinking and just, like, take a breather.” 

He places his hand on his chest and mimes a deep inhale. You copy him without thinking, chest rising and falling in sync with his, unable to look at him for a moment. When you find the courage to dredge your eyes up to his face, his eyes are soft and his brows have knitted together in concern. 

“Good.” He praises, hand falling off his chest to rub gently at your arm. “Okay, now instead of doing all that worrying up there just… tell me what’s worrying you. Please?” 

Part of you want to huff and hide, to make him really pry so you know that he means it. It’s dramatic, you know — especially because he’s being so good at communicating. He’s asked outright. You try to put the words in the correct order. 

“Just… we haven’t— I haven’t kissed you a lot because I’m worried about what it might lead to.” You say quietly, eyes back to avoiding his gaze. You stare at his chest, the tuft of chest hair peeking out, and do your best to swallow the knot in your throat. 

“And I— I don’t want to disappoint you,” you admit, frustrated at how a familiar sting burns at the back of your eyes. “But I- just, in the times I’ve gone that far and— and slept with someone, I didn’t… I just didn’t like it. I didn’t enjoy it.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut tight, proclamation out in the open, and try to take a deep breath— just like Steve had instructed mere moments ago. Courage gathered, you open your eyes and peer up at him again. 

“Oh,” Steve breathes. You can nearly see the cogs turning in his head, his eyebrows twitching as he takes in what you’ve said and what it means for the two of you. “Oh, well that’s okay. I mean, if you didn’t want to I would never—“ 

“—That’s not the thing.” You interrupt. “I want to. I do. I just…” Your voice trails off, taking on a  trembling whisper as you say the thing you’ve yet to say aloud yet, for fear of speaking it into existence. You can’t quite look at him, eyes focused on the kitchen tiles instead. 

“I think it’s me. I think— I’m worried there’s something wrong with me.” 

Your words hang in the air for a moment and Steve feels his worry shift into something deeper, something closer to devastation, as he realises how deeply you believe what you’ve said. 

You genuinely think there is— even thinking it makes him want to scoff aloud. He forces himself to focus on consoling you here and now, instead of riling himself up with thoughts of whatever— whoever lead you to your immense self-doubt. 

“Well, there’s not,” Steve says plainly. Like there’s no room for discussion— his hand drifting down your arm to gather your hands in his own. They get swallowed, his hands huge when compared to your own. 

“There’s nothing wrong— you- you could never disappoint me in that way.” 

Your eyes lift from the ground to his face, desperate to see if you can see the truth in his words. He can tell- fuck, he can already read you so well. 

“Honest,” He insists, giving your hands a quick squeeze. “I promise you, okay? I- if I was disappointed over something like that it would be- that would be such a dick move.” 

“Well, you wouldn’t be the first.” You mutter bitterly. 

The words slip out without entirely meaning to; you aren’t trying to start a pity party but how are you supposed to explain why you think the way you do? How can you explain why you’re so worried about taking it further? Deep down, you know he deserves to know. 

Steve’s eyes widen for a moment, your words sinking in and cutting as they go. He doesn’t want to think about you sleeping with other people, for all the jealous reasons, but mainly because everything he’s learned today is that nobody has taken proper care of you. 

It twists his heart thinking of some fucking idiot not taking his time with you, not getting you comfortable— so that you get to this point, embarrassed, avoiding his eyes, and so entirely convinced that you’re the problem. 

“Look,” Steve says softly. His hands squeeze yours again and he tries to think of how best to say this. “If we never sleep together, I don’t care.” 

That catches your attention, your head jerking up to look at him — what? That has never even been an option with dating someone. Not in your mind, at least. You find yourself reeling, fumbling for words but Steve just keeps talking. 

“If you don’t wanna, I don’t wanna,” Steve shrugs, like that’s all there is to it.

“There’s nothing wrong if it’s not really your thing.” Another squeeze to your hands. You look up at him, aware you must look a picture of bewildered — there were a thousand ways you imagined this conversation going and this was not one of them. 

A smile pulls on his lips as he chuckles a bit, eyes falling to your conjoined hands. “Hell, for all we know I’d add to your disappointing experiences.” 

You laugh quietly but it’s saturated in fondness. He’s taking jabs at himself to make you feel better. 

“Hardly likely, considering the rumours I’ve heard about you,” You murmur lowly. You find it in yourself to squeeze his hands back, peering back up at him. Steve’s brows rise and he grins. 

“Oh? And just what rumours are we talking about?” He teases. 

“Shut up,” You say, no heat behind it in the slightest. Your chest is starting to feel lighter and lighter as the reality of his words sink in. “You know what they say about you.” 

Steve grins wider. “That I slept with Mrs. Click just to pass her class?” 

“What?” You wrinkle your nose at the horrid picture of your old English teacher with your boyfriend. “No! Did people really say that about you?” 

Steve’s grin fades, edging towards jaded. He gives a soft sigh, tilting his head back an inch. “People say everything and it all means nothing unless it’s coming from the right person.” 

He wriggles a hand free from your unaware tightening holding to brush his knuckles against your cheek tenderly. A piece of hair flops over his forehead, curling back upwards, and the buzz of cicadas fills the empty noise around you.

“So, I don’t know if some asshole told you or you just think that you’re wrong, but…” Steve inhales, his eyes darting between yours. 

The brown in them is intense, holding you fixed beneath his heavy gaze. “If— just you said you want to so, we can try and- and we can go slow and I’ll stop the moment you want to, okay? For whatever reason.” 

You feel a strange bubble of hope churn in your gut. It feels too good to be true. 

“…You’re sure?” 

“M’sure,” Steve nods. “Even for something as small as you don’t like the way my dick looks or—“ 

A laugh startles out of you and you shake your head. “I meant more about stopping but good to know anyways.” You pause a moment. “…Should I be worried?” 

You’re teasing. Steve delights in it, his own voice slipping that little bit lower— his knuckles on your cheek swiping across, down your jaw, til he lingers near your neck. 

“Why don’t you find out?” 

The hunger in your tummy returns with a new heat, rivalling the day. You suddenly feel nervous again, a roll of nerves turning over, but this time it feels far closer to anticipation. The kiss you’ve been yearning to give him, hot and messy, burns up inside you and when you rise on your toes, Steve meets you in the middle. 

Your lower back presses against the counter as Steve leans into you, his mouth slotted against yours. One kiss snowballs into another, and another, the fervency growing as you let yourself give into your desire. Your hands on his shoulders shift, trailing down to feel up the chest you’ve been gawking at all day.

Steve lets out a quiet grunt as your nails dig in and his other hand finds your waist, tugging you to press against his body — his other hand slides into your hair, clutching the strands loosely. You sigh into his mouth, nerves still alight beneath your skin but the way they buzz makes you feel good. Steve makes you feel good. 

Right as his hand scrapes along your lower back, heading lower, you’re both startled by the loud beep! that sounds in the kitchen. At the same time you peer around him, Steve turns and gives a sheepish chuckle, seeing the fridge door still ajar from when he’d been fishing around inside. 

He steps away from you, pushing the doors closed gently. Turning back, your chest swells with pride seeing the effect you’re already having on him; red lips, shiny with spit and a faint ruby colour in the apples of his cheeks. Steve smiles, boyish and charming. 

“Do you wanna keep—“ 

“—yes.”

You’re not going to squander this chance, not going to waste the days' chemistry when there’s still that tiny worry niggling in the back of your brain that today is all a fluke. That Steve’s words might just be an offer, something else that wouldn’t be a first for you. 

Steve grins. He holds out his hand and you intertwine yours with him, letting him lead you. Your stomach swoops as he takes you out the kitchen and heads for the stairs, checking back on you with a quick glimpse. You do your best to show him your excitement instead of your nerves. You’re not sure you succeed. 

Squeezing his hand does the trick for a final reassurance. Steve resumes leading you up the stairs, taking a familiar turn towards his bedroom, beginning to talk softly as he does. 

“Remember, anytime, anything you don’t like, just say the word.” 

You both pause, standing in his room and you swallow the doubts that try to claw back up your throat. Giving a sly glance at him, you smile coyly and wiggle your hand out from his. Trailing backwards to his bed, you pretend to think about it, til your thighs hit the edge of the bed. 

“Hmm… well,” You begin, a touch of sultriness dipping into your voice. “I don’t like… that you’re still wearing your shirt.” 

Before you, Steve huffs a silent laugh, that handsome smile gracing his lips as he ducks his head. He doesn’t disappoint though, his arms reaching up behind his head to shuck his shirt off in one fluid motion.

He chucks it aside thoughtlessly and where it lands doesn’t even matter — your eyes are fixed on his chest. His bare chest that you’ve been given permission to properly ogle at. You swear you feel your mouth salivate a bit. 

“Should've known this would go first, considering the way you were drooling outside,” Steve remarks cockily, folding his arms loosely. It makes his biceps bulge and you swallow again, this time nothing to do with nerves. 

“I wasn’t drooling,” You defend weakly, beginning to fidget with the hem of your own shirt. “I was admiring, okay? There’s a difference.” 

Steve saunters over slowly as you talk, steps slow and measured. He’s smirking by the time he’s before you, so close you can feel the heat of him. “Uh huh. Totally, sweetheart, I believe you. Need help with this?” 

His hand has reached out, fingers pinching the same hem you’re fiddling with. You nod slowly, “Yes, please.” 

Steve’s smirk fades into something sweeter and he grabs the hem with two hands, beginning to ruck it up gently, his eyes locked on yours — you raise your arms when it starts to get caught, holding your gaze to his until the fabric intersects. Your arms drop and you push away the urge to wrap them around your middle. 

Steve drops your shirt much more gently than his own but his eyes are still entirely on you. There’s a shine of awe in them now, flicking up at down the newly exposed skin. 

The intensity of his gaze makes you want to shy away but you chose bravery instead, reaching out to grab his side. Steve jumps, barely an inch, and before you even get a chance to question, he’s smiling. “Y’got cold hands, honey.” 

He draws them up to his mouth, laying soft kisses across your knuckles. Heat flushes through you and you melt beneath it, lowering yourself back on the bed. Steve follows eagerly, still kissing at your hands. He kneels between your legs and when he finally drops your hands from his, it’s to reach out and cup your jaw. 

“Keep breathing,” He murmurs quietly, eyes dancing in amusement. You hadn’t even realise you had been holding your breath. You realise it in one big exhale and this time, when you reach for him, you actually succeed in tugging him closer. You tumble backward into his sheets and Steve comes with you, his forearms planted on either side of you and his body pressed up against yours. 

“I don’t like…” You say, continuing the bit from earlier, your voice quiet and still tinged with a poorly hidden nervousness. “That you keep waiting to kiss me.” 

Steve’s brows hike up an inch but his smile hides his surprise easily, his entire face glowing a bit brighter. He looks fucking gorgeous bathed in the buttery sunlight, even though it’s just beginning to fade towards darkness behind the curtains. 

You stare unabashedly up at him, marvelling at his features that are etched in with adoration for you. You follow down the strong line of his nose, along the soft arches in his eyebrows, the faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that he has from smiling. 

You study the swell of his cupids bow perched above his pink lips and each of the moles dotted all over your favourite face— and think to yourself it’s not fucking fair that he looks like this. Like he’s been carved from marble and cast in gold. 

Thank God he’s yours. 

He doesn’t disappoint you — his lips finding yours and kissing you deeply, his chest brushing your own. Your entire body seems to sigh at the touch, tingling with anticipation — you’ve been overdue for all these kisses for far too long and it seems once you’ve gotten started, it feels impossible to stop.

You kiss needily, your hands moving off his midriff to drift up to his jawline. You cradle it gently, your lips a little less gentle- you try to remember how to do this, how to nip at his lips teasingly, how to soothe them with your tongue. 

Slowly, Steve’s body weight lowers onto you as he focuses more and more on figuring out what you seem to like. Time melts like candle wax and you feel as goopy as it too, all warm and pliable, softened by his kisses. Heat begins to simmer in your gut. You don’t know how long you’ve been kissing when Steve pulls away, his mouth cherry red and his face flushed. 

His fingers slip beneath the strap of your bra, toying with it but nothing more. He checks over your face as he asks, “Wanna take this off?” 

You nod, breathlessly. Up til now, it’s been easy to turn off your brain and let all your thoughts revolve around getting kissed absolutely stupid by Steve. 

But as his hands work deftly beneath you, unclipping the strap of your bra and beginning to tug it down, you feel the first worry creep in — this is usually when your panties follow, then his boxers, and then the expectations. Even with all your enjoyment, you know that if he tries now, you won’t be ready. 

Frustration bubbles up in your chest, mingling with your insecurity and you squirm a bit, trying to think of how to tell Steve without disappointing him. 

You’re so sick of disappointing people for something you can’t seem to help. 

Steve notices your squirming. His head shoots up to meet your gaze, a furrow back in his brow. “Hey, hey, what’s goin’ on?” 

“I…” Words die on your tongue easily, a war happening inside your throat as you debate what to say. You like him— you really like him and don’t want this to end and… he told you he wants you to tell the truth. 

“I don’t… I’m not—“ Your whisper climbs in volume alongside your frustration. “Steve, this isn’t working.” 

The wrinkle between his brow deepens and it’s not a comforting sight. Steve shifts a bit, his hand moving from the straps of your bra up to your face. He pushes back a few stray locks of hair, eyes sincere. 

“Not working?” He murmurs, “Baby, we’ve only just started.” 

You blink up at him once, twice. Your mouth opens and then closes again. 

You know that but you also know how this goes. Well, you think you know— so why do you suddenly feel so foolish? 

“Oh.” You say shyly. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and try to ignore feeling like you’ve just ruined the mood. 

Steve takes it all in his stride, nothing but a twitch in his furrows brows as he takes in your embarrassed expression. He leans down, and kisses your neck, then your collarbone. His lips trail down, down, slow and sensual. Your bra scraps down your arms, tossed aside absentmindedly.

“Sweet girl,” he whispers into your skin. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Sorry?” You echo, a bit breathier as Steve's kisses scrape down your breast. Your nipples peak to attention.

“Mhm,” he hums, his lips wrapping around your nipple and sucking— his hands paw greedily at your back which arches eagerly into his kisses. Steve drags his mouth off, beginning to mouth softly down your breast til his plush lips kiss at your sternum. 

“M’sorry that nobody has ever taken care of you before.”

You squirm beneath him at his words, a warm flush washing through your body as desire spins up inside you. Steve continues as if he hasn’t turned your whole view inside-out— his hand shifting up to thumb at your nipple as he takes your nipple back between his lips. 

“Steve…” you sigh out. 

He’s kneading your body in just the right way, the sensitivity of your chest fuelling the pool of heat growing deep in your stomach. You feel your thighs clench together, hips shifting up instinctively. You haven’t been touched like this before and fuck, it’s a lot. 

“I know, honey.” He says lowly, voice muffled against your skin. He suckles at your nipple and just nips at it, a flash of teeth, enough to make you arch further. Your eyes slip shut and you push your chest further out. 

To your disappointment, Steve pulls back instead. Your eyes open, neck craning to look at him, your chest rising and falling with your heavy breaths.

“Y’tell me if there’s anything you don’t like, alright?” 

Somehow, the heat in your gut flares that much hotter — knowing that there’s love behind every motion. You scramble for threads of courage and hold them tightly. Then you bend your legs until you can slide them around his waist, ankles crossing and tugging him closer. His cock, straining in his pants, presses flush against your core, and at the same time you inhale, Steve stutters out a groan. 

“I’ll tell you.” You say, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip to hold back your grin. It melts away as Steve shifts against you purposefully, one of his hands dropping to hold your hip. The hard length of him grinds against your cunt, catching the angle of your clit in a way that makes you mewl beneath him. 

Steve kisses your breast again but your hands are already reaching for him— fingers cupping his jaw to tug him up. Your lips capture his and this time, when he rolls his hips into yours, the soft noise you make is swallowed in his kiss. It’s fervent, your kisses gaining speed and mess. You tighten your ankles and experiment with your grind and are rewarded with a jagged moan from Steve. 

Faintly, you consider how it makes a little more sense now. That all those desperate motions of making out, rutting against each other, hot open-mouth kisses— fuck, if it was always like this, you get it. You feel like you’re on fire. 

A breeze flutters the curtains across the room, the only indication of time outside your little bubble. It’s far too easy to get lost in the motions— building up your lust until you’re sure the cotton between your legs is soaked through. It feels silly but god, even though you knew this was one of the things making all those past times so terrible, you had just assumed that’s how it would always be. 

The stickiness feels vulgar, your cunt pulsating with heat like you’ve never felt before. It just makes it all feel better though— the warm, hard heat of Steve’s cock, fitting snug between your folds. 

A pause in the makeout to catch your breath. You’re huffing wildly and Steve takes the moment of his undistracted attention to focus on the shorts you’re wearing. He doesn’t ask verbally this time but as he hooks his fingers beneath the waistband, his eyes flash up to yours in question. 

You wiggle your hips and Steve takes his cue, the fabric scraping against your skin as it slides down, down, down. To your surprise, Steve goes with them. He gets halfway down the bed, his head aligned with your belly, hands kneading at the flesh of your boobs before he halts. 

“I wanna try something,” He says, looking up at you. He dots a quick kiss onto your skin as he does, not breaking eye contact. “And I think you’re gonna really love it.” 

He drags out the word really, his voice low enough that it rumbles, nearly a purr. 

“It involves a little bit of this.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss into your navel. He kisses nice and slow, the plushness of his lips scraping across the stretch of skin. 

You shiver a little, feeling how your thighs part instinctively and Steve smiles wickedly, seeing the motion. 

“A little—“ He travels further down, his hands sliding to hold the outside of your thighs. He grips the skin and urges it to spread wider— then takes a greedy fat lick along your inner thigh. “—of this.” 

You squirm. It’s unnerving in the best way, having someone so dedicated to making you feel good— but Steve’s face betrays no hint of insincerity. In fact, if you had to guess, you’d say he even looks excited. 

His large tan hands cover your hips, slender fingers curved atop your thighs to keep them pried open. You’re expecting the next question to be getting the final scrap of clothing off you— a mixture of nerves and excitement at the vulnerability that comes with taking them off. 

He doesn’t though. Drawing a line with the tip of his nose, he nuzzles down from the inside of your knee to your thigh, the warmth of his breath fanning across sensitive skin. He kisses your cunt, once, soft. You twitch, a sweet noise pushing past your lips. 

Steve does it again. This time, his lips part and you feel his tongue press through the soaked cotton of your panties — he kisses again, harder, moving over your clit with his tongue. This time you moan and feel your hips tip up to chase his mouth, surprising yourself. 

Fuck, when have you ever been this wet before? The cotton between your legs is sticky and it only gets messier with Steve’s every lick. The duvet crinkles beneath you as you sigh and sink into it, the low throb of pleasure curling up in your gut. 

“Steve,” you sigh his name like it’s a prayer. 

He hums against your core, his fingers gliding beneath the elastic of your panties but not pulling them down just yet. His hot mouth drops lower, his nose pressing into you at the perfect angle. Your breathy exhale is lilted with moans. 

“See?” He murmurs, so low you nearly don’t hear him. 

“S’Nothing wrong with you, sweetheart. Y’just needed…“ His fingers grip your panties and begin to pull and you aid him quickly with a lift of your hips. “…someone to take a little more care with you.” 

Any fear of vulnerability is whirled far away; you need his mouth back on you, like, yesterday. Especially when Steve groans. Like the sight of your glistening cunt is enough to make his cock ache. Your tummy heats further at the thought. 

His hands re-situate, soothing up to your tummy before sliding back down to grasp the tops of your thighs again. He pulls them open wider. 

Pure fire streaks through your nerves, a sweltering pleasurable burn twisting in your gut as Steve’s tongue licks through your folds in one bold stroke. Your hips try to twitch forward but his hands are already there, holding them down. 

There’s one more pause, one soft curse of adoration, as his nose nuzzles along the soft skin of your inner thigh. You feel unbearably warm in his sheets, heat pulsating and dancing beneath your skin. 

“Steve,” you whisper his name again, urging him gently. “Please.” 

“I got you,” He murmurs in response.  “You don’t gotta say please with me,” He hums lowly, then kisses right on your clit, languid and warm, his tongue swirling around it deftly. You cry out softly. 

He drags his mouth off you and if you looked down, you’d see the soft sheen of your slick on his rosy lips. “I wanna give you everything you want.” 

You gasp as he finally puts his mouth on you properly, pleasure dribbling through your core as he suckles on your clit. He’s killer with his tongue, twisting it and flattening it against your bud in a way that has you squirming. The sheets scrunch in your frenzied grip. 

For the first time, you understand why pornos even sound like that— taking a moment to realise the whiney gaspy noise you’re hearing is coming from you. 

“Oh god,” You whine prettily. “That’s— uh— fuck, that’s really good.” 

Between your thighs, you hear and feel the moan Steve gives back. Your thighs are twitching, torn between trying to keep them apart or warm your boyfriend's ears. Your hips are moving, subtle grinds up into Steve’s face and he takes it all appreciatively. He sucks and slurps, tongue dragging down your folds to toy at your clenching hole— making you squeal. 

“Fuck,” he rasps, pulling back for a moment. His voice is doused in arousal. “You’re so wet.” 

Heat plumes low in your tummy as he dives back in, a groan echoing from his throat. The coil in your gut tightens, winding tighter and tighter. Your chest heaves as your voice melts away until everything you say is a whimpery little “yes, yes, yes,” and Steve’s name. 

His huge hands are still pressing your thighs apart but one shifts suddenly, barely noticeable in your mounting euphoria, until it’s tapping at your hand fisted in the sheets. 

You lift your head, confused, and peer down at him. 

It’s a mistake. His hand is resting on the bed in front of your own, propped up and fingers spread. It's clear he wants to hold your hand. Chest heaving and still lightly moaning, your eyes dart from his hand to his face — and that’s the mistake. 

He’s fucking beautiful. Hair mussed, rosy-cheeked, and dark-eyed, Steve can only hold eye contact for a moment before his eyelids slip shut as he moans against your cunt. Fire blooms under your skin, coil turned tighter and together. He wants to hold your hand. Your fingers just manage to tangle with Steve’s, holding tight, as you tip over the edge with a cry. 

It’s intense — jagged waves of pleasure that ride through every nerve in your body and have you nearly overwhelmed with how fucking good it feels. Incoherent babbling whines pour from your mouth. Your thighs lock up, beating Steve’s strong hold now that he’s down to just one hand, and close around his head. He moans in response, his tongue never letting up, licking and sucking at your cunt fervently. 

And he holds your hand the whole way through. 

You feel thoroughly flattened by the time your orgasm tapers off, your legs relaxing and flopping tiredly against the bed. Vaguely, you’re aware you should apologise for likely cutting off his oxygen flow for a good couple of seconds there but you’re too out of breath yourself to do so. 

Your chest rises and falls and a sweet contentment settles into your skin. You feel happy, loved. Without meaning to, an awed laugh titters out of you. 

Then another, and another. You can’t seem to stop laughing, a gleeful silly joy as you release his hand to bury your face in your own. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper to yourself. Then, slightly louder. “Holy shit, Steve.” 

You hear him laugh and the sheets crinkle — and then he’s in your field of vision, hovering over you with an adoring grin on his face. His lips are still so pink and there’s a shine on his chin. He wipes it away absentmindedly, focused on you. 

“I take it you enjoyed yourself?” He says, genuine and not at all cocky. He settles down, one arm on either side of your chest. One of his hands sweeps over your face sweetly. 

You nod, tucking your bottom lip behind your teeth to constrain your grin. 

“Uh huh,” you say, voice all gooey. “I didn’t—“ 

You pause. “I thought— and then you— and Oh my Goddd.” You cover your face with your hands again, groaning exaggeratedly as you try to roll over and melt away into his bed sheets. 

“See? I told you it wasn’t you,” Steve says, peppering little kisses where he can reach. He kisses your shoulder, along the side of your face. He coaxes you out gently, pressing your shoulder to roll you onto your back. You face him properly.

“There is nothing wrong with you.” He reminds you. You’ve never been so happy to be wrong. You nod, hair scrunching against the pillow behind you. 

“Okay,” You say, with a small smile, finally believing it. “There’s nothing wrong with me.” 

Steve’s stare is glowing with fondness and the next moment, he’s lurching forward to press his mouth to yours. You kiss back greedily and lazily all at once.

He pulls back and you hate how the thought comes to you, unbidden; the smallest wrinkle creasing between your brows. 

“But,” You begin, voice small. “That wasn’t sex though.” 

Steve’s head tilts an inch, like an adorably confused puppy. “What do you mean? That was sex.” 

“What? That was— that was like second base.”

Steve huffs a laugh, though not directed at you. His gaze shifts above your head as he chooses his words. “Uhh, sure, if we were still in high school. But even then, that’s still sex. We just had some sex.” 

Stating it so plainly, you can’t help how it makes you giggle a bit. Steve rolls his eyes, even though you can tell he’s entirely endeared. 

“We just had sex,” You repeat his words, eyes bright and grin growing. “And I really enjoyed it.” 

Steve laughs loudly and steals a quick kiss from you. Holding up his hand, he wiggles his eyebrows at you. “Just had sex high-five?” He jokes. 

You slap your hand against his anyways, twisting your fingers to hold onto his hand as you let them fall to the bed. Steve beams, cuddling in closer, the tip of his nose nuzzling against your own. 

Turns out, you might be starting to get the whole big deal around sex after all. 

[avionvadion]

YES. YESSSS. YESSSSSSS.

HIT 'EM WITH THAT FILTHY FINALE

I mean, it probably won't happen judging by how things are going now, but we are getting Oogie in some form, I think, so... MAYBE. We got a Jack enjoying singing opera reference!

Part of me wants oogie boogie to make an appearance in this event and do something to the town that makes the NRC students see how intimidating he can be. directs attention to the “nightmare before christmas oogie boogie's revenge” game.

[velvetypoets]

Mister pitch perfect

The perfect Gryffindor golden boy has gone off his rails to catch a Black daughter.

Warnings: James Potter x reader fanfic, James is down bad, I tagged marauders but no peter, Slytherin reader, Black family reader, reader is portrayed as she/her, reader centric, forbidden love trope, SFW, James perspective

havent done this in a while and this will be the first time im posting on this platform. im very sorry if its quite messy!

this was supposed to be a oneshot but i drag it too much. so it'll be some sort of a series oneshot? will also be posted on ao3 soon!

————————————————————————————————————————

It was never meant to be. James Fleamont Potter was basically molted into the perfect specimen of man and every soul who has ever walked Hogwarts knew. Sure he would cause trouble every then and again with his fellow mates. Yet of course, James would always dazzle his way out of it with a few charming smiles or reasonings to squeal his way out of being blamed.

He was confident, charismatic, spotless.

And when he meets eyes with you, it was set. James is sitting at his usual spot with the marauders at supper when the moment arrives. You were fixing your necklace to your neck at the Slytherin table, struggling with the clasps as your face scrunches in frustration. James almost walks the whole way over to you and offers his assistance right then and there.

"Stop undressing my cousin with your eyes, Prongs," Sirius brings James back to reality with a slap on the back of his head. He seems to still be having his feast so that was new of him to pick on James in that setting. Remus raises an eyebrow as he stares at the two, "Since when do you care about the other Blacks?"

"That was foul, Pads!" James yell as he rubs his head and glares at his mate, he's used to Sirius playfights but that slap seems to be sincere. He tries to focus on the conversation as he tries to find you again on the table across. You seemed to have moved next to Regulus as he helps you with your necklace. James lets out an involuntary sigh.

"She's different, Moony. She's on the edge too. Pretty sure she's going to find a way to run when she hits 18," Sirius lets out a scowl, "Heard she is to be arranged with Nott. Bloody brilliant that."

"Nott? That Nott? Surely you're joking. That bastard can't even keep his owl alive for a week! How's he going to keep a wife that young?!" Remus exclaims in disbelief. Whipping his head to take a good look at you now that you're a big deal. "I wish I was. I love you but seriously mate, don't. You're big enough trouble yourself," Warns Sirius with his fork right to to James face. A juicy piece of meat dangling right on it.

He bites it though. Sirius lets out a shrieking squeal of, "My meat!", erupting laughter at the Gryffindor table as James chews proudly with a sly smile across his face. The boisterous sound turns a few heads, including yours. Your brows raised at the sudden commotion, only to have the red of your cheeks creep in as you find one of your cousin being the center of it. He watches as you rub your cheeks to hide the tint.

James gulps the meat down. He's quite full himself but he must admit, it's nothing like he has ever had.

——————————————————————————

The next time he sees you, you are sitting by yourself writing in parchments on a patch of grass by the lake. James is in a broom practicing to catch the golden snitch on Hogwarts grounds. Quite foolish but he's gotten bored of the arena and its currently being used by the Hufflepuff team anyways.

He's worried about you sitting all alone in this breeze though. It's quite cold and you don't seem to be wearing enough layers. He keeps a distance near a tree so as not to scare you, although he is quite discontent with seeing just your figure by the lake.

You whipped your head to the skies behind you, "Reggie? Is that you?" You ask calmly, your eyes not missing the shadowy figure blatantly hiding behind a tree, "I saw you from the reflection. Very funny, Regs."

James cracked a smile at your sarcastic tone. He even finds your voice perfect. He fixes himself a little before he reveals himself off the shade and lands in front of you, "So I'll take it you find me quite funny?"

Your eyes widened as you process the man in front of you. Why would James Potter—the Gryffindor golden boy—be here? And why is he talking to you now?

"You're not Reggie." You said still in shock, almost sounding like a question. Your brows are raised as you try to study his demeanor. He's holding his broom awkwardly in his arms, you've always thought James Potter's confident composure was permanent.

"Well if your standards of humour is a certain Regulus Black, I'm sure I'd be comical, love," He cracks a small smile and a hand extended to you, "Potter. James Potter."

You look at James like you're Newt Scamander finding a newfound beast, "I know who you are. Everybody does," You said in disbelief, finding the whole situation suspicious. The breeze of wind moves his curly hair to his face, framing it gracefully, "What I want to know is why are you doing this? We're not exactly fit to be friends."

"Why that's quite bold of you, lovely. Who said I'd like to be friends?" He said as he leans closer. You never noticed it before but his glasses are rather clean today, his hazy eyes look at you with glimmer in them you've never seen on anyone before. You think to yourself if its one of the charisma of being James Potter.

You stood your ground, you would have never thought to ever be face to face with this dazzling man in front of you. You are a Black though, your legs won't give in even if you try, "Well that's settled then. Are you here to pick a fight?" You ask him plainly, crossing your arms upon your chest.

James finds it adorable, he knows full well of his effects on people and especially of course girls. What he doesn't understand is the effect you have on him. "The contrary, darling. I have a proposition for you."

You lift a brow and yet let him continue, "I heard you're in quite the predicament with Nott. Now I know a way to get you out," His claim makes your eyes open, you let him continue. Words dripping in confidence, "A date. With me."

This time, you can't help but let out a laugh–of which James can't help but take in the sight. He's completely enamoured.

'What? Huh– Hold on. You can't be serious," You looked at him as if he had gone mad, the thought of a Black and a Potter dating is out of this world, "I don't know what kind of prank you're up to, but do you seriously think I'll fall for that?"

"Wait, I am serious! Picture this, if Nott knows you're going out with me he'd be livid, enough to break off the arrangement. I mean have you seen the way that scum looks at me? It's like he has this permanent face of eating vomit flavoured Bertie Bott's Beans!" He rants as he joined in on the laughter with you.

You are smiling as the laughter reduces to giggles. As stupid as it is, it has a good chance of actually working. You pondered, there's still one thing on your mind, "What's in it for you? Would I have to do anything?"

James let out a smile, his palms are sweating like he's deep into a Quidditch game, "Well I get to see Nott lose his bride—" He pauses, confronting himself whether to tell you the real truth or not, "I mean I'll also get a beauty on my side."

You roll your eyes at that, "Don't you try to charm me, Potter. Give me the real reason or its off. I have a feeling you need this more than I do,"

She's right, James thought. He was about to play it off if you denied it straight away, he wasn't entirely sure you would actually take him seriously. He grasps the sight of you for a bit before closing his eyes tight, "Okay, how about I tell you the reason in a week— Maybe a month. You don't have to do anything, we'd just go out like normal couples do. Sounds good to you?" He said, he extends his arms to you for a handshake. His thoughts full of prayers to Merlin so you wouldn't notice the tremble in his arm.

You grin the same one James had seen a million times on Sirius's face, the Black's grin of content. You shake his hand firmly, his big ones almost encasing yours, "You've got yourself a deal, Potter."

James is using every atom on his magical being to control his ecstasy as he smiles widely at you. Once the handshake is done he reaches for his scarf over his neck and wears it on you, "Nice doing business with you, sweetcheeks. I do hope you start wearing warmer clothes though. No snogging will be done if you're in Pomfreys care."

She looks good in my color

Well technically so is the color of a quarter of the schools because of course its a Griffyndor scarf.

"You surely don't expect me to go back. To my dorm. Through the halls, the stairs and the common room. With this on?"

Oh I won't regret this one bit, James thought. He chuckles at your words dripped in such a sarcastic tone, "Of course not, darling. Do you think I'm mad?"

He extends his arms for you to hold, "We'll go back together. Through the halls, the stairs, even the common room. I heard you folks have lovely parties there."

You let out a chuckle as you circle your arms around his, "Oh, the best ones. Your Gryffindors ass is so not invited though."

"Well at least I do have a lovely one, don't I?"

"Oh shut it, Potter!"

——————————————————————————

Another storm of commotion is coursing through Hogwarts. A lot has played it off as a mere prank. James grins at the thought of it. He has only you on his mind lately, cherishing the bits of conversation you and him had.

He's on his way to charms class this morning, one that inconveniently does not have you in it, he checked. He checked your schedule last night sneaking through administration with the invisibility cloak.

Moony and Pads by his side as usual. Sirius seems to still haven't caught wind of it, his hair tousled from a good sleep. Apparently he was up all night helping Remus solve a 10k piece magic puzzle.

Won't be long with how loud the students are gossiping though. James let out a coherent sighs. He had an amount of grins with knowing looks from a couple male students and even a pat on the back by a random Slytherin, "Alright, what is going on?" Remus breaks first. Stopping the two boys right before the class door.

James crackles a laugh, "What's going on? Nothing's going on, mate! What?" Moony lets out a drawled scowl on him, one he makes when he pieces that they're in some kind of trouble, "Why is everybody on Hogwarts up your pants then, Prongs?!"

Sirius yawns as he hugs James by the side to lean his head on him, "Yeah... Saw that too even if my eyes were closed the entire walk. You can tell us mate, come on," He does notice the lack of scarf on his mate's neck though, none in this rapidly chilly morning? "Prongsie, where's your scarf? I could really use a pillow here–"

"Oh! Thank Merlin! One second late and I would've thrown this in the bin. Here, take this off me," There you are with James Potter red and yellow scarf on your hands, just coming out the door. All three boys were quite startled, "What? Wait. This isn't your class," said James. His eyes land on the presence of a Slytherin scarf wrapping your neck. James wishes he could take that one instead.

"Yeah... I'm sort of risking being late to Dark Arts for this but I can't take the whispering anymore. I might square the next person who even looks at me!" You told him, your grip on his scarf tightens and James wishes the fabric would stretch upon your nails.

Sirius is well awake now, his bagged eyes darting between you and James as if you're both insane, "Hold–Hold on! What is this? What is happening, Why do you have James's scarf?" He cuts, going between you and James to put a distance and blocks James view. Remus gives James a 'he did warned you, mate' face at the side.

James on the other hand, in too much of a thrill of seeing you this early in the morning, "You could also just admit ya didn't want me to get cold, love. Thanks for the thought there," He said almost shouting as he stands on his tips to try and see you from above Sirius's head.

You let out an annoyed grunt, "Ugh I don't have time for this. Here Siri, give this to that stupid friend of yours. I'd like to keep my Dark Arts seat next to Cissy and Malfoy's been eyeing it like the vulture he is," You throw James's scarf to your cousin's head not caring if it covers his vision, it earns a few chuckles from nearby students. He trashes to take it off and looks at you in betrayal.

You're about to run off to Dark Arts and leave your cousin and his foolish mates when your feet stop and turn you back, "If you still want that date to happen. Expect my owl, Potter. She's a snow named Emerald."

"Oh and it is lovely to meet you, Remus. Do take care of my sod cousin and my idiot boyfriend. Make sure they're out of trouble," You smiled sincerely at Remus, you actually do admire him a little. You love dark arts and your professor rants and rants about Remus's talents.

Remus seems taken aback, but that would make the three of them. You left after he reciprocated your smile and responded with a polite, "You too, (Y/N)."

And as such, you scurried off in a rush to go shoo away Lucius Malfoy from your seat and save Narcissa. Leaving behind a bewildered Remus, an angered Sirius, and a lovestruck James.

James keeps his eyes on you until you turn the corridor, a stupidly huge smile stays on his lips. He turns to find the reality of Sirius's wrath upon him. Remus is quite literally holding back Sirius with his whole body, it's quite an advantageous turn of events that Sirius hasn't had his proper sleep yet.

"Boyfriend! Boyfriend?! When did you even– How is this— Let me go, Moony! He's going to have an earful!"

He definitely will get that earful later. James grins an apologetic smile at Remus as he picks up his scarf that fell to the ground. He could already smell the sweet of your scent from a distance.

Remus lets out a huffed noise, "You really do always get what you want don't you?"

James doesn't reply. He wraps his own scarf on his neck, embracing the warmth it does to his skin. Your scent crashes onto him like tidal waves. A tint of rose blooms on the pale of his cheeks.

He smiles faintly at the open skies over the hall window. He wishes for an owl he hadn't even met for safe travels.

[cryptidghostgirl]

hii i read your fic with the humanalastor! x reader where they become like partners in crime (i loved it sm)

and got an idea based off of it

what if Alastor dies first and a few years later Alastor and the reader reunite after she goes to the hotel? thought it would be kinda cute :)

A/N ngl I was thinking of doing something like this so I am very happy it is desired by the people as well. Also, we're gonna pretend that the timeline I created wouldn't make her like over a hundred years old when she died, okay? Okay.

Cover Up Pt. 2 (Alastor x Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of murder and blood, nothing graphic. Alastor being a depressed little bitch. Also a lot of dead bird metaphors for lost hope. Please let me know if I forgot anything.

Word Count: 1,971

Part One: Cover Up (Human!Alastor x Human!Reader)

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

When Alastor had died, Y/n had shattered. Their years of holding one another's bloodstained hands had finally drawn to a close. They had a good run, nearly a decade before anyone caught on. His death also came with the added downside of throwing suspicion on Y/n. To say the event changed her life would be an understatement.

When Alastor had first woken up in Hell, he had mourned his loss as if she was the one who had died and not him. The allowance of such a foolish thing was short lived. He quickly realized there was no way Y/n wouldn't end up in Hell as well eventually, with her track record. He refocused his pain, his anguish into making sure he had the perfect world to serve up to her on a platter as soon as she arrived.

As the years ticked on, the little bird fluttering away in his ribcage became more and more despondent. He tried to distract himself by continuing his work, continuing his plans for her. Always for her. It worked to a certain extent but, soon it had been sixty years and she still hadn't made her arrival. It didn't matter how many overlords he killed, how many worthless souls he tortured. There was nothing that could take his mind off that.

Alastor wondered what sort of life Y/n had made for herself after his death. He wondered if she had found love again, held out hope that she hadn't. It was a selfish wish, he knew it. Alastor had always been selfish. It wasn't that he wished for her to be unhappy, just that he knew she was the only person, living or dead, out there for him. There was no hope for Alastor that wasn't Y/n and he wanted her to feel the same way about him. He didn't want to lose, to have been an idiot, to have been the one that loved more. At the same time, he didn't want her to feel that way either. It was complicated and confusing, the twists of his own logic.

Another decade and he began wondering if somehow his beloved wife had gotten into Heaven instead. He knew it was a long shot, after everything she had done but, she had also never killed anyone who didn't deserve it. Maybe there was some exception for women who killed their pursuers, when the pursuers were coming on too intensely or had ulterior motives. He wondered if she'd remarried, if she had kids. If she was still on earth, there would have to be something that was keeping her there and that was the only thing that made sense.

Eighty years, as it turned out, had been all he could take. The bird had died and its corpse had rotted, festering into anger. Not anger at Y/n no, never anger at Y/n but anger at the world, at the system of the afterlife. He became bolder, brasher, more foolish. He got caught in a bad deal.

Coming to the hotel had been a command, yes, but it had also ended up being something of a salvation for the man. In the seven years of his disappearance from the rings of Hell, there had been little to distract him from the growing hole of Y/n's absence. It was a hungry thing, a deep seated want, a controlling desire. The hotel served to fill it. Not completely, but a little. It was better than nothing. Besides, for all her violence, Y/n had always had a way of seeing the best in others, in the world around her. He was certain she would have liked Charlie if she ever got to meet her, certain the hotel would shine in his wife's eyes.

Husk and Nifty were the only two who knew. They had both met him when Alastor's focus had been the creation of a world for Y/n, it was impossible for them not to. They had both noticed how as the years had passed, he had said her name less, how he had become crueler. Not even Charlie had in inkling of an idea that Alastor might be missing something, might be unshakable heartbroken. He hid it well.

Even now as he entered the lobby intent on finding Charlie in order to discuss some of the decor on the upper floors, he made sure his smile was firmly fixed in place. A smile was the strongest weapon a person or demon could have, the strongest disguise. He made sure he was never without one.

"So you just arrived today?" he heard Charlie saying as he began to make his way down the stairs.

He could see her by the door, talking to a demon whom her position obscured from his vision. A new guest. Internally, Alastor sighed. This was throwing a wrench into his plans for the day.

"Yeah I... it's all so confusing here. Wonderful in a way, don't get me wrong but... when I heard about your hotel, it seemed safe."

The unknown demon's voice was soft, it pulled at his heart strings. The corpse of the bird was a puppet at its familiarity. It was a sickening feeling, the dead body of his hope being pulled up and twitched around for another's unknowing amusement. Alastor nearly faltered, hesitating on the last step.

"So are you actually interested in redemption?" Charlie asked, sounding downcast.

"Well, I'm not really sure yet. Is that okay? I mean, I just got here today and... either way, I love the idea of your hotel and I want to help. I could work as a maid? Or I'm a pretty good cook? My husband always said so anyways. I'm sort of trying to find someone too so... What I'm trying to say is that I could work until I've figured it out, if that is alright with you?"

Charlie hummed in thought as Alastor began to cross the room, heading straight for the pair.

"It's a bit unorthodox but, I suppose. We could always use another helping hand."

"Really!?" the stranger exclaimed, "Oh thank you!"

Alastor was over Charlie's shoulder practically now. She shifted on her feet, allowing Alastor to at last see the person she was talking to.

"So, what's your name?"

The demon opened her mouth to speak but, before a word could leave her lips, she was interrupted by a static filled voice. It brought back memories, hurt her heart to hear.

"Y/n."

There was no doubt about it. Even in her new demon form, Alastor knew. It was the curl of her hair, it was the brightness of her eyes, the way she held herself. She looked up at him with wide eyes.

"When did you get here?" Charlie asked in confusion as she turned to the side, turning the pair into a group of three all facing one another, "Also, you know her? Oh my gosh, wait. Are you okay? I don't think I've ever seen you not smiling before."

Neither payed the princess any mind, each absorbed in one another's eyes. Y/n took a sutering half step forwards, her mouth slightly open.

"Alastor?"

It was barley more than a whisper. She took another step towards him, then yet another. Lifting her hand, she gently cupped it around his cheek. Instinctively, the Radio Demon leaned into the touch.

"It really is you... isn't it."

Alastor pulled Y/n into his arms, wrapping her in his frame and resting his chin on the top of her head. Y/n was frozen in shock for a moment before she returned the gesture, balling her fists in to the back of his coat.

"Wow. You guys really know each other." Charlie mumbled to herself, eyes wide.

The pair pulled apart, Alastor still holding Y/n's waist as Y/n held his coat. She looked up at him, disbelief etched into her features, her sentiments reflected back to her in Alastor's own face.

"I thought..." he mumbled, raising a hand and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, "I thought I'd never see you again."

Y/n laughed tearfully.

"Me too."

"Where have you been? What happened? What... what took you so long?"

"If I had known I was coming to you, I would have died way sooner. I lived, Al. That's what happened. I only just got here today."

"I know, I heard, but what... what kept you?"

Y/n heard the tremor in his voice, the fear. She looked up at him, eyes narrowed.

"Are you jealous?"

Alastor's eyes flicked to the side momentarily. One of his ears twitched. It might have been nearly ninety years since they had last seen one another, they might've looked completely different and had whole lives the other wasn't in, but it felt like they had just seen one another yesterday.

"Oh, you so are!" Y/n teased brightly.

"Y/n."

"Yeah, yeah. It's just dumb is all, especially now I know you've been here all along."

"So tell me."

Y/n had always loved his insistence. It was what kept Alastor to his code, kept him to her, kept him him. She smiled once again.

"Soooo..." Charlie stepped in, her hands behind her back, "Either of you want to explain?"

Both Alastor and Y/n at last turned to look at her. He was smiling again, Charlie noticed. Not the normal ear to ear grin, teeth bared, she was used to. Something smaller, something softer. They released one another, only for Alastor to immediately drape an arm over Y/n's shoulders. It almost seemed like each feared the other would vanish into thin air if they weren't physically touching. She reached a hand up, gently holding his hand where it hung off her shoulder, keeping him to her.

"Charlie, this is my darling, lovely wife."

Y/n shoved him playfully and he smiled down at her.

"You're married!?"

"Yes." Y/n nodded, "We are. Have been for what, like one hundred years now?"

"So what kept you?" Alastor asked again and Y/n sighed.

"You really aren't going to let this go, are you?"

He shook his head. Y/n slipped out from under Alastor's arm, taking both his hands in hers. Her fingers traced his knuckles, the lines of his bones beneath the surface of his skin. Her eyes watched their hands, she sighed.

"After... well, Al, you died burying a body. It was hard for people not to know. I..."

"You got caught? You went to jail?" Alastor interrupted, his smile having fallen once again.

Y/n laughed slightly under her breath.

"No, heart. I stopped my own work but, the whole world knew of yours. I thought that... it was so dumb! I thought that... if I was alive, then so was the real version of you in some way. Not the true crime, vandalized version, but the person I knew."

Alastor lifted her face to his, his hand lingering under her chin.

"You were always secretly quite the romantic, weren't you."

"Oh hush you."

"Make me."

Y/n cheeks suddenly flushed bright red.

"Okay!" Charlie interrupted, laughing nervously, "Okay, well, I'm happy for... this, um, Alastor! Why don't you show Y/n around?"

"With pleasure."

Alastor leaned down, kissing Y/n gently. Her hand was half raised to burry itself in his hair when he pulled away, smirking in response to Y/n's irritated glare. Linking arms with her, he began leading Y/n to the staircase.

"I must say, I rather like this new look of yours." he hummed placidly.

"You're not half bad yourself deer boy, if a little cocky."

"I was always cocky. That's what you liked about me."

"Wrong. It's only one of the things I love about you."

----

Next Part -> Cover Up pt. 3

[qierxing]

Head empty just yandere Heartslabyul as your imperial harem members

yan!poly!Heartslabyul x Reader

tw/cw: dub//con, gender-neutral reader but referred with masculine terms, drugging, manipulation, implied somnophilia, political machinations

—

you were raised with the expectation that you would shoulder the crown and rule over your people, justly and fairly. because of that, by the time you were crowned, your mindset compared to others your age was mature beyond what was considered normal.

you would be lying if you weren't bitter. Although you've long accepted that no one else could be trusted to rule this land and its people, you often wondered what your life would be like if there were no etiquette lessons and sword practices consuming your childhood.

In the end, it's all foolish dreams. You sit on your glittering golden throne and watch apathetically as the imperial court cheers and raises a toast to the new royal blood.

You were prepared for the responsibilities of a monarch, but what you weren't prepared for was your vassals' obnoxious nagging.

Your kingdom's tradition and laws have long allowed for polygamy, and your previous ancestors were known for their large harems. That day, you finally learned why: to ensure that royal blood would still be carried on, no matter what.

it's distasteful to you. you try to ignore your vassals all talking your ears off about potential consorts and lovers. but it's only so long before you crack.

Riddle Rosehearts was the first one to be by your side.

Not by choice. Duchess Rosehearts was the one who brought up her darling son to your vassals first, who then presented him to you. You would've turned them away, if not for the boy's eyes. Something in those stormy gray eyes makes your heart ache. His mother clutches her son's shoulder in a vice like grip that goes far beyond parental worry. Perhaps he too knows what it feels like to have no control over his life. 

And so reluctantly, you let him join you as a consort. 

It's not bad. Rather, he's so intelligent and diligent that you often ask him for help and advice on the kingdom's affairs, knowing that his strictness with himself and others provides a valuable impartial view that you can hardly find anywhere else. Besides, even if he is too stiff and formal at times, you appreciate his aid in paperwork that threatens to drown you.

in fact, he's so dedicated to carrying out his duty, that you find him nearly unrobed on your bed. Seven above, that nearly gave you heart palpitations. As attractive as he is, you have no intention of forcing the boy to give up his virginity against his will, even if he is married to you. 

you explain this to him as patiently as you can, even when his face scrunches up in hurt and confusion, asking if he wasn't enough–but you shut that down immediately. He is more than enough, and he isn't obligated to do anything he doesn't want to, even if his mother taught him otherwise. the revelation shakes his mind, causing his walls and views to crumble before him in the following days. you would like to think he became less stiff as he realized his true worth.

That is when an unexpected addition to your harem happened.

Actually, it was completely by accident. Your servants had often brought you various snacks and sweets during your work, as you were infamous for being extremely cranky without the motivation of good food. When Riddle, of all people, brings you a strawberry tart while you’re in the middle of some particularly grueling financial budget papers, it gives you pause.

It's not that you didn't trust him. It’s just…this is the boy who refused to eat more than the healthy amount of sugar. Even if you offered him various pastries and cookies, he always shunned them, saying it wouldn’t be right for him to consume them. 

So you spear a fork into the tart and bring it up to your mouth. When the bite meets your tongue, you swear your soul ascends to heaven. The taste is absolutely indescribable: the crust was flaky and light and the filling was sweet and creamy. This has got to be the best dessert you’ve ever tasted in your short life.

When you inquire Riddle about where he had gotten his hands on the tart, he shyly looks away from you and mumbles something under his breath. Not wanting to pressure him, you decide to let it go with a request to send your highest compliments to the patisserie. 

Since then, he is the one bringing you various treats, all unbelievably delicious tasting, each time you’re stuck among paperwork and meetings. You’re grateful, even if it does make you wonder who this mysterious patisserie is. You’re not particularly familiar with every kitchen staff member, but you would think that you would be aware of such talent residing in your walls. 

The truth finally comes to light when Riddle bursts into your office one day, in tears and hyperventilating, as he collapses in your arms. Alarmed, you quickly try to make sense of his babbling words. 

It turns out that the very patisserie wasn’t in your kitchens, as you thought. No, they were humble commoner folk who ran a modest bakery in the shopping district. Riddle had been secretly visiting the bakery whenever he had the time to buy their desserts and to visit his friend, the owner’s son. Problem is, his mother had found out and was furious that her son would debase himself and his reputation like that.

Trey Clover stands behind his parents with wide, frightened eyes as Duchess Rosehearts shrieks on about how she’ll shut down the establishment herself for daring to corrupt her son and so forth. It’s rather annoying that she would go this far in the name of parental love–thankfully she stops screaming once she catches sight of you. 

For once, you’re thankful for the absolute authority of imperial power. Duchess Rosehearts begrudgingly draws back when you block her attempt to defame the bakery. With a disappointed glare searing over the rest of you, she storms out of the bakery, door slamming shut behind her with a deafening crack.

You watch with mild interest as Riddle rushes forward and envelopes Trey in a tight hug that nearly knocks the tall man over. Despite the fact that Trey should be the one more distraught, he comforts Riddle with an ease that is almost suspiciously, dare you say, reminiscent of fondness. You look away before your thoughts dwell on it for too long.

Of course, it’s not all over. Trey’s parents kowtow at your feet with desperate gratitude, even if you beg them to stand up and raise their heads. As you glance over at Riddle in Trey’s arms, thoughts begin to arrange themselves into a proposal.

You and Riddle both know that Duchess Rosehearts would not stop here. Your presence was only a mere temporary hurdle in her plans to bring down Clover Patisserie, and there was no telling what she would do next. So, you propose something nearly unheard of to them.

Your vassals will throw an absolute fit if you openly sponsor their bakery and provide protection without something in exchange. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, but this is the only way that Trey and his family would be safe. 

Surprisingly, he accepts the proposal with grace, becoming the second consort of your harem that very day. 

He inquires if there’s anything he should be aware of for his duties, making you laugh raucously and Riddle blush to the roots of his strawberry hair. You wave him off, telling him he only needs to do the things he loves and to bring you more of those tarts that cured your stress during your work times. The smile he gives is radiant and you wonder how it is that Riddle managed to find someone who makes the sun pale in comparison.

The next day, Riddle tells you between paperwork that he gifted Trey his own kitchen to bake and cook, and you nod in approval. It’s too easy to tease him over his obvious favoritism toward the baker, and it only makes you want to bully him more when his face becomes tomato red.

The annual royal banquet comes up and it dawns on both you and Riddle that Trey will have to present himself to the feral noble masses who are itching to know who this new addition is. The three of you are thrown into a hurricane of preparations, not just for the banquet, but to prepare poor Trey, who has never attended such an elite event, for the troubles ahead.

It’s certainly not for naught, you think, as you rake your eyes over your consorts. Their beauty outshines everything, in your personal opinion. When you make the introductory speech, you’re well aware that the audience in front of you is not just dazzled by you, but rather the two handsome men dutifully hovering behind you.

You hope that Riddle is enough of a buffer when the nobles inevitably swarm them with excited and curious eyes. As much as you would like to help, you were stuck with your own battles of greeting various guests and entertaining those who were trying to butter you up.

The Diamond family catches your eye first. 

It wasn't something positive, per say. But it is quite hilarious as the Marquis introduces you to his family: his wife, his two elder daughters and his only heir and son–only to find the aforementioned son missing. He’s left stuttering in shame even if you don’t particularly mind. It would’ve just been another boring greeting, but at that moment, his eyes dilates in fear, and when you follow his gaze, you see why. 

Cater Diamond is currently flirting with Trey. And very openly, at that.

The sight should make you furious, and yet you nearly burst out laughing. How could there be anyone this daring? Surely the young man would know better than to try hitting on an imperial escort–if he was aware that is, of the man being one. 

You decide to be the merciful mediator, because Riddle is nearly about to blow a gasket by Trey’s side and Trey looks like he’s too flustered to appropriately reject the advances of the eldest Diamond son. 

“Lord Diamond, I do believe your father is looking for you.” His face is full of surprise at the image of you grinning at him in amusement when you gently break the awkward atmosphere. 

After he leaves in a hurry, your two consorts apologize profusely for letting the flirtations happen. You reassure them that it was fine, that whatever they liked to do was not meant to be dictated under your actions. However, their faces still remain guilty and dismayed, as though you had reprimanded them instead.

The encounter remains in your mind as an entertaining memory. So much so, that when your vassals pester you again on adding another member to your harem, your mind immediately goes to sparkling jade green eyes and vivid orange hair.

If anything it was on a whim. Of course, you consulted both Trey and Riddle before sending the invitation, and they both agreed, even if Riddle looked much grumpier than usual. You hardly believed that the proposal would be answered favorably; after all, you’ve learned from recent gossip that Cater Diamond was a rather well known playboy. You doubt that kind of man would enjoy being tied to an imperial harem, even if it was under your lax control.

Perhaps that is why it’s so surprising that when he finally is in front of you, he acquiesces to your proposal with no hesitation at all. You ask in disbelief if he was sure of his decision, and he affirms it with no distaste in his voice. He notes your incredulous face, giving a cheeky grin in response.

Apparently he's been wanting to separate himself from his family for a while. The reason for his scandalous affairs were only attempts at getting his family to send him away, but he never succeeded. He says that your proposition finally gave him the freedom to be away from his family. While you don't want to pry further, it confuses you on how the Diamond family managed to raise such an eccentric young man.

Regardless, he becomes the third member of your harem. There were some small tensions between him and Riddle, but thankfully they resolved rather quicker than you expected–it seems that although Cater acted rather laid back, he has skills in organization and networking that even Riddle had to begrudgingly acknowledge. Ask him on the most recent gossip on the nobles and he's sure to provide you a list alphabetized on the latest trends around the capitol. Besides, it seems him and Trey get along quite well—too well, in a way. You don’t think you’ve seen a pair more prone to exchanging sensual, fleeting touches. Well, that’s not your problem.

You pray that nothing more eventful comes up in the meantime. Trey could only supply you with so much cake and cookies before you simply keeled over from sugar intake.

It seems the Seven were not on your side.

The Knights' jousting tournament was something that slipped your mind. When it gets brought up on the agenda in a meeting you silently curse. In the racket of you ascending to the throne and tending to your harem, you had neglected a big aspect to your royal life.

Personal guards. Normally, you should've had personally assigned soldiers that would accompany you for protection, but you've kept putting it off since you were able to protect yourself just fine with your abilities. And hiring new people, for any reason, was always going to be a long chore of vetting, paperwork, and tests.

The worst part is that Riddle and Trey joined in on the nagging. Going on about how they worried for your safety as if you weren't already trained in self defense and swordplay since your childhood days. Cater just shrugs when you look at him desperately for help and winks while running off to who knows where. Traitor.

Whatever. The sooner you pick, the sooner they'll get off your back.

Somehow this year's tournament is rather disappointing. Your three consorts give commentary throughout the matches, but it cannot stop the boredom starting to overtake you. Trey discreetly offers you a cup of wine and you take it gratefully.

The announcer signals the start of a match, with Ace Trappola and Deuce Spade taking a stand against each other. You hear Riddle faintly murmuring to your side about how they look rather young to be in a tournament like this. But you're rather absorbed in their intense fight, to the point where Cater teases you, asking if your taste included younger men. you roll your eyes and tell him to be quiet.

The fight ends in a spine tingling draw. Both men have their swords knocked out of their hands, but they’re still glaring at each other with such raw passion, that it’s fascinating. You know you will hardly meet any others that could catch your attention.

The end of the tournament ends with the roar of the crowd shaking the colosseum and the boisterous victory announcement. The two of them weren’t finalists, but that matters little to you. The victor was impressive. But they weren’t what you wanted.

“Ace Trappola, at your service, your majesty.”

“Deuce Spade, at your command, your majesty!”

The two greet you with enthusiastic fervor that has you chuckling in amusement. They are just the breath of fresh air you need. 

“Starting from today, you two will be my personal guards.”

They’re left with gaping mouths at your bold statement. Your consorts, too, are sputtering at your side. Riddle is already trying to convince you to reconsider. Trey is gently trying to ask if you’re really sure about this. Even Cater, for all his light-hearted banter, chokes an incredulous scoff, covering his mouth with a fist.

Yes, there’s always the threat of treason, and they might be slackers, but if you were going to have to employ someone, you’d rather it be someone entertaining. 

Regardless, the two are knighted and become your guards in record time. 

For several days, a persistent headache haunts you with how much Ace loved riling up Riddle for no reason, or Deuce somehow managing to blunder his way into destroying several pieces of priceless antique furniture. It takes only two days for Riddle to kneel at your side, begging you to please just switch guards, these two were ridiculously incompetent and not worthy to serve under you, but you only pat his head and send him off back to his chambers to rest. 

Trey and Cater were arguably more agreeable, but you don’t miss their tired looks whenever they had to clean up after Ace pissing off a passing noble or Deuce somehow causing a fire when tripping over an iron poker. It makes you feel guilty, of course, but you still cling on. Call it stubbornness but you didn’t want to let go of the two. It was selfish, you know, and monarchs could never afford to be selfish, but was it so wrong for you to indulge in the only pair who seemed to disregard your status?

The answer came one hot summer evening, when you’re on your balcony trying to unwind. Tonight was the usual designated night to share a bed with your consorts, but you deigned to postpone it since you weren’t in the mood nor did you want to force the other three to deal with your sour attitude. It’s halfway through your third glass of wine that you were a rustle, then after starting your fourth, you hear footsteps, to which you turn and just narrowly miss a dagger aiming for your heart. The blade instead rips a gash through your left shoulder, causing you to grunt in pain, alcohol thankfully dulling most of the throbbing sensations. Unfortunately, your mind is hardly clear enough to have a steady stance to fight back properly, let alone see the assassin’s face. 

You can’t believe you were going to die pathetically like this. If this was going to happen anyway, you should’ve at least finished your glass of wine—

Shouts, then sounds of clanging steel, and a blur rushed into your sight, tackling the hooded assassin and knocking him down. Deuce’s familiar blue hair registers in your blurry vision, holding down the assassin, while Ace’s flaming hair and eyes come closer in view, shouting something that keeps fizzling out to nothing. Your world tilts to its side suddenly, a loud buzzing in your ears, and everything goes black.

When you come to, you find Riddle with swollen, tear-crusted eyes hugging your bedsheets, while Trey exhaustedly sits behind him next to a wash basin and several empty vials. Cater was out cold on the chaise beside him, several papers littering his body. It seems that the assassin was quite thorough, as they made sure that if their sharp blade didn’t manage to end your life, then the quick acting poison laced upon the steel would. Ironically, according to the herbalist and doctor, because you drank a whole wine bottle, the alcohol managed to slow it down somehow just long enough for you to get treatment. A miracle, indeed.

For once, the room is no longer filled with tension with all five of the men together, but a genuine sense of relief. You give the two of your knights soft smiles and a sincere thank you which makes their faces flush like a ripe strawberry. Your escorts don’t protest, mirroring the same gratefulness in their faces. 

Something changes after that night. 

Of course, you’re extremely glad that Riddle is no longer blowing his top off after Ace goads him about being a stick in the mud, but since when did Ace get into pet names with Riddle? Rosebud? The nickname makes you gag internally at how corny it is. Not to mention that Riddle…doesn’t mind being called that?! You watch in disbelief as he preens at the compliment from your knight, trying not to give away your incredulousness. 

Okay…whatever, at least they’re getting along? 

Deuce shows up with your slice of cake with a beaming glow that has you taken aback as you accept the offering. Ace mutters about how Trey must’ve spoiled him again behind you and it takes everything inside you to not spit out your cake mid-bite. Again? Trey was kind, you’ll give him that, and he did tend to baby Riddle and you but—

On second thought, perhaps this wasn’t out of left field.

Cater titters knowingly when you slump in bonelessly into the lounge next to him trying on new earrings and bangles. 

“And what ails my dearly beloved king?” You choke on your spit before glaring at him. He giggles, dangly silver drops chiming in tune with the laughter. 

“Not you too…” It felt like the whole day you felt like you were background to some of the most insufferable flirting, and with your escorts and knights, no less. You raise an eyebrow at the shiny, glittering jewelry scattered on the vanity in front of the man. All imperial escorts did have an allowance, but you don’t remember Cater buying anything like this nor gifting him such things. When you inquire about it, Cater gives you a smirk and a wink.

”Rido and the younger ones have been quite sweet lately.” The sentence makes you nearly fall off the lounge. He chortles and blows you a mock kiss with no shame as you sear him with another heated glare. 

The way they started interacting starts making you feel self-conscious and…embarrassingly enough, left out. Which is such a foolish thought. Of course, who would in their right mind love the person who tied their lives to them, romantically and sexually? And even though they were in such a situation, the fact they all loved each other was a blessing, wasn’t it? How many history lessons did you have where the monarch’s harem wasn’t full of in-fighting? That meant more prosperity and stability political wise, and there wouldn’t be any trouble between you…

Yet, your heart clenches at the thought of Trey’s smile directed at Cater, of Riddle gently caressing Deuce’s head, and Ace slinging an arm around Deuce…none of that affection could ever be for you. 

And it’s best that way. Your father’s voice echoes distantly in your mind. You watched him solemnly on his deathbed as he implored you to not make the same mistakes he did, before his breathing stilled, and his hand lay limp in yours.

Yes, perhaps it was better this way. 

Still, your thoughts are still wandering that you barely jolt back to present to a cabinet meeting looking expectantly at you. 

“Pardon, could you repeat that?”

Riddle watches in worry as a dark shadow crosses your face as the demand for your harem to grow is conveyed. He coughs, causing the members to turn to him instead.

”If that’s the case,” he states with no hesitation, “then I might have some candidates in mind.”

You turn to him with the same expression as the other cabinet members. It drops to shock at Riddle’s suggestion.

As much as you wanted to oppose it, there wasn’t really a good reason to. You sat with your arms crossed as Riddle explained the proposal to your very two personal knights. Ace and Deuce exchange looks, and something between them is communicated before they turn to you and accept, despite your hope they wouldn’t.

And so, your harem became five.

You put your foot down after that. It was already enough to have your heart cracked into pieces with the knowledge you could never have their love. You don’t think it could handle another.

So you tuck your heart away as you smile with them over dinner, bantering over whether flamingos can play croquet or dancing with them at various balls, heart racing as the chandelier lit their face with a warmth you’ve never seen before. If it means you won’t get hurt or distracted, then that’s all you could ask for.

One fateful day, a letter out of numerous piles is hand delivered by Cater and changes your entire world.

It’s sealed with the crest of the fairest queen in the seven realms, meaning only one person could have sent this—Vil Schoenheit. Inside the elegant letter details a marriage proposal that listed all the benefits of taking him as a spouse. With all the pros listed out so cleanly, it was clear that the queen already knew that you couldn’t reject it so quickly.

But you must dissolve your harem. I do not take kindly to those who are not loyal to me and me only.

Something in your heart cracks at reading the condition. You should feel elated, somewhat, that you no longer had to drag around escorts for formality. And for the others, it meant being freed from a duty they were all forced into. But tears threaten to bubble over your eyelashes, and when Riddle asks you if you’re alright, one manages to overflow and trail down your cheek like a traitorous banner. 

You don’t want to let them go.

Trey asks for the nth time if you’re sure you don’t want him to be with you or if you want some tea before you shoo him away. Ace and Deuce were meant to guard your chambers, but you wave them off too, saying you’ll find stand-ins for their places. Riddle and Cater were harder to shake off, but even they, too, were finally shut out when you closed your bedroom doors in their worried faces.

In the end, like a coward, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell them what that letter was, despite them asking nonstop about it. You’re not sure what to tell them either—that they were being discarded of their positions, no longer needed, but it wasn’t out of maliciousness—oh, who would even believe you?

When Vil graces your halls, the looks your escorts give you is enough to fill you with burning hot shame. 

Cater doesn’t have his usual mischievous smile when he greets the queen, his emerald eyes sharpening to pin pricks whenever Vil speaks. You should’ve scolded him, reigned him back, but the guilt eating away at you made you hesitate. It didn’t help that Riddle, for all his perfect etiquette, suddenly seemed to forget what formalities and niceties were around the queen. The regal queen gives you a strange look as Trey sets down a plate of pastries a little too hard in front of him. Your gaze darts away as you sip the tea in front of you nervously, flanked by Ace and Deuce, their scowling faces too apparent.

They’re not dumb. Royals don’t visit other realms willy-nilly often. And it’s clear what Vil is here for.

The next day leaves you lethargic and sluggish, but you try to pull through, if only for appearances. While you stroll through the gardens with Vil, you try to avoid the burning stares of your guards behind you, no doubt dissecting each and every bit of your conversation with the queen. They pull you away as soon as the clock hits the afternoon hour, stating you had duties to attend to and so on and so forth. You excuse yourself and hope you don’t look like a mess to Vil, whose appearance is still immaculate despite the heavy winds and hot sun.

You try to focus on the stack of papers in front of you, despite the edges of your vision blurring and your head spinning. Taking the last sip of what remained of your tea, you squint uselessly at the words as Riddle murmurs something to your right about dinner and farewell banquets. The last thing you remember is the smell of chamomile and poppy flowers and the last document regarding international treaties. 

By the time you wake up from your ill-timed nap, it was midnight and it had been decided that you were too unwell to properly receive the fairest queen, and thus Vil would be sent back, to come back another time. Cater explains with a tight smile while Riddle nods along. Behind them, Trey pours another cup of warm milk and offers it to you with a sympathetic smile. You take it, despite the guilt threatening to swallow you alive. 

The days following are a haze of routines that you thought you once knew but couldn’t process. Nothing had changed, right? It seemed like you couldn’t recall what Trey made for you for yesterday’s tea, nor whenever Cater asked you for an opinion on his outfit. Before, you remembered the guards’ shifts to the letter, and yet, you completely forgot when Ace took over to guard you. Riddle smiles at you like usual, helping you with paperwork as usual, and yet…why couldn’t you remember what you had signed yourself?

Some nights you wake up to Trey or Cater, running their hands over you, despite the fact that they weren’t there before when you went to bed. Sometimes, it would be Ace and Deuce, bickering in hushed whispers before they shut up seeing you awake. And every time morning came and soreness set in your body, Riddle would greet your groggy face warmly, wiping away sweat and a strange stickiness that clung to your skin. 

The thought of marriage is erased from your mind, and slowly, but surely, you can’t remember why you thought of breaking apart the men who treated you so fondly. 

Perhaps you should have heeded the tales of those who ended up being puppet kings.

[wizardrousactivity]

The Rat, Dead Dog. 

The Rat, Dead Dog. 

“I’ve told you, it’s not me-” — You were trained to never fall under pressure, your pleas falling under his deaf ears. Another cut to your calf when he doesn’t hear you forthwith giving up the information, it doesn’t matter how desperate you sound, nobody is here to save you anymore. They can’t trust you anymore. 

He’s trying to convince himself he doesn’t feel bad, that he’s only doing his friends a favor. Getting rid of you for good - dispensing with the waste of the world, which unfortunately had to be you, didn’t it? The only person that he thought he could trust, you bewitched him. The mask had slipped off because of you, the imperfections were perfected because of you. Now it’s only a cold shoulder - if he’d even give you that. “Give us the fucking information,” The use of your moniker is the way he’d gain your sultry glare. 

You’ve been beaten and battered for days by Simon, and it still feels like months the longer his torture traverses. The metal of the chair you sit on starting to turn red with gore. You fear to lose yourself, if not for the keen rage that fumes, revenge written on its blemishes. “I don’t have the information you want.” You never thought you’d be in such a position with him, a foolish hound falling victim to your framing.  

It’s surprising you weren’t immediately cut off with another lash, the gash he’s continuously spread starting to reach your bone, you dread the stinging of your flesh, held back by a grunted-sob.  For only a second you see his gaze soften with emotion he lacked, like he truly wanted to believe you, and by-god did he wish to - in the event that the threads didn’t lead to you. He swallows. 

There’s too much evidence against you, and his team. His own pathetic feelings aren’t worth the risk of keeping you around, he doesn't think he could handle having you captive with them for long, holding a rat that was dressed up with a story just to use them, use him after everything that happened. The sight would haunt him if you weren’t gone, the weight of his loved one turning out to be a spy, living in a room on base.

The depravity of reality sets on him now, painfully dawning on him. 

He needs to dispose you. For everybody’s sake. 

His hand white-knuckles around the knife, your chest tightens while the behemoth starts to stand to his full stature - an unpredictable mongrel you can only imagine what is coming next, his dilating pupils trembling as he looks at you with terror. The task of your murder would save his mates, and eat him from the inside once he was finished. If there is no information you have to spout - you are better useful dead to them, they could get it themselves. “Simon..” There's no response from him. You are not needed anymore. Don’t make it painful. 

Yet you’re saved by the bell, his head turning as the call from the mohawk is made. Shouting for his arrival with urgency. You only look to the floor as footsteps echo, signifying his leave for the day. "Fuck you."

The gashes in your legs have pooled themselves and made home around your feet, cold air running along the insides of your flesh, and you shudder against your constraints - the feeling is enough to make you nauseous with the sensory you experience. There’s nothing for you to throw up anyway, if there was, it would be your intestines. 

Your heart cinches, as you sit there with the thought of having to live with the fact you’ve been framed, then to die known as the rat in 141, that’s all you’ll ever be now. You’re just another damaged dog, you’ve joined their cult of forever deprecating. Their muffled banter plays beside your ear as you weep.

You’ve accepted that your funeral won’t be made, that nobody will ever honor your death or mourn during it.

[yuki-world]

那维莱特 | NEUVILLETTE ; LEARN

summary | neuvillette finally shows you what an orgasm feels like with his tongue, too bad you want it with something else of his.

tags | nsfw (smut), fem!reader, slight corruption, loss of virginity, cunnilingus, vaginal penetration, semi-public sex, creampie, 3.3k words

a/n : pt 1 here --> teach, but can be read on its own! a gift for those who requested a part 2 hehe

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“i thought you said we weren’t going to bring this up again, neuvillette?”

well… he wasn’t. but he reasons with himself that it's quite unfair if he doesn’t reward you for the deed you’ve done. after all, the chief of justice should be ensuring fairness. it’s only equal if you get something in return. besides, you asked him to help you experience what an orgasm felt like, and he did agree.

but he really shouldn’t. that blowjob was a one-time thing, he made it clear. he didn’t want to corrupt you too much. can’t have you being too addicted to him and his cock, can you? but… then again. if he’s already indulged in your curiosity the first time, surely a second time wouldn’t hurt? only to help you learn, of course. its not everyday that he gets a chance to experience any sexual activities considering how busy he was. its not like he found anyone to do this with; until you came along. but he hasn’t even courted you, its so backwards. what happened to tradition?

“i believe it’s only fair that i respond to your interests in… learning about orgasms,” neuvillette responds, pulling off his gloves. “furthermore, you waited the whole night for me. it's wrong of me if i let you leave empty-handed, no?”

it's true; you stayed up all night just to visit him in his office once he finished his work. he’s been so busy nowadays, it's only at night when he truly has any free time at all. you feel a bit bad for intruding into his free time, but you barely had the chance to talk to him this whole week. little do you know, he doesn’t mind a single bit. not when its you. truthfully, he misses your consistent pestering too. he’s been drowning in so much work, he just couldn’t find the time.

you giggle at the seriousness of his tone. you didn’t necessarily visit him to ask for any sexual favours. he was the one who brought it up when you stepped into his office at 1am. well, maybe, just maybe, he was looking forward to it.

“so you’re gonna give me a mind-blowing orgasmー is what you’re saying,” you teased, and he chuckled.

“more than mind-blowing, y/n,” he corrects, making his way over to the sofa. “so much so that you’ll never forget your first. you have my word.”

seeing him so bound on making you feel good was attractive, to say the least. its the way that he kneels down, fingers free of his glove gently stroking your thighs, that has you drooling. it's insane how much his touches affect you, you’re sure he noticesー notices the way your legs part for him immediately. he didn’t even have to ask. he plants a kiss along your inner thighs, pushing them nearer to your chest. he doesn’t bite or suck; he’s just so gentle.

you squeak as he hikes your skirt up, face flushing red the moment his eyes focus on your covered cunt. “is… is this really okay, neuvillette?” you ask meekly. it's embarrassing how wet you got from him just kissing your thighs.

“foolish question,” he replies. while he understands it's your first time showing yourself to anyone, there’s no need to be embarrassedー not in front of him. he slides your underwear off, your glistening pussy on display. all for him to see, and taste. his thumb slides up your folds, collecting some of your stickiness. he has to have you.

you let out a gasp as his tongue settles onto your pussy for the first time, the warm muscle making you clamp your thighs around his head instantly. fuck, what was this feeling? he barely even made any movements, but you already feel like you’re on cloud 9. he flicks his tongue against your cunt, lapping up all the juices.

he sucks on your clit occasionally, making your whole body twist in pleasure. your thighs were clamped so tight around him, you thought you were suffocating himー not that he minded. “fuuuck, neuvillette,” you whined as he sucked particularly hard. his tongue experimentally dips into your hole, and you throw your head back. you felt tight even on his tongue; the confirmation that no one else has fucked your little hole just made his cock twitch.

neuvillette tongue-fucks you through the entire session, spreading your lips apart to get a better taste of you. he couldn’t stop himself; you tasted amazing. no other taste could satisfy him after this, he’ll need to eat you out everyday to feel fulfilled. “you taste absolutely divine,” he breaks away for a few seconds, before diving back in to taste your cunt once again.

he was addicted. you couldn’t help but feel something approaching, almost like you needed to pee. “waitー ahhー i feel weird,” you tell him, but he continues eating you out. he knew how close you were, and he wants to edge you so bad. just to tease you a littleー take the orgasm right out of your hands. but he won’t, not this timeー not your first time. he’ll let you enjoy every single moment of it. you deserve it after all.

“neuviー please, waitー fuck!” your legs shook as you reached your high, clenching onto his tongue and juices gushed out of you like a waterfall. your breaths quicken as he continues his movements, cleaning up every last bit of your cum. you taste so sweet, he would never get tired of it. in fact, he’s already planning to invite you to his office tomorrow; just so he can savor you once more. and maybe the day after. and after.

he finally pulls away, lips and chin glossy from your wetness. you take in the sight in front of you, and you blush. “so that’s what an orgasm feels like…” you trail off, and he wipes your juices off his face with the back of his hand.

“it felt good, yes?” he questions, standing up.

the erection in his pants was so obvious. you saw the outline of his cockー it looked like it was going to burst out of his pants from how hard he was. you blinked a couple of times as he handed you back your underwear. you were a little dizzy from how powerful that orgasm was, you don’t even notice him giving it to you. all you could focus on was how turned on you were from him getting hard from eating you out. your hole clenches around nothing, as you chewed on your lip. perhaps… you needed something inside of you.

“are you alright, y/n? you seem a bitー”

“can we…”

what?

oh, oh no. he knows what you’re going to say; he knows exactly what you’re going to ask for. thoughts are racing through his mind because he’s been thinking about this ever since the day you gave him a blowjob. he can’t allow himself to take your virginity, not here, not now. you’re barely ready to take anything inside of you, much less his cock. do you even know how big he is? oh, of course you didー so why are you asking this of him? he might tear you apart with that fat cock of his, and he definitely does not want to hurt you. and defiling you in his office? no, he’ll do it on his bed where you’re comfortable.

“…can we have sex?”

his eyes widened, thoughts doing a 180-degree flip when he hears those words come out of your mouth. it feels more surreal when you actually say it, when you actually ask him. he might’ve expected it, but that tone you asked it in was definitely… something. you asked so sweetly, it would be a crime to say no to you. someone as powerful as him, being so weak for you was something he’d never imagine would happen.

maybe he should really start thinking with his head instead of his dick; he’s so hard. he’d be a fool to not take your offer. to feel your cunt squeeze around him the moment his tip prods at your entrance, you’d probably whine and cry out from how big he was, nails clawing his back exactly the way he likes it. fuck, how tight you’d feel as he slowly inserts more of himself into you. would you even be able to take his entire length? it doesn’t matterー he’ll stretch you till you’re able to, till you can handle all of him.

but he knows better than to give into his desires so easily… right?

“i…” neuvillette is at a loss for words. he’s already too far in, its best that he stops at eating you out. but his dick is twitching in his pants, and your hands are reaching towards his beltー

“y/n,” he calls out, and you stop. “maybe… maybe not this time.” heavy emphasis on the word ‘maybe’, because any little thing you do might just change his mindー he’s that weak.

“why?” you pout, disappointment written on your face. your hand retracts, and he looks away. “you don’t want to fuck me?”

god, you… you and your vulgar words. so bluntly said as if you weren’t just embarrassed a while ago. you really think that he doesn’t want to fuck your brains out? “it's not that, love. it's just…”

“i can take it, if that’s what you’re worried about,” you smile, and he swore his heart started beating a little faster. it's silent, and you try again, hands reaching for his pants.

he doesn’t stop you this time.

your hands are already halfway through with unbuckling his belt, and you plead once more for any confirmation from him. “please, neuvillette? take my first?”

“fuck, alrightー okay,” he says breathlessly, his hands moving yours away as he unbuckles his own belt. he couldn’t take it, not when you were begging so nicely. it just shows again how hard it was to say no to you. he might give you everything you’ve ever wanted if you just asked.

“but you have to promise me,” neuvillette starts, unbuttoning and pulling off his clothes. “if i make you feel any discomfort, please voice itー”

his sentence gets cut short as you pull him down for a kiss. sometimes he just talks too much, you think. it was sloppy, tongues intertwining as he pushed you onto the sofa, crawling on top of you.

he breaks away from the kiss, hands hastily taking off your top. he pulls down your bra as he gets a glimpse of your bare tits. kisses work their way down your neck and onto your nipples, sucking and fondling each tit. you let out a moan when his hands slide down to your hips, pulling your skirt off.

“you are the most beautiful woman i’ve ever laid my eyes on,” he compliments, giving you a kiss on the forehead. your cheeks heat up. “really?”

“you think i, the chief of justice, would lie to you?” he asks, and you roll your eyes. he frees his cock from the constraint of his pants, and he presents himself, hard and erect all for you. he lets your hand roam around his body, finally landing on his cock. you give it a few experimental strokes, making him sigh. small drops of pre-cum leak out from the tip.

no matter how intimidated you were by his size, you were determined to take it. no way were you leaving tonight without your virginity taken.

he spreads your legs apart, sticking two fingers into your mouth. “suck,” he instructs, and you do. your tongue licks around his fingers, coating them fully with your saliva before he takes them out. one finger is inserted into you with no resistance, and he tries with a second one.

you moan at the pleasure as he pumps his digits into you, your wetness making it so easy to slide in and out. were you that turned on? it felt weird at first, but you got used to it quickly. it didn’t hurt or anything, but you definitely felt him stretching you out. he feels how tight you are, clenching around his fingers like you didn’t want him to take it out. but you did want something moreー this didn’t fill you up enough. “how do you feel, y/n?”

you hummed in response. “mm, it's not enough. i want something bigger,” you respond, and he takes his fingers out. he pops them into his mouth, tasting your sweetness once more. “i’ll give it to you. i’ll give you everythingー anything.”

he swallows as he lines his cock up with your entrance, seeing how big he was compared to your pussy. fuck, he might really tear you open. he spreads your pussy open with two fingers, his cock rubbing against your folds. “are you ready? take a deep breath for me.”

you heed his advice, nodding as you inhaled. he rubs his cock-head against your entrance a few more times, before he finally pushes the tip in.

you moan immediately, feeling the stretch of his cock. oh, he was big alright. it was only the tip, but you felt like he was going to split you in half. “so… mmhー big…”

its taking everything in him to not cum right now.

his head was spinning, it felt like he was in another world. he really just took your virginity, he really just deflowered you. did he even deserve this opportunity, to be your first? decades of not fucking anyone really heightened every feeling. you were so tight, he could barely move. you clenching around his fingers prior was nothing compared to this. his fingers on your waist grip harder, and he has to stop himself from even attempting to push his cock in any further or else he might really spill his load inside you.

“neuvillette? iー i said you can move,” you repeat. he must’ve not heard you. after all, his mind went blank the moment he pushed his tip inside of you.

“just a moment,” he clears his throat, panting as he dips his head into your neck. so this was what he has been missing out on? he might become addicted, and it's just the tip that's in you.

“you feel so good, fuck, i…” he mutters into your neck, slowly pushing more of his inches inside of you. you whine, hands wrapping around his neck. you have no idea how bad he wants to slam his entire length into you right now, but he stops himself. you felt so full, so fucked out, you could barely form a sentence. his cock was already hitting your cervix, but it still wasn’t all the way in.

“how are you feeling? tell me,” he demands, and you struggle to let out any words. “goodー great, i don’t know, please,” you mindlessly babble. you don’t even know what you’re saying ‘please’ to.

neuvillette starts painfully slow, dragging his cock in and out of you to let you get used to the feeling. the stretch was amazingー you didn’t know having a cock inside of you felt this good. it stung a little, but nothing too painful that you couldn’t handle.

he eventually picks up the pace, going faster once he sees that you’re starting to ease up. “want it faster?” he asks, and you nod eagerly. you could take it, and you wanted to feel all of him.

he throws both your legs over his shoulders, pressing them against your chest as he drills his cock into your tight cunt. the feeling of you clenching around him each time he thrusts into you has him feeling drunk. he fucks you so hard, yet so gentle at the same time; it doesn’t seem possible, but somehow it is.

your nails dig into his arms as he continuously pounds his cock into your hole. you’re ruined, and he likes it that way. the face you’re making right now has him groaning out. he doesn’t care that he’s in the officeー doesn’t care if anyone walks by and hears both of you moaning. you feel so fucking good around his cock, none of that mattered.

“y/n, you’re so tight,” he hisses, your pussy clamping onto him like a vice grip. he leans down to kiss you again, fucking into you harder.

you moan into the kiss, hands pulling at his hair when his cock hits a particularly pleasurable spot. he can’t lie, pulling on his hair makes his balls tighten. “so good…” you drool, and he smiles.

you couldn’t think about anything else but the way neuvillette’s cock was slamming into you so roughly. you could barely respond. it's like he was craving for this, like he was depriving himself all this time just for this moment. you felt your orgasm coming much faster than the first time.

“i’m gonna cumー neuvillette, ahh,” you moan, and his hands immediately reach down to rub at your clit. “yeah? enjoying yourself that much?” he teases, and you whine in response, and he pounds into you harder. you’re so close, so close…

“fuck!” you almost screamed out as your orgasm hit you. you see nothing but stars as your pussy clenches on his cock impossibly tighter than before, your eyes rolling back from the amount of pleasure that just washed over you.

“ohー fuck, y/n, this is…” his hip stutters at the sensation, warmth and wetness drenching his cock. you pant as he continues fucking into you, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm. he was chasing his own high too.

he needs to cum inside you, he won’t settle for anywhere else. he wants to see you squirm as his warm cum fills your insides. he wants to see that white ring of cum form around the base of his cock, watch it all leak out after as he struggles to stuff it back into you.

“let me cum inside of you, please, y/n,” he begs, and who were you to say no? the iudex of fontaine begging you? you’ll gladly allow him. you were planning on letting him even if he didn’t ask. “do it, i’m all yours, neuvillette.”

hearing those words were his final straw. “take it, fuckー take it all, oh,” he halts with one last thrust, dumping his load into you. white, milky cum fill your insides, warmth spreading throughout your lower half as you moan at the feeling. it almost felt comforting.

he continues depositing his cum inside your cunt, panting. he didn’t think he would cum this much, was he really that deprived of pleasure? he sees his cum leak from your cunt even though you’re stuffed full of him.

“my love,”  he calls, caressing your cheek, and a peck to your forehead. you shy away. “you.. you really need to stop calling me that.”

he raises his eyebrows. did you not like that? but he’s been calling you that all this time…

“before i ask whyー are you alright? i didn’t hurt you, did i?” he asks, concerned. you giggle, he’s always so caring. as expected of neuvillette.

“yes, i’m fineー great even,” you smile, and his expression softens at the assurance. “good.”

“just that… should you really be calling me that? i mean, i don’t hate it, if anything its the opposite, but,” you clear your throat. “we’re not even… together. unless its just, a one time thingー or something like that.”

“i understand,” he says, and you make eye contact with him. he looks gorgeous, covered in sweat but absolutely glowing. ah, focus. “my apologies for confusing you, but i do have intentions of courting you.”

oh?

“you do?” you ask, and he can’t help but laugh. “are you saying you haven’t seen the way i look at you, y/n? and whatever we’re doing now is… i wouldn’t do this with someone i didn’t have feelings for.”

you hum. “i mean, you haven’t exactly made a move, unless you consider this one?”

“well, this is slightly backwards, but tell you what,” he starts, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “come home with me, and i’ll plan something for the both of us in the morning,” he whispers into your ear like it's a secret. “how does that sound?”

“i… think that sounds lovely.”

ー @yuki-world

taglist: @lavenderslemonade

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Fandom

Alan Moore: [appearing in a clap of thunder] BEHOLD! King: the arch magus! Barker: the arch magus! Poe: the arch magus! Lovecraft: the arch magus! Koontz: the grand nagus! Poe: no dean Poe: that's not right Poe: that's star trek Moore: and that is exactly what i came to talk to you all about today

Moore: i have come down from the mountain to share the wisdom imparted to me by the cosmos King: guys! the arch magus is going to share some wisdom! King: everyone be quiet, we gotta hear this! Moore: fandom Moore: is crap King: King: oh well i don't care much for that wisdom at all

Moore: your fannish obsessions have blinded you to the truth! Moore: fandom is bad Diane Duane: even star trek? Moore: even star trek! Chuck Wendig: even star wars? Moore: even star wars! Lafcadio Hearn: even anime? Moore: ESPECIALLY anime!

Moore: fools! can you not see how your fannish obsessions choke art & culture? Moore: it will make it so that you throw a halloween party & play an anime theme song playlist bc you believe halloween songs don't exist! King: that seems like an awful specific complaint King: did that happen to you?

Moore: fandom makes you obsessed with cataloging and blinds you to the truths of this world! Moore: so that you feel no shame when you write really really stupid letters asking 'could dr manhattan beat up the flash?' King: now that you bring that up that's a really good question Moore: NO ITS NOT!!!

King: so could dr manhattan beat up the flash? Poe: he could but he'd have to catch him first Lovecraft: yeah but dr manhattan exists in all realities so it would be really easy for him to catch the flash King: UNLESS King: we're in one of the realities where he FAILS to catch the flash Moore: UGH

Moore: first of all, foolish mortals! Moore: THERE IS NO REALITY IN THE MULTIVERSE IN WHICH DR MANHATTAN WOULD FAIL TO CATCH THE FLASH!! Moore: SO SPEAKETH THE ARCH MAGUS! King: the arch magus! Poe: the arch magus! Lovecraft: the arch magus! Barker: the arch magus! Koontz: the grand nagus!

Moore: and secondly your obsession has blinded you to the real questions of our times Moore: why ask foolish questions about superheroes Moore: when you could be asking the deep questions of life? Moore: like what if dorothy gale fucked the wizard of oz? Moore: and also the wizard was a very old man

Moore: i mean like really old Moore: since a man hits is sexual peak around, oh, 85-100 Moore: you might not like it but that's just science Moore: so speaketh the arch magus! [vanishes in clap of thunder]

[inklore]

code breaker

premise: there’s always been something there, between the two of you. unspoken and filling in the cracks of those moments where joel is helping you out of a tough situation and your offering up a thank you and sweet smile. if only it didn’t take bloody knuckles and some band-aids to finally crack the code of that something.

pairing: joel miller x (f)reader

word count: 6.2k

warnings: eighteen+ content, unprotected p in v, smut with feelings really, fem receiving oral, friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, mentions of violence and blood, alcohol mention, toxic exes and relationships discussed, dirty talk, biting and love marks mention, lots of banter, au (preoutbreak).

note: i meant for this to be darker but it turned out wayyy more fluffy and i’m actually really happy about it. i hella edited this but it still feels choppy so if it is i’m sorry ya girl has bad eyes lmao. gif made by me so don’t be an ass and steal it tysm <3

There’s words you should be saying right now. Expressing. Spilling from your mouth in a heap of thank you, I appreciate you, what would I do without you always being there for me…

But they just can’t seem to come out. The speech part of your brain—and your heart—aching and prompting you to speak. To show courtesy, your vocal cords refuse to let you get out. Like your mouth has forgotten its purpose, your throat hoarse from screaming Joel’s name in the chaos of thrown fists, people shouting, men trying and failing to haul Joel’s weight off of the bloodied body below it.

The blood on his knuckles pulls your eyes in like a neon sign: caked, dark, and drying the longer the air gets to it. If it hurts Joel doesn’t state it—show it as he grips the steering wheel. You’ve never thrown a punch before, have never seen something like this up close and personal. You excelled at resolving conflicts before they arose. Never let arguments get past the phase of unfair yelling. But you would assume his knuckles must be aching, even if only a dull pounding.

You know for certain your ex's face is.

Good. 

You hadn’t expected him to show up at the bar, your job. Hadn’t expected him to start in on the possessive act—coincidently the local patrons were less than surprised at the all-too-cliché behavior. The town having labeled him as bad news ages ago. Something you had to learn the hard way, when you finally took off those rose colored glasses. 

Joel had been staring at you for the duration of the exchange. Even after your ex left to hang out with a group of his buddies in the corner, his gaze lingered on you.

"You alright?" He asked as he slid his glass towards you, his forearm leaning against the bar. A wordless nod letting you know he wanted another. 

"Yeah, he’s not the first creep I've had to deal with. It's in our DNA as women to deal with the lesser species of the male population."

"Can’t tell if that makes me feel better or worse as a father."

"Oh," you send him a sweet smile. Setting his refilled whiskey in front of him, "no creep dare mess with Sarah. I’ve seen her make jocks cry."

"That’s my girl, taught her well." The grin he wraps around the rim of the glass makes something girlish—and foolish—spark in your stomach. 

Maybe if you had a man like Joel in your life, you would be less likely to keep making the same mistakes with no-good assholes who are good for a week and bad for the rest of the 358 days. 

A girl can dream. 

And she has. Embarrassingly. 

The two of you had continued to talk, your hip pressed against the bar as you cleaned a glass; perhaps you had been smiling and laughing too hard at what Joel was saying because your ex was back and grabbing you from across the bar in an instant.

An action that quickly landed him passed out and bloodied on the bar floor, and your boss trying to make sure Joel hadn’t taught him too good of a lesson to have him see God. 

And while the adrenaline of shock had been bruising your heart against your rib cage, your lungs devoid of air—when Joel had put his non-bloody hand against your arm, calling your name (the white noise of the commotion in the bar creating an impenetrable barrier to your ear drums), a warm thumb under your chin pulling your attention away from the limp body on the floor and up into his eyes—that adrenaline melted and turned into serendipity. 

Gratefulness. 

Those girlish sparks turning into an entire flame that quickly engulfed you as he asked if you were okay. As he comforted you with a barely there touch on your arm and chin, concern in his dark eyes. Concern for what? Frightening you? 

When your gaze is drawn to his knuckles, his body language responds with a grimace. When you see the gashes only bone against bone brings. 

He’s worried he’s upset you. As if he's done something wrong.

When he insists on driving you home you don’t argue. Wouldn’t dream of it even if the circumstances were different. It wouldn't be the first time he drove you home because your beat-up car wouldn't start or because the weather was bad and your anxiety was high.

That’s the thing about Joel. 

He was always there. 

If you needed help, he always seemed to find time. 

Because of this, and the aforementioned beating your toxic ex to a pulp, you shouldn't be allowing the silence to spread between the two of you like strangers. Like something in the air was making everything awkward, like you hadn’t sat in his truck a dozen times before. Like he hasn’t gotten you out of a pinch (minus the blood) before. 

And after he’s pulled into your driveway, engine turned off, the cicadas and crickets filling the silence, it’s Joel who finally speaks. 

Who cracks that barrier you have mentally been trying so hard to climb over. 

"I’m sorry if I," he clears his throat, flexes his fingers against the steering wheel. "If I overstepped." 

And the ridiculousness of him even apologizing has your mouth finally moving into action. "Joel, no, oh my gosh, no." Your palm presses against your chest as you look at him apologetically; you should be the only one saying sorry, thanking him, worshiping at his feet for this. "I should be the one saying that. I should have handled it myself or-"

"Or what?" He looks almost angry, shocked at your words. "He had a hold of you, and no disrespect, but I ain’t ever seen you kill a fly, let alone throw a punch at someone." 

"Hey! I could punch someone." 

"Could and would are two different things." 

"You sayin I couldn’t?" 

"I’m sayin' you wouldn’t." 

"Not tough enough?" 

"Your heart's too big." 

"If you knew how hard I was holding back the urge to prove you wrong by bruising that bicep of yours, Joel Miller, you’d think differently." Your scowl and threat only seem to amuse him because he’s grinning at you. "You’re lucky you’re injured." 

"I’m shaking in my boots." 

"As you should be." The laugh the two of you share makes your cheeks burn.  On the outside, many could and have labeled Joel as a complicated man. A man who takes a lot of nudging and persistence to get to know past that surface-level workaholic grump he sometimes displays. But he’s a man who would lend a hand at the drop of a hat. A man with honor embedded in his very DNA.

There’s a list you’ve kept in the back of your mind that has every bullet point filled out and doodled hearts around the edges of all the reasons Joel is a good man. A man you trust. A man you adore.

"Thank you, Joel." He starts to shake his head, but you stop him with your palm resting on his forearm, "thank you. "You're right, I don't think I even know how to make a proper fist, let alone connect it." Your soft laugh makes the corners of his lips tick up. "You didn’t hesitate to help me. You never do. It means a lot to me, I hope you know that."

He nods, his eyes only on your face. Listening. Taking in every word you’re saying, even if you know he hates the fact that you’re thanking him for this. But he deserves to know how much you appreciate him.

Your hand moves to his wrist, gently yanking it away from his vice-like grip on the wheel. Your index finger runs along a vein at the top of his hand—the one spot the blood didn’t cake on to. "Does it hurt?" 

"No. Between the callouses and the whiskey, it’s nothing more than a cat scratch." 

"You should still get it looked at."

"You’re looking at it, aren’t ya?" 

Your eyes roll. "I’m not a doctor, Joel." 

"All a doctors gonna tell me is to be more careful, hand me a band-aid, and charge me three hundred dollars."

"Well, in that case," you drop his hand and grab for the door. The dry summer air ineffective to your already burning skin from the man whose raising his brows at you, "I got band aids in the house, and I didn’t get to finish my shift, which means you owe me three hundred in tips alone sooo."

"There's barely three hundred people in this town, and you’re tellin me you make that in tips?" 

"Joel, just get in the damn house." You order, slamming the door of his truck and walking up the path to your front door. Smiling when you hear him huff and grumble under his breath as he gets out. 

A hiss—and a scowl so deadly it could scare away even the biggest and badest of grown men—has Joel’s hand twitching in your hold as you run a wet cloth along the tops of his knuckles. The fabric pulling up the caked on flecks of dried blood, the surface of the cuts along the bone already starting the healing process from being clotted with red. 

"I thought you said it didn’t hurt?" You smirk playfully. 

"Whiskey’s wearin' off," he grunts. 

"Or," you dab the cloth in the small cap of saline solution you’ve pulled from your first aid kit under the sink. Bringing it back to his skin to press gently across his cuts, his body tensing. "You’re human after all," his eyes roll. 

"Don’t alert the press." 

"Oh, they’ve already been informed." 

His hand rests on your thigh as you ball up some tissues to dry the area around his knuckles. Enough to keep the band-aids—the only thing he would allow you to use because gauze would just get in the way at work, he informed you when you insisted—from falling off. The heat from his palm burns through your jeans, and it's a blessing in and of itself that you're ignoring how it makes your insides feel; how your body's warmth is no match for how hot he feels. His legs are spread, body slouched against your couch, his knee against yours. A closeness he’s never been before. A casual touch and directness between friends that shouldn’t be making you feel feverish and cheeky. 

When he flexes his fingers a couple times and his fingertips run along the top of your thigh, you find yourself wishing you’d worn a dress to work. A skirt. Anything to have been able to feel him do that against your bare skin. A thought you chide yourself for. A thought you hope isn’t written all over your face when you look over at Joel and he’s staring at you. Eyes darker, expression unreadable and stoic, in that way you can never tell what emotion he’s feeling at that exact moment. He gives nothing away but still sends your stomach plummeting. 

After the band-aids have been stuck and you’ve cleaned up the mess on your coffee table you offer him a drink. 

"Unless you have to get back to Sarah, then I understand."

"She’s with a friend tonight." 

"You gonna tell her how you saved the day, all knight and shining armor style?" You tease as you walk back to the living room with two beers in hand, putting one in Joel’s outstretched one and the other to your lips. Taking a sip as you take your place beside him once again, this time a leg pulled under you as you face him. 

He snorts, "don’t know about all that."

"I’m sure word has already gotten around. Her friends are probably gabbing about how heroic Mr. Miller is, a real prince charming." You laugh when you see his grin. 

"Or," he says, swallowing the sip he's just taken. "She’ll give me that death glare that all teenagers possess after puberty, you know the one?"

"Oh, I know the one. Mine was so fierce my mother banned it from our house."

"It’s deadly."

"Truly."

"I’m sure prince charming will be the last thing connected to my actions. Rage and jackass sound more on the money." 

You frown. Watch as he stares down at the result of the rage he thinks will now be accompanied with his name. Tarnishing it that now people will forget the kindness that was once there, the man whose hardworking now turned into something vile all because of an act of heroism some might find obscene; with how much blood and possible damage it has caused to one mans face, you could understand why such an act would be. 

But to you—and those who knew how horrible your ex had been, how he had deserved every bone crunching punch, every spit of blood and teeth choked on—you knew that what Joel did was right. And maybe, somewhere deep down in those morals against violence everyone gets handed out to them at birth, you knew that Joel could be sitting in a jail cell instead of on your couch if those punches had been any worse. If it had been pure untamed rage like some will say. 

"You’re a good man, Joel. So you potentially hospitalized an asshole, who hasn’t?" Your heart leaps in your chest when he laughs, and you thank God that your joke landed. Thank him that this man with his disheveled hair that's begging to have a hand run through it, work shirt and jeans looking like they’ve seen better days—is in your life. Not every girl has someone willing to bruise another man's face while destroying the hand that's needed to do their job properly.

No one had acted as quick as Joel had. 

Joel Miller was a good man. 

"What did you see in him anyway?" Joel asks, taking another sip of his beer. His gaze is drawn to you from the hole he was burning into his hand. 

And if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t know. 

Couldn’t answer that question with the full truth because you didn’t know why you always went for the assholes. The guys who liked to scream instead of talk it out. Who liked to steal money from your wallet for booze or a habit they couldn’t kick. The ones who never remembered your birthday but made sure didn't forget theirs.

Your father had been a great man. Your mother an amazing woman. You couldn’t take the easy way out and blame it on family trauma. 

So you answered with the only viable reason that came to mind. 

"Loneliness makes you ignore all the bad stuff." You take a sip, swallow it down (washing away the pinpricks of potential embarrassment for being so brutally honest with Joel). "It makes you talk yourself out of throwing all their stuff to the curb or burning it in your backyard, because it’s not always bad. Some days are good. Some of them wait to be assholes before the novelty wears off; others wait until you're two years in and they’ve already slept with half the town behind your back. And some will bring you flowers every time they mess up, until one day you look around and realize you don't have any room to put this new vase and there's dried flower petals all over your floors. But hey, at least you’re not lonely, and your house smells really good." 

The smile on your lips fades when you see the look on Joel’s face. See that he’s finding no humor in this story. And the gulp that swallows down the beer in your hands burns your throat the entire way down. Your cheeks are burning, and you have to look away from him. Distract yourself by picking at the label on the bottle. 

"Or maybe it’s as cliché as saying I haven’t found the right one yet." You try to save, nervously chuckling under your breath. In hopes that he forgets everything you’ve just said and clings to this one shitty joke. 

"Look at me."

You do, and you wish you hadn’t. The roughness of his voice makes your stomach swoop and fall like a rollercoaster of emotions you did not prepare yourself for. Hadn’t imagined this being in your future when you’d walked into work. But you’re looking at him. Meeting his eyes. Seeing the stern glower in them before he speaks. 

There’s a million things you imagine him saying. Telling you how much better you are than that, than all of those meaningless assholes. How you deserve better, and you’ll find it someday. Hell, you expect him to scold you with how low his brows are.

What you don’t expect is to feel his lips on yours. His fingers digging into the skin at the back of your neck, his chest inches from your now-heaving one. And it renders you speechless. Still. Your brain not computing with the signals your nerves are giving off right now. 

When he pulls away and looks at you, it takes you several blinks to meet his gaze. The air in your lungs weighing your chest down. You shouldn’t speak. Should allow yourself to get your bearings in order. To catch your breath and sort through everything you’re feeling right now. "Was that a pity kiss?" 

"A what—pity kiss?" 

"Cause of the," you swallow, lick your lips, "of the aforementioned assholes?" 

Joel’s breath fans across your face when he chuckles, "anyone who’d pity kiss you deserves to be added to that list of assholes. And I might be on many asshole lists, but hopefully not on yours." The fingers on your neck skate forward to your cheek, thumb pressed gently along your jawline. His features grow serious again. "I didn’t just knock that asshole out because he had it comin'. And if you haven't noticed, I’m either working or at home with Sarah. Both keepin' me more than busy."

"Too busy to be making house calls for leaky faucets and tarnishing your good name with your fists?" 

"Exactly." 

There's a long pause between you two, as if you're both waiting for the other to say something, anything, to put these unspoken mutual feelings out there.

"Joel, are you saying you coming over to fix my faucet and staying for the occasional beer was you…flirting?" The grin he gives you makes you laugh, "who taught you how to flirt? And please don’t say Tommy."

"No. If I had listened to him we’d be–" he doesn’t finish. Just shakes his head and chuckles under his breath. 

And maybe affirmative action with your hands wasn’t your forte, maybe you couldn’t do what needed to be done when it came in the form of actions. But when it came to words, to saying what you wanted, needed, craved when it was right here in front of you being hinted and teased at, you didn’t hesitate. 

"Maybe you should have listened to Tommy." Your hand mirrors his own, resting on his cheek. You already knew he ran hot from his palm alone. But his cheek feels just as warm as you do, burning right through to your bones. His gaze falls to your parted lips, and a decision is made in the seconds it takes him to return his gaze to yours.

An agreement. 

"C'mere." His lips collide with yours in a heated kiss of nicks of teeth and tongue that taste like whiskey and beer and something that your brain will forever recognize as Joel. A taste you know you’ll be wanting to swallow down again and again. To feel the burn of his beard against your chin until your skin is raw and blotchy from how hard his mouth is devouring yours. An arm wrapped around your waist pulls you into his lap, and your forgotten beers spill and stain the cushions of your couch. "Shit, sorry, let me," Joel starts, but you stop him with your hands on his cheeks. 

"Leave it, just come here." You insist, lips returning to his. 

"Yes, ma’am." His smirk molds to your mouth, wipes away as his tongue runs along your bottom lip to press against yours. A hand on your ass squeezes and presses you forward so you’re grinding against his lap. The seam of your jeans rubs up against the wet patch that's quickly forming on the fabric of your underwear, becoming sticky and clinging to your pussy. Joel's other hand runs down the column of your neck, gripping and pulling you away from his mouth so that his lips can latch onto your sensitive skin. A gasp leaving your lungs, teeth and tongue making you shudder and cling to his shoulders. 

Shoulders you don't let go of until your back hits the mattress and you're both pulling your shirts above your heads, your fingers quickly working the clip of your bra, joining the discarded pile of shirts and shoes on your bedroom floor.

Your heart feels as if it’s beating a hole through your chest, like it’ll fall into Joel’s hands as he leans over your body, knees between your open legs, as his palms run down your chest, between your breasts. Over the globes of them, calloused thumb circling around your nipple. Your breath caught in your throat as you press yourself up into his touch. He’s taking you in, letting his eyes trail every dip, possible mole, scar, and marking on your skin. How your chest heaves in response to his hand. How your breasts fit in his palm. How you gasp and cry into the air when he leans down and swirls his tongue around one of your nipples before sucking it into his mouth, teeth lightly scraping against the sensitive flesh when he pulls off and does the same to the other one. 

His mouth finding its way back to yours again. His hips canting against yours; you can feel his cock digging into your thigh. And when you let your hand skate between the two of you to give him more friction. A dizzying desire to feel more of his heat and need for you burning through your skin and to your core, where you truly crave him. 

The deep grunt that falls from his mouth and onto your waiting tongue sends a shockwave of arousal through your entire body. Being. You want to hear it again, want to pull every noise from this man with your body and mouth until you are both drained and cursing yourselves for not doing this sooner. And you know he wants to do the same. Wants to catalog every pressure point and sensitive bit of your flesh so he can draw this out, can rile you up with a simple touch, scrape of teeth, run of his tongue along your jugular. Until you tell him how badly you can’t stand not having him inside of you. 

He's leaving a trail of kisses down your stomach, his fingers digging into the skin above your jeans, holding your hips still. Preventing you from moving them the way you want to from each press and prickle from his mouth and beard—scalding the nerves of your skin and making your insides whirl. 

"Lift your hips for me, sweetheart." Joel murmurs into your skin as his fingers curl into the waistband of your jeans. Your body feels barren and cool away from his heat as he sits back on his knees, your hips lifting as he frees your legs from their confines. His thumb runs along the lace of your underwear, dipping lower and lower until it’s pressing into that wet spot. A silent, smug praise tugs at the corner of his lopsided smile as his eyes look up to yours.

If your mind was working coherently and not filled with Joel Joel Joel (the way he smells woodsy and rugged, the way something deep and gruff reverberates in his chest when your teeth sink into the skin of his neck, and how he keeps looking at you like a fine art piece hung in the Louvre. Movements quick and gentle as he pulls your underwear down your thighs, making quick work to push your legs apart, fingers digging into the back of your thigh as he lets himself take his time adorning you fully on display for him) there'd be a sassy remark aimed at him.

The callus of his thumb nicks your swollen clit, eliciting a whimper from your lips, your hips following the descent of his finger as it spreads you apart. Trailing a line from your clit to dip into your entrance, gathering your arousal on the pad of his finger, his eyes on yours as he presses it against his tongue. A burning hunger in his eyes as he sucks your wetness from his fingers. 

You're a panting mess by the time Joel positions his head between your legs, arms wrapped behind your thighs, lips, teeth, and tongue trailing up your inner thigh. Your fingers clench the blanket in anticipation, need, and want. The closer his mouth gets to your center, the more you can feel his hot breath moving in, the potential love bites and marks he’s leaving on your inner thigh—all a certain type of torture you don’t think you’re strong enough to put up with right now. 

You lift your head to start begging, to plead with your torturer, but he’s speaking before you can. 

"Wanna take my time, sweetheart." His tongue swirls at the joint of your inner thigh. And just as earlier, the words you mean to get out, to speak from the storm cloud of lust in your head, die in the back of your throat when Joel runs the flat of his tongue up the seam of your pussy. The torturous muscle wraps you around his tongue, following the slowest path to your clit, until the tip of his tongue flicks, making a pattern of strokes and licks, until his lips wrap around the swollen nerve, making you feel delirious. Keeps pulling gasps, moans, and pants of pleasure and ecstasy from your parted mouth; head thrown back on pillows; legs trembling around his head from the blazing fire that grows and grows the more he consumes you.

The more his nose nicks your clit when he fucks you with his tongue, the more his fingers dig into your quivering legs to keep you anchored to the bed and his mouth. 

It feels like hours with how slowly he goes. Keeps you dangling from the ledge with every stroke and suck. Every soothing indent his fingers are leaving in your thigh. Your skin slicked with sweat, knuckles cramped from its grip in the blanket. When your moans go up in pitch he goes slower in that motion, that spot that has you seeing stars. Then he lets your breath come back to you with slow strokes of his tongue at your entrance, giving attention to the other parts of you that you didn’t think could elicit such erotic noises from your lungs. 

Your fingers find their way into those disheveled strands you’ve been waiting a lifetime to thread through. To pull and keep yourself from the feeling of floating away from the intensity of the pleasure. From your orgasm coming closer and closer until you’re panting his name, "Joel, Joel, Joel–fuck," your body shaking, the cries pulled out from this man burning your throat as you finally fall from the ledge and into him; his tongue coated in you, his chin wet with your essence. 

Your body sensitive and heavy as you come down, a sweaty heat making you feel sticky. Joel’s fingers seem to bypass every sensitive part though, as his palm caresses the tops of your thighs, your hips, your curves, the side of your breast. Until he’s reached your burning cheeks, mouth pressing the gentlest of kisses to your lips. The kiss was slow and gentle. Your arousal coats your taste buds when his tongue meets yours.

The kiss feeling more intimate than before, more heady. Knocking you right back on that loop you just got off of. That ache and throb he just sedated starting again in your belly, moving to where your thighs are soaked. 

"You’re overdressed," you murmur against his lips. Joel kisses you again, your open mouths exchanging a breathy chuckle.

"Do you wanna change that?" 

The question holds more than just the surface level of a joke and an answer of "yeah, obviously."  There’s a seriousness to it that makes you pull back from his lips and stare up at him. His thumb traces a soothing pattern into the bottom of your chin, his eyes holding an unspoken reassurance that he’s fine with it ending right here. With him just pleasing you, getting to take you apart and reassemble you with tender touches and a torturous mouth.

It can be all about you.

It is all about you.

You deserve nothing less.

His eyes and soft grin speak unspoken. 

Your nod is slow and reassuring. Your fingertips copy the motions of his thumb against the patches of skin in his damp beard. "Unless you’d rather help me get the stain out of my couch that you caused."

"I caused?" His brows shoot up. 

"It's to be expected when you can't keep your hands off of me," you say before shrieking as he pinches your side. His lips kissing your scowl away—a problem you foresee in the near future.

The kiss lasts for minutes (centuries you wish). Your fingertips never lift from the other's face, moving along jawlines, chins, and cheek bones. His chest comfortably against yours, giving you that heat you missed so dearly. His cock still stiff and hot in his jeans, grinding slowly against your pelvis. 

Is this how it’s supposed to feel? When feelings haven't even been discussed yet, but you just know? Already know what each touch, kiss, and caress holds behind it. Telling a wordless story in the way he had wanted to give you pleasure first—to taste—and take his time making you feel everything his mouth could do. Everything he wanted to do to you.

He wasn’t thinking about himself after the fact. Wasn’t rushing to put you in a position that made it all about his pleasure. Giving you little to no space to cool down, regain your bearings, and have that fire slowly relight and become more tantalizing, as he is right now.

You really did date assholes. 

Your fingers move to his chest, splaying your palm along his body until you’ve reached where he’s hard and pressing against you. Your fingers curl around the outline of him. Stroking, massaging. 

"I want you, Joel." You breathe into his mouth. 

He growls against your lips in something akin to frustration and agony. It makes something inside of you sink, overthink that maybe he doesn’t actually want to push it past the points you’ve already reached. Maybe it’s too much, all too soon, for this new territory of your friendship—even if it already seemed a little too late with the couch confessions and his saliva still coating your center. 

He must see the thoughts volleying in your head because he’s scolding himself under his breath and shaking his head. A soothing touch placed on your skin. "I feel like I’m some horny teenager again, with how bad I want you." His chuckle soothes your heart, "I don’t have-"

And you can't help but laugh at his waving hand towards his pockets and the sentence he's about to finish.

"Jesus, Joel. Bless anyone who's ever thought you were the ungentlemanly type." Here you were worrying about whether or not he wanted you, the proof being clearer than just his dick against your fingers. While the only thing on his mind was protection. 

"Glad I’m amusin’ to you." 

Cupping his cheeks, you pull him back to your lips. "All a girl wants is a decent man to make her laugh, not break her heart, and be able to make her come. And so far you’ve done all three." You let your tongue slip between your mouths and run along his bottom lip, "I’m good if you are." 

I’m clean.

I take a little pill every day because life is chaotic enough and I don’t want any surprises. 

We’re protected.

Now take me already.

The drag of your tongue, the roll of your hips against him, the little whimper you let out when he bites your lip—speaks for you.

It’s all either of you needs to rid Joel of his jeans: hands tangled in belt loops, tugs, pulls, pushing until he’s completely bare in front of you. Your breath hitches when you feel the underside of his cock spreading you and running along your clit slowly and languidly. The heat of him feels nothing compared to your own, the throb and ache of requisite in every roll and drag. 

And when neither of you can stand it anymore, when he’s grunting and you’re begging, he leans up on an elbow, hand wrapped around his cock, lining himself up to your entrance. Your breath leaves your lungs, stomach falling falling down to where he’s pushing into you. Stretching you, filling you until there’s no telling where either of you ends or begins. Attached by that intangible string of pleasure and bliss of only being able to feel each other.

"Fuck," Joel groans. Mouth finding your shoulder, breath hot and heavy. His thrusts start leisurely, taking his time in that way you’re learning he loves to do. Loves to compartmentalize up what you need—more, faster, harder. Going off of the moans panted into his neck, nails digging into his back. 

There's a hand gripped in the pillow beside your head, another at your breast, his mouth connected to your neck, your jaw, your chin, your lips. His hips slamming against your open thighs, thrusts deep, sharp. His cock hitting places that make your back arch, his name strung together with pleas for more. The slapping of skin and wet squelching of bodily fluids between the two of you making a symphony of lewd delight. 

When the hand at your breast hikes up one of your legs, the cry you let out is swallowed by his mouth. The deeper he fucks into you, the more your body shakes, the more you feel him completely consuming you. turning you into someone who will never get enough of this. Of him. Of how good he's making you feel. 

"Sound s’pretty," his tongue brushes against the underside of your chin, teeth nipping at the bone. A trail of him brought down to the shell of your ear. Where his heavy breaths and grunts fill you just as his cock does. Fills you to the brink of pain turned satisfying pleasure, as each stroke brings you closer to a precipice he’s already pushed you from. "Can’t believe I held myself back from you."

"Joel."

"I should knock out every asshole who thought to hurt you, t’not love you the way you deserve. Put you first," he slips his hand between your slick bodies, palm hot against your pelvis as his thumb rubs fast tight circles around your clit. His words getting filthier, ragged. Becoming heaving breaths against your ear as he fucks you faster. As his thumb matches the pace, as you grow closer and closer. Led by his words and pushed over by his cock. 

"That’s it, sweetheart." He’s encourages as you come. As he fucks you through it, as that white-hot heat makes your body contort against his. Cling and squeeze around him. The string of groans and curses, your name mixed with something incoherent but soft and deep, makes your chest swish—bit into your skin as Joel comes not long after. 

And after the two of you have cleaned up enough to call it satisfactory, two new beers condensing on your night stand. Your cheek pressed into his chest as your bodies lay pressed together under your sheet. His chin resting atop your forehead, a soft brush of fingertips at your spine—there’s cheesy grins on your faces, "Tommy’s going to have a heyday."

"He owes me fifty bucks."

There’s faux shock on your face when you turn and lean on your elbow to look at him, "excuse me?"

"He didn't think I'd ever tell ya," Joel shrugs as his hand caresses your shoulder. A fondness in his eyes, "I never do anything for myself." You press a kiss to his thumb, "I think we both deserve something good for once though." 

"I guess I solved the mystery of how to get Joel Miller to be soft," you joke. Nip at the skin of his thumb playfully. 

"I ain’t soft." He grumbles.

"Postcoitous Joel disagrees with that statement," you say. The dramatic roll his eyes do makes you laugh. Your teeth nipping his thumb harder, a bite this time, you shift so you’re on top of him. Sitting up on your knees. "Since this bet is half at my expense.."

"Expense, huh?" His palm grabs a handful of your ass and squeezes, causing you to rock in his lap. His cock already twitching to life again.

"I think we should get you your money's worth," you smirk.

"That's the smartest thing you've said all night," his fingers tangled in your back hair, pulling your mouth down to his in a hard kiss, before you get the chance to at least pretend to be offended.

[kalki-tarot]

THINGS YOU CARRIED FROM YOUR PREVIOUS LIVES ⚖️

Please read : This is just a general reading and may not be 100% true all the times. Please use your brain before making any decisions. Kalki tarot is not responsible for your actions and life decisions.

PICK ONLY ONE PICTURE AND ALLOW ME TO TAP INTO YOUR ENERGY.

Pile 01

I can see you lived by a river, it seems to be the country side. Green grass and shallow wind is what I feel where you belonged. Your sense of belonging in nature comes from this lifetime. You felt comfortable laying over the grass and just looking at the clouds. You were an innocent human being. Your heart held deep sense of purity for everyone and everything. You belonged to a foreign country, different from where you are right now.

I'm getting one more lifetime for you, where you wanted to be a saint or a nun or something like that. You wanted to attain moksha so you decided to take necessary actions but your responsibilities held you down. You could not leave your family or responsibilities i guess.

Your were an emotionally intelligent human being. It can be your gift in your current lifetime to be knowledgeable about spirituality and mysticism. You were born with healing abilities and you may also be a psychic.

Another gift you carried in this lifetime is of alchemy. You may be interested into witchcraft and rituals. Try to practice it more, it will really work well for you. Don't use it for bad things though. You have the power to create and manipulate energies. Your soul possesses infinite knowledge about spiritual. Unlock your hidden potential for its best use.

One more thing I'm seeing is that you carried a lot of burdens too from your previous life. Some traumas or fears, it can be anything. This is the reason why your psychic gifts were blurred or you were just not able to believe in your self, you have wounds from past life too. Healing is needed.

Pile 02

Dear Pile 2, you were someone very helpful and empathetic in your previous life. You were a gentle human being, you may have active water placements in your chart which influence you the most. You were and still are someone very deep and emotional. You understand people around you but sometimes you feel misunderstood. You feel different from everybody else. Yes you are different and it's not bad to be different. You are indeed a very special human being.

In your previous life too, you were a nice person and you did many humanitarian works. All the good karma you did is coming back to you in this lifetime. Please don't let your pure soul get corrupted or influenced by negative people. You often struggle with patience, you get anxious and restless when things don't go as you planned or when you don't see results when you want it. This is what you carried in this lifetime too. Work on having patience. You will definitely reap the fruits of your labour, but before accepting divine timing only!

Again with the fool card, your energy is very restless and childlike. You have the curiosity of a child and you crave adventurous things in life. You can't sit at one place for a long time. But this over restlessness may make you do foolish things. You should try to shift your energy from wasting it on useless things to creating something with your creative mind. You are someone who can build a castle in the sky. What i mean is you have the potential to start from scratch and turn it into something big. Use your energy here rather than doing foolish things.

You were like a wise sufi saint in your past life and you've also carried a lot of wisdom from there. Sometimes you go like where am i even getting these wise thoughts from lol. Yes! You are a street smart person. Use your potential to create something big.

Pile 03

You were someone who used to run behind success. You had or still have a fear of failing and that comes from your past life. You were in a high position in your previous life and you constantly used to work hard for keeping up or maintaining what you had.

You lacked the need to rest. And due to this you became a little too much workaholic. You were too much indulged in your work life that you kind of forget your presonal life and relationships. You will be forced to address the fear of failure in this lifetime too.

And the karma for not addressing your personal relationships is that you will not have any genuine connections in this lifetime. But don't worry, once you accept balance in your life and address your mistakes, things will start aligning for you.

Have a balanced approach and towards work and personal life. Don't be too rational, listen to your head anf heart both. And try not to force yourself to work hard. You will not fail! Don't worry.