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bunnwich · 1 year ago

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Rituals☁️(Leona x Reader)

Leona is low on spoons after the Tamashina-Mina tournament and needs some attention. Also what better way for him to sneakily court his favorite creature?

Curated from my 200k+ words Leona x Yuu fic

Characters: Leona Kingscholar x Yuu!Reader (GN. No physical description for Yuu. Yuu knows massage therapy.)

Words: 3k, 3rd person

Notes: I saw a meme the other day about how: “Liberalism leaves people’s bodies when mental health starts to affect someone’s hygiene” and I thought of how the fandom used to treat Leona. Also, I really wanted to make the “he uses you as a pillow” cliche not icky.

Tagging: @comingyourlugubriousness @nammanarin @twst-the-night-away @twstinginthewind @ephemii @the-monday-witch @anevilbunnyinthehat @stagefullofsilly @theshipthatneversetsail @patrioticarcreactor @ice-cweam-sod4 @beaniz @the-nightingales-song @efsstash @cyn-write @porcelain-animatronic @lowcallyfruity @bestmannequin2018 @h0rr0r-10ver-69

It was baffling enough of a request that Leona Kingscholar invited Yuu to his home, but even more so was the thing he asked of them now.

“What? Am I your servant now, too?”

“No, course not.” He seemed deeply offended at this implication, nostrils flaring in indignance while his ears flopped backward against his hair. “I’m…askin’ you.” His ears flipped back up as he took a step closer, awaiting their response.

“Wait. You're serious…?” Yuu asked with a crinkle of their nose.

“Please…?” The word was barely audible, the man’s green-eyed stare never breaking from theirs. “If you’d be so kind…” He smirked, putting on an air, propping a hand on his hip. It was a warm day at the palace and he donned a pair of loose linen pants and a matching cream-colored tank top, all embroidered with gold.

Yuu swayed their head back and forth while they considered the idea, unimpressed by the sudden “princely” act. What was he up to? They gazed down at the object in their hand as if it held the answer. Well, it wasn’t often that they heard that word from Leona Kingscholar. “Fine, okay.”

Was it really such a big deal, brushing his hair?

–

The hammock below the two of them swayed with both their weights as they sat face to face, each teetering on each edge of the colorful canvas. Late afternoon light filtered through the stained glass over all the greenery of the palace gardens, gilding everything it touched.

Sighing, Yuu made another move, leaning forward to grab another section of the dark waves from the man’s shoulder. They hadn’t even ended up using the brush much so far. The only thing it had been good for was hitting the man when he talked back.

“Well, the good news is…I got most of it.”

On their way here, Yuu grabbed their bag, bringing it with them to the gardens. Luckily, they kept a few favorites with them at all times. A small vial of rosehip oil; that would work. It could be used for both skin and hair in a pinch. Removing the dropper from the bottle they dripped some more into their palms, rubbing them together before applying it to the end of the man’s loose curls.

“Stinks.”

Yuu couldn’t help but roll their eyes at him. “It’s just rose. It’s nothing compared to that eye-watering cologne you bathe in every day. They sighed, working it through his thick tresses in the silence, pulling it all through to the ends of each section. “...I shouldn’t really be brushing it when it’s all tangled like this, you know.”

“Tch, I know that,” He said indignantly, his lips pressing into a small pout, eyes downcast to watch them work. “Everyone just assumes my hair is like my brother’s…”

They pressed their lips together. “Hmph. Then do it yourself, next time, huh? ” Letting out a huff, they released the bushel of soft curls, the dark curtain falling over Leona's neck. His hair honestly wasn’t as bad as he had made it seem. It just needed some moisture and careful detangling.

“Naw, why would I…when you’re already doing it for me.” The man reclined forward, propping his elbow on the canvas. “Mmm.” He watched them move on to the next section, meticulously separating the frizz and smoothing it over with the oil. Releasing a small sound in his throat, he stared up at them with lethargic eyes, seemingly in a trance.

Yuu shook their head at his comment, knowing that secretly he was just eating up the attention. Keeping their eyes down on their work, they were careful not to pull too hard on his strands.

Leona muttered something as his lids fell completely closed, the end of his tail tapping on the edge of the hammock by their knee. A steady drumbeat.

They took their time with the rest, with only the noise of a few birds calling and Leona’s occasional sigh or grumble. It wasn’t long before, their lids lulled down too. It was relaxing in a way, quietly detangling someone’s hair.

Every once and a while their eyes flitted to the man’s face, catching the little twitch of the corner of his lips. After Yuu was done the detangling, they pulled two equal parts of the bottom sections forward, trying their best to get them even. They stuck their tongue out while they focused, before braiding them as neatly as they could manage, in the way he normally wore them.

“There, you look more like yourself...” Yuu shrugged when they were done, tugging on one of the braids, and making sure the man wasn’t actually asleep. “Better?” They crossed their arms, raising a brow over at him.

“Yeah.” The man opened his eyes slightly, the edge of his mouth falling into a crooked, but satisfied smile. “You did good.” His voice crackled just like the way a warm fire would. Like the bonfires at Savanclaw. He may have been sincere, but everything Leona said was always dipped in just a little bit of patronization.

Yuu palmed him on the forehead, pushing his face away slightly before letting their fingers drift up to his scalp, moving some of the hair out of his face.

“Hm?” He questioned, shifting slightly, turning his head to look up at what they were doing.

“Are you uh- still having those headaches?” They began to work their finger into his crown, between his twitching ears, pressing gently down on a few familiar pressure points. “I have to tell you, I’m the best.”

“I always have a headache when you're around.” He sat up erect, suddenly seeming full of energy, grabbing their calves and yanking them closer to him, practically into his lap. He kept going until the backs of their legs were hooked over his thighs. He chuckled in delight at their bewildered deer-in-headlights reaction.

Yuu froze at his boldness, pressing their lips together into a pout as they stared up at him with blinking eyes.

“Don’t be all shy, now. Prove it. I think I got a big one coming on.” He purred at them.

Still playing, hm? “Hmph.” They huffed out a breath at his shenanigans.

Leona didn’t let them get far though, keeping his lock around their ankles, leaning over to study their reaction. “Feel free to say no.” He released them, holding his hands up innocently. “...If you’re not up to the task that is.” A bit of his white fangs gleamed as his sneer widened, leering at them through his dark lashes.

“You-” Yuu stuttered, resigning themselves. They were falling for it. This is what Leona was best at: pushing others into “proving themselves” by gently prodding them from their comfort zone.

“Fine.” Saying nothing more, they only lifted their hands to evaluate him once more, taking in a breath before tracing their fingers down the sides of his muscular neck.

Ah, the man seemed a bit surprised to see them agree, but he quickly masked it with another smug smile as he lifted his jaw to accommodate them.

Leona’s skin was much warmer than theirs and surprisingly smooth, his excited pulse fluttering under their fingers. “Hm. You are tense.” They muttered aloud, pressing their thumb into one of the hard muscles there. “That hurt?”

“Ack, what do you think? Beast…” He hissed, his ears lowering slightly, grabbing their wrist to stop them.

Yuu smirked, most people didn’t expect that kind of strength from them…until they gave them a chance to prove it. “Sheesh, sorry you big baby. I was just askin’.” They rolled their eyes and swatted his nosy hand away. This allowed them to focus again, laying their palms on both of his broad shoulders.

They could see it clearly now, his shoulders were rounded forward, and his left side was higher–signaling to them he probably held more tension there.

The man was studying them again, one grumpy eye barely open.

Yuu chuckled, no one expects how much it hurts. Though as much as they enjoyed hurting the man, they went in softer this time, gently kneading his shoulders and neck, before they bothered to poke him anymore. As they worked closer to his jaw, they became enveloped in his signature smell. Traces of cinnamon, hints of orange, and star anise lingered on their fingertips as they explored his exposed skin, taking care to not pull on the golden necklace that hung from his neck.

“How…did you know?” Leona asked through a groan.

They had hit the right spot.

“The way you walk, for one. You know, with your head forward. For royalty…your posture is terrible, you know. You heard Vil. Anyways, I can just tell by feeling most of the time.” Yuu added, continuing to work on the tightest areas first.

“Tch, you’re one to talk,” He said through his groans, brown ears flopping to the sides as he began to relax into their skilled touch. “...I recall us both getting reamed by Schoenheit at those practices.”

“Hey, I’m not the one on trial here. You asked for my expert opinion.” They continued, reaching around to the back of the man’s neck to rub circles in the base of his skull, moving up into his thick hair.

Leona made a rumbling noise in his chest at this, letting his head nod forward until he went completely limp in their hands. Somewhere, between the ticks of both their breaths, he had slumped his whole weight on them. A whole lion in their lap.

“Mmm.” He nuzzled his forehead against Yuu's shoulder, moving his hand from their calf up onto their arm, running a finger across the loose thread of their sleeve.

Yuu tensed, the man’s warm breath tickling their neck. It felt a little surreal to think such a powerful mage lay against them now like an oversized house cat. It was sort of an honor that he felt so relaxed around them. Sort of.

They shook their head, trying not to giggle, and straightened their back to accommodate the new weight. Yuu kept on working as if nothing had changed, ignoring the fluttering in their guts that his soft breaths over their cheeks stirred.

After they finished with his scalp, they worked back down to his shoulders, grabbing both of them and twisting them to one side, signaling wordlessly for the man to turn around for them. The hammock squeaked as he rearranged himself and Yuu pulled his head down into the center of their lap.

Some people they had worked on, like Jack, could never fully relax for them, no matter how many times they reminded him to. However, the oxymoron of man before them seemed to have no problem flopping over like a sleepy kitten, ready to be petted.

Going by cat behavior, he had shown them his belly, a small sliver peeking from the edge of his top. Now, with a completely malleable lion in their lap, Yuu couldn’t help but smile. He was totally at their mercy, moving whichever way they pulled him.

Their fingers made their way up and down his neck shoulders and even a bit of his chest, respecting the barrier of his tunic's low neckline.

Every once in a while, Leona’s lips tumbled open with a deep rumbling sigh of relief, pressing himself in their touch with each stroke, seeming to crave more and more. Their face grew hot, some part of this felt…too intimate. No, no. It was just a massage, but the man’s touch-starved reactions were becoming harder and harder to ignore.

It was only when Yuu’s fingers reached up to his jaw did Leona open his eyes once more.

As their fingertips settled on the sides of his face, his shoulders went stiff under their care, Leona’s pulse ramping up for the first time during the massage. His jaw tightened as they brought their fingers up to the temples of his grimacing face, trying to soothe him.

He couldn’t be nervous now, could he?

“You…hold a lot of tension in your face too,” They said calmly, urging his head to the right side, “Especially your…jaw.” They moved down to press their thumb into his cheek, easily finding the small, rigid muscle on the left side of his face.

The man grunted, “Easy.”

Yuu shook their head again and eased up some. “...Just breathe.” They sighed, rolling their eyes as they massaged his jaw. “That right there is probably a big culprit of your headaches, you know.”

“Hmm,” He replied thoughtfully, his face softening some at their more gentle method.

Their fingers worked each side of his face some more, then trailed slowly up his nose, rubbing circles across his sinuses. When they made their way up to his “third eye” area they rubbed extra hard to make a point, trying to get him to relax once more. “Sorry, just trying smooth out that permanent wrinkle you got there…”

Leona scoffed, dipping his head back into their touch, and closing his eyes shut again. “Tch, yeah well, every time I come home to visit it ages me five years, so...” He chuckled.

Yuu let out a light chuckle too, taking the strokes they made on the man’s cheeks upward and into his hairline, brushing against his scar a few times.

Leona’s forehead creased, an uncommon expression gracing his usually stern or sarcastic face. His broad nose curled in discomfort and they could see his eyes flicker anxiously under his lids. He was even holding his breath.

“Hey…Just breathe I told you!” They repeated with another soft laugh. “It helps with circulation.”

“Mmph.” The man said nothing and grunted at them before exhaling loudly. They would have thought they were doing something painful to him by his expressions.

Yuu tilted their head, realizing exactly what this was all about. They cupped their palms around his cheeks before dragging the stroke up, one of their fingertips running over the edge of his scar again to test the theory.

The skin was dryer there and slightly raised. It created extra pull whenever they went over it. But, besides that…it was no different than any other part of his face. The Leona Kingscholar couldn’t be self-conscious, could he? No one ever really commented on it, and it surely did nothing but, to quote Rook: add to his “handsome and rugged charisma.”

But, the more they thought about it, they could understand why he was so dodgy about it. A memory like that, couldn’t have been pleasant.

The more times Yuu went over it they sensed a strange pull of energy from the area, like deep space. They were sure it was something the man had buried deep, so he could convince himself that he didn’t remember what actually happened anymore.

Can’t remember every little scratch, he said once. How many people knew the real truth, they wondered. Or if there were any legends behind it in the palace.

“You don’t have ta’ touch it.” The man blurted out, trying to keep a straight face. His lips pressed together hard before he feigned a usual smug grin. “Though, I know that you’re a professional and all.”

“Wha-” Yuu almost wanted to roll their eyes at him for how dramatic he was being but, they didn’t.

“And- Why…would it bother me?” They asked casually, continuing the face massage as normal.

“Hmph.” Leona let out a huff, one side of his mouth arching upwards into a small smile. “I…see.” When he opened his eyes again, they were shiny, reflecting the tree tops around them. “Not many people have uh-”

“Feel better?” Yuu lifted their hands from his face as they finished, saving him from the awkwardness of elaborating further. They had seen plenty enough to know how relieved he was at their response. That was enough.

“Mmhm.” He answered, clearing his throat before sitting up to face them again, the whole hammock groaning in response. “....Thank ya.” He muttered, reaching behind to rub the back of his neck. “Much looser now-”

Leona sighed, eyebrows curving up over his eyes. Then, all at once his gaze snapped up to them, taking them in from head to toe. In one smooth movement, he let his body settle down against theirs, his strong shoulder pressing against them.

Yuu’s heart hammered against his, mirroring the same fervid beat. No, this was more than just hair brushing. They hadn’t considered the implications until this moment, those of beastmen courtship and personal hygiene that they had read about. The concepts were often interlinked. Sacred.

A hug? No, he was just still just staring at them now, inches away, like a cat ready to pounce. The usual slits of his eyes were dark pools of space, reflecting back their own baffled expression.

Yuu swallowed. They were so gridlocked by his intense stare, it was hard to speak or even breathe with him pressing them so firmly to the canvas hammock. He seemed at odds with something, his worn gaze downcast. “W-What…what’s wrong, Leona?” They whispered through an unsteady chuckle, managing to keep their head.

“Nothin’. Nothin’ at all.” He whispered, letting his weight sink further into them. There was a peaceful smile on his face as he reached up to grab a section of their hair from behind their ear, twisting it between his fingertips, tail flopping behind him lazily.

It felt like they were being chosen for something.

“Wha-” Their eyes widened, it took them a whole 30 seconds to realize the man was braiding the pieces together, calm and methodical, like when he was arranging his pieces on a chess board. Part of the plan. It was obvious Leona knew how to braid hair but it was…surreal to behold it.

When he was done the corner of his mouth turned up more, creasing a dimple into his cheek. His eyes fixated on the sight of his results, he was so…proud of his work.

Yuu didn’t even have time to speak before he turned his head away, lying his cheek on one side of their shoulder once more. He had done it so casually as if he had done it a hundred times before and would do it a hundred times more.

They understand why he did it, the two of them were…a matching set now.

He chose them. Their heart squeezed as the man draped his arms around their waist, locking them in place once more as something shifted between them.

Leona’s cocky air had all but dissipated. “...Is this okay with ya?” He muttered so softly they almost missed it. He was asking permission, asking if they would accept him.

“Oh um…Y-yes.” They let their arms fall around his back, tugging on the end of his curls as they held him. Yes, he was getting way too comfortable, but it was their fault for allowing it, right? Yuu laid their head on his, letting him know for sure that: yes, it was okay.

“Hey, I know you're not falling asleep right now.” They grumbled playfully, tugging on his hair and furrowing their brow. Meanwhile, they curled their legs around his torso like a koala as he held them tight, making sure there was no space between them.

They knew it was all a lost cause. He had set the board how he wanted. He would not let them go again, and they didn’t want him to.

“Shh,” Leona mumbled into their shirt, inhaling deeply. “ You’ve been real workin’ lately hard, right? Rest wit’ me.”

“But I-” Yuu yawned, their eyes watering some as they did. The action had forced their eyes shut. The breeze also was not helping, rocking them both gently inside the hammock. “Fine. But just for a little while.” They breathed out, their own shoulders finally relaxing. Yuu’s head slumped over to gently bob against Leona’s.

“You win…this time.”

The man only chuckled at their admission of defeat, a warm note buzzing against their chest.

The last thing they saw was the colored glass of the greenhouse, filtering in pink light through the serrated leaves of the palm trees.

Leona’s sighs of contentment traveled through their body, as his warm fingers kneaded into their back.

#another Leona x Yuu fic was requested on ao3 #twst #leona kingscholar #leona x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #twst leona #tamashina mina #disney twisted wonderland #twst x reader #bunnwich writes📝

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cuppajoel · 14 days ago

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the next seven dates| the contractor

PAIRING: modern au/ no cordyceps/younger (late 30s)!Joel Miller x plus size!reader

SYNOPSIS: Dating apps have convinced you that love isn’t real and that all men are pigs. Turning to your bffs for a Hail Mary, you ask them to set you up on a blind date each to restore your faith. Your first date is with a contractor called Joel.

wc: 8.7k (oops)

TAGS: 18+MDNI, NSFW, Modern AU, smut, developing relationships, reader is plus-sized, able bodied and afab, no other description is given. Heavy flirting, first date vibes, Joel is a gentleman at heart, dirty talk, heavy petting in a taxi, alcohol consumption, sex while under the influence, pnv protected (the crowd boos) sex, v fingering, oral sex (f receiving). Both characters are in their 30s.

A/N: I started writing this in September and fell away so many times bc writing for Joel Miller scares me. If you’re looking for a sign to write the thing that you want to read, this is it. Not beta’d.

For context of the fic. This shot is called a blowjob. It’ll all make sense, I promise.

Reblogs, comments and likes are all appreciated <3

Jingling your keys in your right hand, you watch as the numbers climb on the digital display, showing what floor you’re on. You’re exhausted. You let your head fall back against the mirrored surface behind you, your back resting on the metal bar and your eyes fluttering shut for a moment of respite. Although it wasn’t the worst date you’d ever been on, it was a close second or third. You take a deep breath.

From the moment you stepped foot into that bar, the guy was a red flag that turned into a 5-alarm fire.

“Oh wow you look good… A lot like my sister… DING Not that I think my sister looks good, but you look hot, d’you work out? DING Yeah, you can tell… how much do you squat? DING oh, well, I could probably bench you…DING We should try that sometime, if you know what I mean? DING. He laughs, a mix of a frat bro and that lizard meme comes to mind.

The elevator doors open with another ding, making your right eye twitch slightly as you cross the carpeted hall to your apartment. You turn the key in the lock and give your door the customary shoulder barge before the locking mechanism is released. Hooking your jacket and purse on the wall and locking the door behind you, you kick off your shoes and head straight for your giant corner couch, collapsing onto it with a huff.

This wasn’t just a bad date. It was a bad date after a series of bad dates, one after another. The only takeaway from each is that people seriously hyperbolise themselves online.

You were relatively new to the world of online dating after catching your fiancé of three years, Jake, doing the downward dog with your shared yoga teacher only eight months ago.

Jake was everything you thought you wanted. A nice guy with a secure 9-5 and a handsome face. But everything about him was just nice. Your dates, your apartment, your sex- all nice. And at the end of it all, he was cheating on you- real fucking nice.

Unlocking your phone, it opens to the group chat thread between you and your two best friends. You hold down the voice note button.

“So you may be wondering ‘Why is she home already?’ Well, my sweet summer children, not only did my date admit that he found his sister attractive and wanted to ‘bench me’ all before we ordered our first drink…” You pause for dramatic effect, knowing they can’t hear you, but it makes you feel better. You huff out an empty chuckle. “I am just so over it. How can a man say that his favourite film is “Little Women”, have pictures of his rescue cats on his profile, and still be that much of a stereotypical douche?” You fling your head back, resting it on the top of your couch.

“I’m going to do something dramatic and soooo not me… I am deleting the apps… the two of you are tasked with finding me a date each. I don’t wanna know anything about them before I see them- just their name, age, and one picture. You decide who is going first and the winner gets to be maid of honour at the inevitable wedding… Anyway, I’m going to go read one of my fairy porn books and contemplate my life… Night, loves!”

Somehow, you muster the energy to shift yourself from the couch to your room. You bunch up your tainted date clothes, toss them in the general direction of your hamper and pull on an oversized T-shirt. The wasted makeup is double-cleansed off your face, and you shove your hair up into an extremely unflattering bun. Grabbing your Kindle from under your pillow, you flop back onto your bed; your dates with the beautiful high-fairy king never disappoint.

Almost a week later, your best friends pull through. Having found a guy each, who they swear is the one you’ve been looking for, they arrange your dating schedule between themselves. Tonight was the first. In the Uber ride over to the restaurant, you send your location to your friend who set up the date.

Any last-minute words of wisdom?

He’s kinda that strong, silent type.

Also southern

A gentleman for sure!

Hopefully not all of the time 😮‍💨

You shove the car door closed, adjust the strap of your purse on your shoulder, and tuck your phone inside. You feel good tonight. Blue jeans, a red lip, oversized, white-button down, black, pointed-toe, heeled boots-damn they hurt, but they look so good. You slide your index fingers into the belt loops either side of your hips, hiking them up slightly to allow the denim to stretch around your ass just right.

Rounding the corner, you find yourself on the strip of bars and restaurants on the main street. You weave in and out of the patrons, everyone being washed with the rich blues and reds of the neon lights beaming down on them. As you push the door with your hip and descend the two steps to the bar, you lick your teeth, making sure they’re free from any red stains.

Inside is quite the contrast from the bustle of the streets a few feet away. The place is busy, for sure, but it’s as if everyone is collectively trying to keep the atmosphere calm and easy. A massive mahogany coloured bar is the feature of the room, with hanging, warm, filament bulbs creating small spotlights all along it.

You walk further into the room, parallel with the bar, coming to a stop at its corner, facing the bartender. You squint your eyes slightly, trying to pull out familiar shapes from the hundreds of glass bottles behind the bar. The bartender gives you a small smile; it’s your turn.

“Can I have a Tanqueray Savillia gin and tonic, please?” You ask with a soft smile, reaching for your purse to pull out your wallet. “Oh, and a shot of tequila…” You wouldn’t normally mix drinks on the first round, but you also wouldn’t normally go on a blind date.

“Sure. Do you wanna start a tab?” is the return. You look up to answer their question, having retrieved your card and holding it firm between your index and middle fingers.

“Yeah, plea-“

“I got the this one.” A warm, sturdy presence flanks you on your right shoulder. Their strong right hand is placed gently on the bar next to you. Your eyes flick up to the mirrors behind the bar, meeting his in the reflection. He’s looking right back at you through the glass, and a small, closed-mouth smile creeps across your face as you turn to face him in real life.

“Joel?” He nods slowly in response, the smile not faltering as he looks down at you, a glitter in his espresso-coloured eyes. His eyes trail down your form and then back up; you allow yourself to do the same to him. Although not the tallest man you’ve seen, he’s built big.

He’s wearing a charcoal grey, brushed-cotton button down and dark-wash denim jeans that fit him perfectly. Both sleeves of his shirt are folded in on themselves and stop just below his elbow. His hair must be naturally wavy or curly, but it’s been pushed back and tamed slightly, a few curls going rogue.

“Hey, it’s good to meet ya,” he tips his head down slightly as you raise yours, meeting each other in the middle as you press a kiss on the other person's cheek. He smells warm and masculine, a mix of cedarwood and something earthy, like basil. “I’ll take a Glenlivet 15 and a shot of tequila- the tab is under Miller. Thank you.” He smiles firmly at the bartender. Your eyes follow the line of his thick neck, up through his jaw, which is peppered with trimmed salt and pepper stubble.

“Shit, I’m sorry…” your hand comes up to his jaw, remnants of your merlot coloured lipstick on his cheek. He turns back to you and creases his eyes slightly, not following your apology but also not flinching an inch as you place your hands on him.

Your thumb moves in a slow and firm window-wiper motion to try and remove the stain. “I got lipstick on you…” Your left hand now comes up to the other side of his face, pushing ever so slightly to get him to turn to face you more. He preens into your touch, malleable to where you want him. The trimmed stubble pricks lightly at your fingertips.

“Is it my colour at least?” He teases, he looks down at you from the corner of his eye as you woman-handle his face. Damn, his voice is deep. It rumbles through your chest, signifying how close you are to this broad, thick, stranger.

“Yes. Very pretty.” You return with the same level of flirt. Your eyes shift from the red mark you’ve placed on him to his as you give him a lazy smile. The bartender sets up your drinks on the bar in front of you, making you both finally pop from whatever bubble you found yourself in. Three minutes in and you’re already cradling his face? Nice one, babe. You hear your friend's voice in your head.

“Well…” Joel picks up both shot glasses of tequila and hands you one, raising his own, and an eyebrow in your direction. “Cheers-“

“Hold it!” You cut in, your glass also raised to the same level as his. “Gotta look me in the eyes as we drink… otherwise it’s seven years bad sex.” You say, dipping your voice ever so slightly as you remember the above dive-bar standard of the room you find yourself in.

“Shit- well…” Joel smirks, he clinks his glass against yours. “Can’t be havin’ that now darlin’” That southern accent clings to every word as he throws the liquid back, his eyes not faltering for a second. You mirror his actions entirely, trying your best not to screw up your face as the liquid heats your insides.

He gives a silent chuckle before leaning into you again, hand on the small of your back and his mouth hovering just over your ear. “I snagged a table in the corner over there…” He points over your shoulder and you follow with your eyes. “Means you can keep telling me how pretty I am…” he teases and resumes his stance- one giant hand supporting himself on the bar.

Your mouth raises slightly at the sides. That first shot of alcohol hits you nicely as the smell of his cologne makes you breathe harder. “Sure.” You grab your drink from the bar and walk ahead of him to the vacant table, hoping that ‘ol’ faithful’ jeans are doing their job.

You stop just before the chair that isn’t covered by his leather jacket, waiting for confirmation. It comes in the form of Joel pulling out the seat for you. “Pretty and a gentleman… so many sides to you, Joel.” You say, not putting your full weight on the chair so that he can tuck it in under you.

He quickly joins you at the table, his large presence not diminished by his seated position. “Well, what can I say? I’ve got many talents.” He shrugs as he takes a sip of his amber liquid, the ice clinking softly as he places it back down.

In the ease of the past forty minutes, you both had forgotten that this was a first date. A charged silence falls upon you both as you simply take each other in, smiling widely when you catch eyes.

Joel watches as you unconsciously play with your necklace. He’s actively trying to stay in the room rather than let his mind wander about your full, rounded lips that flash red with danger.

“So, I gotta say, I thought you’d be a little more bossy given your demand for a blind date… You do that often?” He sips the whisky, hoping it will bring him back to earth. He so desperately didn’t want to be the guy not paying attention to what you were saying, given that he had asked the question.

“No,” you started, your eyes crinkling at the sides as you smile, “I don’t usually demand that they set me up on blind dates, but the last guy I went on a date that I organised admitted his attraction towards his sister and then tried to organise sex… all within the same sentence, so I’m starting to doubt my abilities to pick for myself.”

Joel splutters on his drink slightly, the fiery liquid catching the back of his throat as he coughs. “You got any siblings?” you cock your head, chuckling that you caught him off guard.

“My brother has a bit too much moustache for my taste,” he says, taking another quick sip to hopefully soothe the burning in his throat. “And I don’t tend to ‘schedule in’ sex.” He murmurs, the words coming out a bit laboured due to the whisky in his throat.

“Noted.” You return, “I’ll make sure to keep mine at bay.” You rub your upper lip before finishing off the last mouthful of your drink. “You want another drink?” You ask in a way that sounds hopeful. Not wanting to run after 10 minutes? Double nice one babe.

“Yeah.” He savours the last sip of his drink, licking across his bottom lip. “What can I get you?”

“Oh no, this one’s on me, pretty.” You wink at him. Joel opens his mouth in protest but wavers, a slight flush coming over him at his new nickname. “Same again?” You ask.

Joel notices how the lights strung around the place bounced off your eyes, making it harder to see their colour but even more difficult to look away. You pick up his empty glass as you stand. Joel nods in response, giving an earnest “Thank you, darlin’.” As he watches you make the small walk from your table to the bar, he gives himself full permission to check you out.

Your jeans look like they were painted on by the devil, caressing every curve of your waist and thighs. The back pocket of your pants stretches and pulls as you slide one of your hands in, waiting on a popped hip to be served at the bar. The denim leaves little to the imagination but, boy, was Joel imagining? He never wanted to be in a wrestling match more than with this pair of pants. He takes a deep breath, trying not to think about how difficult it would be to peel them off your body.

You move, shifting your weight to your other hip; your heels must be hurting you, he thinks. He lets his eyes wander up over your silhouette, up to your profile, as he does, he sees your eyes waiting for his. “Busted.” you mouth to him, your lips forming a wicked smile.

Joel smirks too, not letting up his gaze and nodding. ”So busted.” he says under his breath.

It’s not long before you join him back at your table, setting his down in front of him with a tip of your head before sitting back and enjoying a long sip from your own.

From the corner of your eye, the bartender comes over, placing two shot glasses in front of you. “Ah, thank you!” You say to them as they return to their bar. “Here ya go, I didn’t have enough hands for everything.” You hold out the shot to Joel with a devious look that wasn’t there before you’d left.

It wasn’t a shot Joel had ever seen before, a mix of different browns and beiges topped off with whipped cream. Joel takes the small glass between his fingers and crinkles his eyes at you. “Should I be scared?” He says, turning the glass to see the different liquors marbling together.

“That depends…” You move your shot glass to your other hand and lick some whipped cream off your thumb before switching it back to your dominant hand. “Do you like blowjobs, Joel?” You flutter your lashes and smile sweetly at the man across from you, whose jaw had just gone slack and eyes darker from the last time you’d looked at them.

Joel, not wanting to interrupt whatever mood you’d returned with from that bar, makes a deep “mmm mmm mmm” sound that started somewhere in his chest as he shakes his head and purses his lips. “You are trouble, ain’t you?” With that, you clink the glass against his and smile again.

“You have no idea.” You tip the glass back along with your head, just slightly so as not to break eye contact. Joel mirrors your motions, trying not to tempt fate given that he had a demon in front of him. Quickly, his gaze falters as the contrast in taste between the shot and his whisky has him shivering.

“Is that the best blow job you’ve ever had?” There you were again, licking the sweetness of the liquor from where it’d spilled on your fingers. A carnal image of you doing that after having his cock in your mouth flashes before his eyes. He shifts in his seat, having to tug at the denim at his crotch.

“Probably not.” Joel starts, taking a drink to rid his mouth of the overly sweet shot. “But, I believe in second chances-can always try again.” The liquor was starting to talk for him as he felt it climb his neck and up his ears.

“Okay, so I have this game that I play on dates…” You start, somehow your chair had drifted closer and closer throughout the night, as you both take turns getting the next round from the bar. As you sit elbow to elbow with Joel, close enough to smell the whisky that mixes with his earthy cologne.

“I like where this is headed already.” His accent has gotten stronger over the hour that has passed.

You shove his shoulder, “Shut upp. The game is that you have to imagine that your memory is wiped, so you get to experience things for the first time again… I then give you a category and you can only pick one thing, okay? So, if I were to say movie: what movie would you want to experience watching for the first time again?”

“Blade Runner”, he says, without hesitation. His eyes were starting to have that warm, glazed look that comes with drinking. “You?”

“Probably Scream or Fight Club- I like a twist. Vacation?”

“Ireland.”

“Australia.” you respond, picking up the pendant on your necklace out of habit, dragging it back and forth along the chain. Joel follows the movement of your fingers with his eyes, letting it soothe him too. “Food?”

��Mmmm, that’s a hard one…probably something that my Mom makes, like chilli or barbecue.”

“You’re easy to please, hm?”

“Give me a plate of good food and I’m yours.” He picks up his glass, trying to savour the liquid as you’d both agreed ‘just one more’ two drinks ago.

“I also love chilli.” You start, watching the way his lips wrap around the glass and how his tongue flicks across his lips when he sets it back down. “But I think I’d go with a dessert like chocolate fudge sundae… or, have you ever had one of those French pastries… What are they called? Pain au chocolat? That would be mine.”

He hums again, enjoying watching you ask and answer your own questions. The fidget that you started with the pendant of your necklace holding steady. In a moment of no thought, Joel slowly reaches out and stills your movement to look at the gold medal. “This is pretty.” He says to himself more than anything.

His big hand covers yours and flips the coin-shaped jewellery over with his fingers, the only response you can muster, “mmm”. He surveys the jewellery as best he can in the dim light of the bar, noticing the engraving on the back.

“It’s my initials.” You say. Your hand, and his, staying exactly where they are.

“Oh, you have a middle name.” More an accusation than a question. He sounds as if he’s uncovering some hidden gem about you. “What is it?”

“Nuh uh, you’re not getting it that easy. That’s for date five at least.” You tease, your gaze becoming heavier, the devious glimmer in Joel’s eyes becoming stronger.

“Anything else special happen on date five?”

”You might get another blowjob… but you were so ungrateful for the first one.” Your eyes drop to his mouth and then back up to his.

Joel can feel himself aching to be closer to you. His hand that holds the pendant now drifts to your jaw, his thumb feathering over your cheek, mirroring the window-wiper hold you had him in the first moments that you’d met each other.

He had a craving to explore every part of you, to taste, smell, and hear you. The need shoots through every nerve ending, spurring him on to take everything he can. But he has to slow down, or else take you to the bathroom and make you fill up all of his senses.

The Texan gentleman within him holds strong, as much as he could feel all of his reasoning heading south. He brings his face closer to yours, that slanted smile quickly becoming your favourite sight. “Can I take you home?” He rumbles, his voice low and soft so only you both could hear it.

The whisky on his breath makes your eyes flutter as you draw a sharp breath at his question. Your mouth turns up at the sides, you can tell your eyes have the same shimmer as his. Tipsy. Ready.

This wasn’t something you’d planned on. You had so many rules about first dates: No kissing (hence the red lipstick), no sharing a car, and no sex until you felt safe. With this man’s hand cradling the back of your neck and his calloused thumb tracing down your jaw and back again, you feel like syrup dripping over hot pancakes.

You’ve lost all sense of what time it is, or how long you’d been sitting there, inches from his face as your body screams at you to kiss him.

His face is so close to yours that his features become fuzzy. Your eyes are having a hard time focusing in this light. Joel’s eyes move over your features, waiting, restraining, teasing, not daring to push further until you say so.

You reach out to the corded forearm that is tensed and attached to the hand that was holding you gently. Your manicured nails rake up and down his arm in a feathered tickle. You feel his breathing deepen as you press your top teeth into your bottom lip.

“You’re gonna need to,” The pressure from your scratches is getting slightly harder, causing a hum to vibrate in Joel’s throat. “or else everyone will see how pretty you are with this shade of lipstick on your mouth.”

Joel takes the weight of your head and neck in his hands. He holds you both in that position; thick fingers cradling your nape. His tongue traces along his lips and pulls back slightly just so he can take in the heavy-lidded, slack-jawed sight before him.

“Let’em see.” he brings his lips, achingly close to yours, his eyes open, waiting for that last confirmation before he hands over his soul.

In an instant, his lips find yours, setting a slow, strong pace. The trimmed stubble on his upper lip chafes against your soft skin, creating the sweetest friction.

His cologne, mixing with the whisky and the warmth of his skin, takes over your senses as the broad backed man envelops you in his big arms.

Raking your hands through the soft curls at the back of his head, you can help but kitten lick at his bottom lip, craving a taste of that whisky you’ve seen him sip at all evening.

It only takes an instant for Joel’s breathing to deepen and for his tongue to meet yours, you both stifling a moan as you slide deeper and deeper into each other’s mouths.

Your wills, hanging by a thread, allow you a moment of clarity to softly pull away. A noise rumbles within Joel’s chest as you do, his resolve slipping like sand in an hourglass. With heavy eyes he lingers on your messy mouth, his brain unable to think of anything else than what state you’d end up in after his cock passes through your full lips.

With a chuckle, you bring your thumb to his mouth, wiping away the remnants of your lipstick that have transferred to him. “Messy boy.” You mumble, assuming your pupils must be the same size as his. He mirrors the movements on your mouth. The lipstick, blurry and smeared into a faded, pastel red that he hopes stays on him for days.

Joel swipes gently at your hot, swollen lips and chin, trying to clean you up and calm himself down before you leave the table. At one of the passes of his over your mouth, you lick softly at the pad of his finger. Matching your mood, he sinks his teeth into the fleshy part at the base of your thumb and tugs slightly.

“If we don’t leave in the next minute this whole goddamn bar is gonna see how messy I get when I turn your sweet ass the same colour as your mouth.” He licks then kisses where he had bitten you, making your eyes flutter and thighs press together.

The next half an hour was a blur. You both had the mission to get to your apartment as soon as possible, causing you to move with the most efficiency that four drinks would allow you to.

The Uber ride was the longest of your life.

Joel opened the car door and then slid right in behind you. His large, powerful hands placing you into the middle seat and wrapping the seatbelt around you, clicking it into place. He places his warm hand in the inside of your thigh, unable to keep his hands from you, you did the same, your forearm laying across the top of his thigh, nails scratching softly at the denim.

The alcohol has well and truly gone to your head, making every touch and graze feel heady and dreamlike. Joel was struggling. All night he was craving to be closer to you, holding and restraining himself but now that he’d had a taste it was impossible not to touch you. Trying to maintain his stoicism was less like stopping a yawn or sneeze and more like trying to stop a freight train on a windy day.

In the front, your driver is murmuring along to the radio, but all you can hear is the heavy, warm breathing of the man behind you as you allow him to explore your jean-clad thighs.

Pulling, pushing, kneading, it felt like Joel couldn’t get close enough. The roughness of his touch was full of nothing but need and desire.

You can’t make out everything he’s saying, his whisper is strained and raspy. You can make out the words goddamn and jeans; the lucky fabric achieving their purpose once again.

Your hand covers Joel’s, squeezing and pushing at him, encouraging him to keep going. Whatever devil was inside you wanted to push him to his limits in the back of this cab.

Feeling bold, you allow your palm to push at Joel’s high, travelling further and further up his lap before you stop dangerously close to the giant bulge you can see in the low light of the cab. This wasn’t typical behaviour from you, but the solid warmth of the man under you called to your most primitive nerves.

Dropping your head to Joel’s shoulder, you lean into his neck, leaving sloppy, wet kisses, tinged with light pink, in your wake. Trying your damnedest to hold strong until you get to the apartment.

The walk through the main doors of your apartment building was full of sideways glances and lip bitten chuckles. To have such desire within hours of meeting someone had never happened to you before. It made your skin tingle, all of your senses heightened.

By the time you reach the elevator, you can hardly recognise the darkness in the eyes peering into yours. Fingers interlaced, firm squeezes shoot straight to your clit; Joel’s rough hands somehow able to be strong but reverent at the same time.

Waiting until the doors close, Joel guides you against the brushed steel bar, which reaches the small of your back, and closes you in. His hands hold onto the bar on either side of your hips.

That nagging, rational part of Joel’s brain was screaming at him. He didn’t want any wires crossed or doubts about his intentions about tonight. Sure, he’d had his fair share of one night stands but not for years and certainly not with someone who he’d felt this level of attraction to.

With his knuckle, he ensures your eyes are on him as he hovers his mouth too close to yours. “I need you to know that I didn’t come on this date expectin’ anythin’and I still don’t…” he bows slightly, his forehead rests against yours, and he exhales with a self-fuffacing chuckle.

“I should be a gentleman. I should walk you to your front door, kiss you, and say goodnight.”

But I don’t know if I can, his brain screams at him.

Unmoving, you both share breath in close proximity. The alcohol in your system is dulled by the rush of adrenaline and hormones that are buzzing around your body.

Your teeth latch on to your bottom lip, Joel immediately catches on to the action but squeezes his lids shut, keeping his caveman brain at bay just barely.

The hotness of Joel’s breath fanning over your face has you fantasising about how it’d feel to have it between your legs. You shuffle slightly, squeezing your thighs together and feeling how wet this evening has made you already.

Staying in the electric silence, your chuckle echoes his own. You mimic his actions, moving your forehead, pressing the knuckle of your forefinger under his chin, encouraging him to lift it so that you can look him in the eyes.

“Joel, I’ve got some good news for ya…” The elevator dings, opening its metal doors at your floor. You let your grasp of his chin fall so you can wriggle free of his hold and lead the way to your apartment. “You might be a gentleman, but I’m not.”

Exiting the elevator slowly, you emphasise the movement of your hips as you lead the way through the carpeted hallway to your door. Joel follows closely, admiring the view with hearts in his eyes. Pausing for the briefest of moments, he exhales fully, palming himself, squeezing to elevate the ache at the base of his cock before catching up to you.

Twisting the key in the lock, you ram the door with your hips once, twice. “C’mon cockblocker” you ram it again, somehow the combination works, gaining you access to your apartment and a sideways glance from Joel which reads ‘we’ll deal with this later’.

With unfathomable accuracy, you throw your keys into the dish by your door and shrug off Joel’s leather jacket, which he kindly lent you, hanging it by the door.

At your back, you feel the Texan man push his hips into your ass. His fingers slide through your belt loops, giving him more purchase and momentum as you lead the way down the hall to your bedroom. His lips kiss softly at your neck, inhaling your scent before exhaling with a rumble. “Can you feel that, darlin’? Feel how fuckin’ hard you make me?” He punctuates with another pump of his hips.

A playful chuckle passes your lips as you turn on your heel so that you are facing him. Bravely, you press your palm firmly against the thickness under his jeans.

A flush starts at the base of your spire and carries up to the tips of your ears, as you feel how hard he is. His eyes flutter close, a deep groan reverberating from his throat as your breathing gets heavier. “Oh fuck, you’re big.” You rush out, that brain-to-mouth filter experiencing technical difficulties.

Joel threads his fingers through your hair, his palm cradling your head, the other grabbing at your full hip. His big brown eyes glimmer in the low light of the room as he scans your full face, stopping at your lips before flicking back up to match your gaze. “I believe in you, sweetheart. I think you can take it.” A sideways smirk, gifted to him by horny demon, swipes across his full lips.

Bringing your lips to his once again, the kiss is feverish, missing all of the earnestness of your first. Joel licks into your mouth deeply, his tongue gliding along yours, your breaths mixing together, making the air balmy.

Almost simultaneously you reach for his belt buckle and he your top button, the soft clink of metal on metal making your pussy clench.

He coaxes you backwards, prodding you to lay down on the bed as you begin working the buttons of your shirt.

Reaching behind himself, he tugs on the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one swoop. His body is a wall of soft muscle- not created at a gym but through honest hard work. Freckles speckled down his arms and across his chest- you want to trail a path with your tongue.

“These jeans laced with black magic or somethin? Had me hallucinatin’ from the minute I saw you at that bar.” He peels them down in a see-saw motion. Joel kisses down the roundness of your hips and thighs as they are revealed little by little as he goes one on one with the denim.

Before long, jeans, shirts, and shoes are cast to the outskirts of the room. You lay before him in a blue matching set- the heft of your tits barely confined. Giving them a squeeze, your smaller hands barely cover them, the pillowy flesh spilling over the spaces in between your fingers.

Joel’s eyes go directly to them, a slanted smile sweeping across his face before he lowers his lips to the roundness of your stomach.

Licking, kissing, inhaling the scent that he assumed was your perfume lingers heavy on the plumpness of your soft skin. Travelling lower and lower, Joel settles himself, kneeling on the floor before you, eyes settled on the damp patch spreading on the gusset of your panties.

With forearms hooked under your thighs and hands resting on top Joel yanks you towards him, his beautiful hooked nose laying on the wet fabric as he inhales. “Fuck me.” He whispers into your mound.

Hooking his fingers around the fabric, his eyes flick up to yours for permission. Bumping up onto your forearms for a better view, you smile wickedly, crooking your neck to the side. “Let’s see how messy you can get, pretty.”

Joel all but rips the lace garment, whisking it downwards, past your knees before he hovers his mouth just above your pussy, close enough that his breath tickles against the soft hairs. Tongue first, he places wet kisses on just north of where you want him the most.

Instinctively, your hips raise, eliciting a dark chuckle from him. “Goddamn you’ve got a pretty pussy.” He shifts you so that your legs lay over his shoulders and freeing up his hands to push apart your folds, allowing him to see your swollen clit.

With a flat tongue, Joel licks almost too tenderly at the soft, dewy skin before swooping languidly over and over your bud. “Oh my god.” You moan, willing your hips to stay still and stop being so greedy, allow this man to cook.

“Never been called that before.” he mumbles, bringing the sides of his cheeks together, gathering his saliva in his mouth and then letting it fall to your clit. You were already soaked but Joel needed to see you dripping, messy. You moan, the lewd act making your eyes roll back.

Although being caught up in the desperation you had for each other, Joel needed to take inventory of every twitch, roll, and moan passing through your sweet, soft form. There was no way that he was taking tonight as a solitary event, already craving how you’d moan and whimper for him when you allowed him to fuck you bare.

Gently, he pulled at the apex of your pussy with one hand, pulling at the hood of your clit to unsheath it fully, before circling it with deep, even pressure with his opposite thumb. “You are fucking soaked, sweeheart.” Your breathing gets heavier, you’re unable to open your eyes fully, but you’re not willing to miss a second of this guy at work.

Joel incorporates his mouth, slurping and swallowing as if you were ice cream threatening melt right under him. Threading your fingers through his messy hair you push and pull at his fluffy curls, your heels digging in just at his shoulder blades to encourage him, more.

Feeling him chuckle,he presses into you deeper, his lips and tongue now licking into your pussy which flutters and pulses around his tongue. With each movement of his jaw you feel his beautiful nose bump and swipe across your clit, that familiar buzz at the base of your spine growing stronger and stronger. “Fuck, Joel keep going, it feels so fucking good…”

Hearing his name as a moan on your lips, strokes the most primitive part of him. He needs to be closer, deeper, before he comes in his pants like a teenager.

Somehow finding the strength to peel himself from you, he stands, his cock aching and hard as stone. There’s a clear, darkened patch on his boxers which steals your attention for a second before it moves slowly to his hand squeezing at himself. “I gotta get you ready sweetheart. Gotta be inside you.” He shucks his boxers off himself and pumps his cock in his hand.

Resuming his earlier position, Joel gathers your slick with his middle and ring finger before pushing them in slowly to your weeping pussy.

“Shit”

“Mmmmmfuck”

Groaning in unison, you swear you see Joel’s eyes flutter in the way yours are as you squeeze against his fingers. Joel flexes his digits, sweeping the pad of his thumb across your beautifully swollen clit to tandem with his fingers.

Shifting your hips, you rock yourself on his fingers, allowing your big tits to bounce and ripple in harmony. Opening your eyes, you can see him jerk his heavy, weeping cock at the same pace as he pumps into you, the strong expanse of his forearm tensed with chorded muscle. The view getting you closer and closer by the second.

“Think you can take more? I know your sweet pussy is gonna milk me dry.” Joel stretches his fingers inside of you, licking his lips, his eyes glued to your own.

Never have you had a man talk to you like this during sex. Often, your background music to get off was either the squeak of the bed frame or the buzz of your pocket bff after you were laying, disappointed, in a wet patch in your bed.

“Oh, you like me talking to you, don’t ya? You like it when I tell you how tight your cunt is, hm?” Joel’s upper body is covered in a small sheen of sweat, his fingers somehow able to quicken and maintain the even pressure.

“I’m gonna come, fuck.” Your hips grind harder, movements in tandem with Joel’s allowing your big tits to jiggle and ripple.

A familiar warmth spreads through your pelvis and hips, growing higher and higher flushing to the tips of your ears.

Joel, praying so hard that he doesn’t come, stops jerking himself, instead lowering his body so that he can drink your sweetness from the source. “That’s it. Good girl. Come all over me.” He speaks into your sopping wet pussy. Through thick lashes, he peers over the soft valleys of your stomach and hips, his tongue and fingers not stopping but calming to a slow, steady motion.

Ears still ringing, you prop yourself back on your elbows once more, enjoying the view of the southern man, eyes closed kitten licking at your pulsing hole.

In feeling your muscles flex in movement, his eyes pop open. He pulls his fingers from you, holding them in front of his face and scissoring his first two fingers, examining the silky wetness of your come. Without show or performance he places them in his mouth, past his knuckle in order to finish his meal.

Not wanting to waste another minute without him inside of you, you extend yourself, reaching to the top drawer of your night stand, grabbing a box of condoms and rattling them in his direction.

“I think twelve times might be ambitious but I’ll sure give it a go.” The flirty twinkle in his eye makes you cock your head to the side, giving him an over exaggerated eyeroll. He grabs the package from you, using his teeth to perforate the cellophane and pry open the untouched box.

Pumping his length a few times, Joel scans your entire body; toes, knees, thighs all the way to the undoubtably frizzy fucked curls framing your face. “You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen in my life.” It’s not until he finishes the sentence that you look up at his face, meeting his gaze that was waiting for your eyes. He slides the lubed condom over his shaft before joining you, kneeling between your parted thighs on the bed.

Biting your lip, you watch his actions in earnest, allowing his words to settle on your skin. Although never the best at taking compliments, this was not one you wanted to deflect. This beautiful, strong, southern man was looking at you with reverence and you were determined to believe it, if only for tonight.

Lowering himself on one elbow, he reaches your leg with his other arm, hooking it over the sturdy angle of his hips, his eyes never leaving yours.

Sweetly, his lips find yours, having that gentle quality that you shared in the bar. Pulling back only slightly, his eyes peer south, grabbing the base of his cock and rubbing it up and down the wetness of your slick, tap tap tapping it on your now engorged clit.

On your gasp, his eyes dilate further, unable to keep that goddamn slanted smile off his face.

Only in this moment have you noticed that when he smiles, he does with his whole face. Yes, his lips move but also his cheeks, creating a domino effect on his eyes, crinkled at the side, and the soft raising of his ears. Fuck, he was handsome.

It was your turn to peer down, looking at the way his cock was teasing you. Cheekily, you manoeuvre your hips, making the tip of his cock, notch against your cunt, causing Joel to swallow a moan and for you to smirk. “C’mon pretty, I wanna feel you stretch me with that big dick of yours.” You circle your hips, trying to make him do it again.

Leveraging your leg on his hip to raise your hips higher, he sinks into you, slowly, inch by inch until he is seated fully. Eyes cemented on yours as your smirk turns into a moan.

“Jesus Christ”

“Fuck, Joel”

Joel held still for a moment, the hand that secured your leg over your hip sweeping up and down the expanse of your thigh. “Damn you’re fucking tight.” His lips lower, licking and kissing over your collarbone and neck, the sweetness of your perfume now musky, mixing with your sweat.

As he pumps his hips with long, deep strokes, you thanked the sex gods that he had a pretty face and a pretty dick. His cock was big and thick, stretching you and making you feel beautifully full, fuller than you ever had been.

Working your hips, you moved in parallel with Joel. Pulling your hips back into the mattress when he pushed his pulsing length deep inside, bridging your hips upwards when he retreated. You didn’t want there to be a moment when he wasn’t inside you, moulding your pussy to fit his perfect size.

Joel slants his lips against yours, not waiting to push his tongue deep and long against your own. It wasn’t controlled, it was sloppy and wet, your hand threading through his hair and pulling at the disheveled strands.

The taste of him, mixed with your come and the faint memory of whisky had you rolling your eyes. It was desperate, reckless, kissing someone you barely know like this, like your life depended on it.

Pulling back, he arranges you, one leg still wrapped around his hip and the other raised up, ankle on his broad, freckled shoulders. “This okay?” His eyes, somehow wider, looking for any change in your expression, ensuring you’re comfortable.

You answer with your heels digging into his shoulder and the small of his back, pulling him into you. He feels bigger this way, his cock able to get deeper, on some strokes kissing that detonate button buried deep inside you.

It’s almost as if you forget how to breathe as he gets faster, the hair on his thighs and lower stomach now glistening with your slick as they rub against you.

Joel lifts you higher, allowing him access to grab at your ass, spreading it slightly, making your head spin and pussy flutter. “That’s it. Cmon, baby. I need to feel you come over my cock.”

This feels primal, biological; as if this night, this moment was written in the fabric of your DNA. Meant to happen.

With your eyes rolling back, you give over your body, surrendering to the will and strength of this man. Joel, feeling that he could combust at any moment looks skyward, willing his body to endure this sweetness for longer.

Bringing his thumb to your poor, swollen clit, Joel rubs in quick, deep circles, his pelvis and hips stuttering as he feels his impending orgasm.

“Fuck yes.” You come, eyes rolling, toes curling and pussy squeezing against the heavy cock inside of you. Your eyes snap shut, your jaw clenches as Joel continues to pump in and out of your spent pussy.

“Mmmmmmfuck” you peel yourself from ecstasy long enough to see Joel come. Each beautiful angle and muscle on his body tensing, his eyes scanning over your flushed face, that smile of his appearing again.

Inching towards you, he kisses you sweetly, the curls at the nape of his neck getting curlier by the second. His giant palm rests on your cheek, deepening the kiss slightly, running his thumb over your jaw.

It doesn’t take long for you both to get cleaned up. You grabbing the oversized T-shirt that lay dormant under your pillow and him finding his boxers in the far corner of the room.

A conversation isn’t had about whether Joel should sleepover or not, instead you fall into each other again; kissing, biting, licking, unable to stop but too tired and a little drunk to take it further.

An ungodly vibration on wood wakes you from the best sleep you’ve had in months. Shooting up in bed, you immediately regret your pace, your head tender from the night before.

Scanning your surroundings for a minute, a little seed of disappointment plants itself when you realise you’re alone, no Texan man in sight.

You swipe across the screen, putting your phone on loud speaker before you faceplant back into your pillow.

“Hello?”

”Good morning, princess.” You can hear the sarcasm dripping from your best friend’s voice. “I was gonna call you last night to see how your date went with the contractor but I’m guessing due to my 5 unread texts that it went quite well, hm?”

Stretching your body like a cat in the sun, you grab your phone and lay it on the pillow next to you, feeling like you’re at a sleepover.

“It went well, yeah.” You hear the smile through your voice before you realise it’s there. “He is so fucking hot, got that Mr Darcy stoic thing about him but he is definitely a dark horse.” You turn to lay on your tummy. “Honestly, it got to just about closing time at the bar and I didn’t want it to end. We got back to my place and he went full fucking caveman. And his dick is fucking gian-“

Your soul leaves your body as you hear a hoarse throat clear. Flipping around you see a fully clothed Joel with two cups of coffee hovering at the threshold of your bedroom door. With no notice you hang up the phone, shoving it somewhere in the bed before sitting upright.

“I hope you don’t mind, I didn’t want to subject you to the uncaffeinated version of me too early.” His movements are slow, shy almost as he hands over the cup and perches himself on the side of your bed.

“I thought you pulled an Irish goodbye on me.” You take a long sip, peering over the ceramic as you drink, the sarcasm shield firmly intact.

“And miss seeing your Cookie Monster T-shirt in the daylight? I don’t think so.” He teases, reaching for the hem of your shirt which grazes your mid thigh.

“I had a lot of fun last night.” He rests his giant warm palm on your leg, his brown eyes almost doe like.

“Me too. Think you finally broke my curse of bad dates, pretty.” You set the mug on your nightstand.

Joel flushes at the nickname, immediately taking him back to last night's events. Placing his mug next to yours, he scoots forward, cradling your jaw and placing a sweet, chaste kiss on your lips.

Unable to resist, he deepens the kiss. His big fingers thread through the mess of tangled curls as his breathing becomes heavier.

Pulling away, he keeps your faces close together as he scans your sleepy features. A goofy looking grin works its way across his face as he chuckles softly.

“What?”

He shakes his head softly, the smirk not letting up. “Can I have your number?”

Your head bows slightly, falling to rest on his broad chest as a silent laugh works its way through your shoulders. The sex last night was incredible, not the typical first time timidness so the thought of this man not having your number seems so ridiculous.

Joel presses a kiss into your hair, inhaling that scent that now makes something stir at the base of his spine.

Sunday afternoon rolled in slowly. Joel stayed for a hearty breakfast of cocoa puffs before heading back home, the impression of him lasting through the sweet ache in between your thighs.

Your current boyfriend, the high fairy king, had just slayed the mortal who spoke ill of his mate as a notification pops up on your phone from the Texan himself.

[image attached]

damn, that looks so good

I’m jealous

Last night work you up an appetite?

certainly did

it is good

but it’s got nothing on what I ate last night

The smile on your face had your cheeks hurting. Last night was not a normal first date. The level of attraction and passion you’d felt was nothing you’d ever experienced.

Rolling your head to rest on the top of your couch, you can’t imagine any date going better than your one with Joel. It makes you anxious but in a way where it feels like butterflies in your stomach.

Before you can reply to Joel your phone pings again, but this time the message from your best friend.

Okay gentleman Joel might’ve been good but just wait for first date number two before you make up your mind.

This is Javier. 🙂‍↕️😮‍💨😚😋🫠

Clearing your throat you look at the image of date number two.

Think I should give him a shot.

For science. 🙂‍↕️🤓

npt/ tag list 🏷️ @gothcsz @chasingthepoguelife @mandaloriankait @probablyreadinsmut @half-moon16 @brittmb115 @noisynightmarepoetry @maried01 @witchy-and-persnickity @drunk-and-capable @angiewatson @toshatoshalopez @qutequeersstuff @indiegirlunited @jolalibrary @sheepdogchick @regularjoel @iknowisoundcrazy

#pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x plus size reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #modern day au #modern day Joel miller #plus size reader #tlou fanfic #Joel Miller #fic!thenextsevendates #cuppajoelfic

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veinsfullofstars · 2 months ago

Note

For marxolor!

💝

💓

👀

🥄

Oh, wow… a whole batch of ‘em! Really giving me a run for my money, Anon, haha! (Maybe I should’ve put a cap on how many can be submitted at once… ^^’ ) Don’t worry about it, though, I think I can manage this one. Let’s see…

6. 💝 What is each person’s love language (words of affirmation, acts of service, giving gifts, quality time, and physical touch)?

18. 💓 How did they tell their friends that they were together/do their friends know or is their relationship a secret?

I haven’t really talked about how Marx and Magolor meet in the CFAU yet... mostly because it’s, like, a Whole Thing™. A story I was working on well before the CFAU was even conceptualized and practically a sub-AU in and of itself. It’s also… very work-in-progress and very not finished yet (kinda fell on the back burner once the other AUs took precedent, oops ^^’ ). Just know that the boys get the slow-burn treatment something fierce. Seriously, they don’t even get to the QPR stage until some time after Mags returns from purgatory, and even then only after some lingering baggage is dealt with…

Anyway, to make a long and incredibly complicated story short, they figure it out eventually (idiots-in-not-quite-love style), keeping it a poorly-guarded secret when they inevitably end up back on Popstar. Then - after a bunch of [REDACTED] happens, a crisis is narrowly averted, and things get sappy and cathartic - Marx just kind of… blurts it out, completely unbothered, tired of all the hiding and running and keeping secrets (at least for today). It leaves the Dream Land 4 in varying shades of surprised (or not surprised) and Magolor in a single shade of mortified… though not for too long. After all, it’s not like it’s the worst secret to even come out about him, and certainly not one he should be ashamed of.

When they have a moment to talk about it later, it might go something like this:

Mags: I can’t believe you did that. In front of everyone. Without even asking me first. Marx: Heh, sorry. Got caught up in the moment. I mean, you try keepin’ a secret like that after almost dyin’, hehe… Um. You’re not… actually mad about it, are you? Mags: … *sigh* No. It’s fine. I’ll be fine. Heh, honestly? It’s… kind of a relief.

9. 👀 What do other characters think of their relationship? Do they approve or disapprove?

To tie in with the previous question, how about some more ✨ non-canon interviews ✨? (Fair warning - this is happening after the end of a story I haven’t told or finished yet, so these answers are probably gonna be vague as hell and very out-of-context.)

Bonus interviews with some folks who find out much later:

22. 🥄 When they’re cuddling together who’s the big spoon and who’s the little spoon?

Marx has more of the “big-spoon energy” between them (though good luck getting Magolor to admit that), but trying to cuddle with his wings is… not ideal, as the raw magic that perpetually leaks from them is enough to overwhelm Magolor’s finely-tuned senses (like staring into a spotlight from inches away or walking into a very saturated perfume department). Besides, Magolor is the one with hands around here, so the role of big spoon tends to default to him anyway. Marx doesn’t mind so much, trusting the wizard enough to feel comfortable (even safe) curled up against him. Magolor - who’s still recovering from a life of being a socially-distant, touch-starved hermit - is always a little worried he’s doing it wrong but gets better about it with time, which is nice.

Sketch started 03/13/25, finished 03/18/25. | Kirby Ship Ask Game (made by @/sweetandglovelyart) and alternate questions | Childhood Friends AU Masterpost

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squiddyfics · 4 months ago

Text

squid game characters in a relationship with you

saebyeok, thanos, namgyu, daeho, hyunju, semi, the recruiter

description: how squid game characters would be as partners (au; no mention of the games)

18+ minors dni

warnings: nsfw in parts!!

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

saebyeok:

♡ you were the one to ask her out and she quite literally didn't believe it

♡ like she didn't even answer you at first because she didn't think you were being serious

♡ she has a hard time expressing her emotions. you definitely said "i love you" first and it took her a while to feel comfortable saying it back

♡ despite this, she was the one who fell in love first. she just kept that shit to herself lmao

♡ rather than being outwardly affectionate with her words, she expresses her love through quality time. she loves planning dates for you or just cooking for you at home

♡ she's not big on pda, but she'll wrap a protective arm around you while you're out together

♡ if someone hits on you, she'll get even more protective. partly out of jealousy, but mostly because she hates the thought of someone making you uncomfortable

♡ she's a generous lover. def more of a giver if you know what i mean

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

thanos:

♡ he was the one to approach you, and he was bold about it too

♡ you aren't his first partner by any means, but you're his first real love

♡ he looooves to show you off. "look at my baby. look how lucky i got."

♡ naturally, this means he's into pda. the more eyes on the two of you, the better. he wants the whole world to know you're his

♡ especially if someone shows interest in you... then he gets even more touchy, so he can rub it in their face that you're his, all his

♡ if anyone wrongs you, he'll vow to make their life a living hell. you can't even gossip about your work drama to him without him getting angry on your behalf and threatening to kill them

♡ even though he talks a big game he knows he's lowk a loser and he doesn't take it for granted that you choose to stay by his side

♡ that being said he makes you his bitch in bed. he's for sure heavily on the dominant side

♡ he also has an exhibitionism kink i just feel that in my bones

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

namgyu:

♡ he was the one to make a move on you, but he said it in a joking manner so that if you said no, he could play it off as not being serious

♡ this man's love language is physical touch there's no doubt about it

♡ his words don't match his actions.. like he'll make fun of you for crying during a movie while simultaneously cuddling you and rubbing your back

♡ he doesn't have any cute pet names for you, just insults said in a loving manner ("stinky" etc). he just can't take himself seriously enough to be sappy

♡ you've unlocked his secret second love language, which is sending you memes

♡ he wants to be seen as tough so he pretends to hate it when you call him cute (he does not, in fact, hate it) (it actually melts him)

♡ he gives the evil eye to anyone who dares to look at you for a second too long

♡ you are for his eyes only

♡ he's dominant in bed but he likes you bratty. he wants to work for it

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

daeho:

♡ you had known him for a while, and you had to be the one to ask him out because he was oblivious to all the hints you were dropping

♡ he was too much of a gentleman to risk overstepping your boundaries by asking you on a date

♡ however, once he had the confirmation that you actually liked him, he was all in

♡ he was absolutely the first one to say "i love you". that man fell head over heels

♡ he is patient as fuck and will put up with whatever bullshit you throw at him. like when you tested the orange peel theory on him and he passed with flying colors

♡ you literally have a pet boyfriend. he'll go anywhere with you and do anything to make you happy. your fav himbo <3

♡ he's prone to jealousy but tries not to show it so as not to make a scene in front of you. if someone hurts you, though, all etiquette goes out the window and he's ready to start SWINGING

♡ your pleasure is his priority in bed and he's up for whatever you're into, but when it comes to his preferences, he'd much rather be dominated by you

♡ call him a good boy and his brain will go haywire

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

hyunju:

♡ you definitely had to make the first move. this mf was way too stoic to express her feelings for you

♡ she got anxious and cancelled on you before your first date, so you had to be persistent and reschedule

♡ she was surprised by your strong interest in her, and she still doesn't know how she got so lucky

♡ it took her a bit to open up, but she ended up saying "i love you" first

♡ she's extremely protective of you. her introversion is forgotten as soon as someone upsets you, and she's giving them a piece of her mind within seconds

♡ she doesn't really get jealous, she just gets sad :(

♡ she's an acts of service girly. she'll vacuum your floor, change a flat tire for you, anything to feel useful to you

♡ she gives stone top energy (this one is more for an f!reader as it's a wlw term)

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

semi:

♡ she was the one to ask you out, and she said it so casually that you almost missed it

♡ her first "i love you" was also casual, said as she was leaving your house one morning. "bye, love you."

♡ you honestly don't know if she's prone to jealousy because no one has fucked around and found out. everyone around you two respects her quiet confidence and doesn't even bother trying anything with you

♡ she has strong opinions, but she expresses them calmly. because of this, the two of you never fight, though you do occasionally have respectful debates. you tend to walk away feeling like she was in the right after all

♡ she's not huge on pda unless it's something cute and lowkey like holding hands, or some stupid shit like licking you

♡ you def have a secret handshake

♡ she's a soft dom and she's not shy about wanting to receive. she wants you on your knees in front of her

♡ with that said, she also gives great head. that lip piercing..... iykyk

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

the recruiter:

♡ he asked you out at a bar, making a bet that if you lost at pool, you'd go on a date with him

♡ you lost on purpose so his fine ass would take you on a date, and the rest was history

♡ he said he loved you first, and he said it fast. it's not often that he feels love for someone, so he had to act on it

♡ he would do anything for you. anything. if you asked him for help burying a body, he'd tell you not to get your pretty hands dirty; he'd do it himself

♡ not that that would happen... but he's thought about it. he knows that's how dedicated he is to you

♡ this freaky little fuck doesn't feel an iota of jealousy when others flirt with you. he just smiles, knowing know matter how much they fight for your attention, it'll be his name you're screaming at the end of the night

♡ he likes to be in control in life, and that translates to the bedroom too

♡ he has big sadist energy, but if he ever actually crosses a line he'll drop everything to comfort you (and beat himself up about it)

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korrasamiweek2024 · 1 year ago

Text

Korrasami Week Prompts

Thank you all so much for your submissions and votes!! So excited to share the winners and the finalized event schedule:

Day 1 - Sunday December 15th:

Sparring ☆ Jealousy ☆ Rivals

Day 2 - Monday December 16th:

Tattoos ☆ Bi Pride ☆ Disability

Day 3 - Tuesday December 17th:

The Beach ☆ Festival ☆ Spirit World

Day 4 - Wednesday December 18th:

Domestic ☆ Hurt/Comfort ☆ Cooking/Baking

Day 5 - Thursday December 19th:

Dancing ☆ Marriage/Wedding ☆ Poppin Bottles

Day 6 - Friday December 20th:

Band AU ☆ Bodyguard ☆ Period Piece

Day 7 - Saturday December 21st:

Car Trouble ☆ Gay Bar ☆ FREE DAY

There are three prompts to choose from each day–you can pick just one, or combine them in whatever way makes sense to you! They're meant to be inspiring, rather than restrictive. Can't wait to see what you all come up with💖

Late submissions will be accepted through January 31st!

Rules and guidelines for the event are below the cut, and as always, if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask!

Rules & Guidelines

1. What's allowed? Pretty much anything! Artwork, fanfiction, gifsets, headcanons, analysis/meta, memes, etc. are all welcome, as long as they're your own work and are Korrasami-focused.

2. Explicit content is fine, but the characters need to be adults, and everything depicted MUST be consensual.

3. Please abide by Tumblr's guidelines about explicit content, otherwise there's a chance Tumblr might delete your submission! If you're not sure, you can always post your work to another site (AO3, twitter, etc.) and then link to it here. All explicit content posted and reblogged here will be tagged "nsft" so be sure to block that tag if you'd like to filter out such content!

4. No whitewashing, racism, misogyny, transphobia, ableism, or other bigotry of any kind. Content that explores these themes is ok, but they shouldn't go unchallenged in the piece, and they should be tagged with the appropriate warnings.

5. When submitting visual or audio media, please include a description either in ALT text or in the body of the post itself.

6. Other characters and relationships from The Legend of Korra are welcome, but your submission should be primarily about Korrasami.

7. Be kind. No criticism ("constructive" or otherwise) of other people's work unless the creator explicitly requests it. If you don't like something, just keep scrolling!

8. Follow the prompts if you can! They're meant to be helpful, but if you get inspired by something else entirely, please feel free to submit whatever you make!

9. Tag for content warnings if you think something might be triggering. Use your best judgment, but if you aren't sure whether a CW is needed, it doesn't hurt to ask!

10. Submit your fanwork either by mentioning @korrasamiweek2024 in the body of your post and using the #korrasamiweek2024 tag, or by submitting it directly to this blog. You can also add it to the Korrasami Week 2024 Collection on AO3. All submissions for each prompt will be reblogged or posted by the end of the day.

11. There's no such thing as a stupid question, so if you're unsure about something, feel free to ask!

#korrasami #korra #asami sato #lok #tlok #korrasamiweek2024

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nanamineedstherapy · 4 months ago

Text

We had a taste & now we can't leave you

Gojo Satoru x GN!Reader x Nanami Kento

Summary: A night of reckless attraction leads to obsession as two dangerous men, Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento, refuse to let you go. What begins as a fleeting connection spirals into a dark, inescapable reality where freedom no longer exists. Warnings: Yandere, Kidnapping, Character Deaths, Stockholm Syndrome, Curse Men. => No graphic smut or violence, but have tissues ready in case. => No gender-related descriptions have been used for the reader.

A/N: This started as me watching that one edit of Gojo and thinking I'd write a fluffy crack story, but the parasites in me as usual made it angsty. https://pin.it/3rgFvY6aa

The bar was dimly lit, buzzing with low conversations and the occasional burst of laughter. A faint scent of whiskey clung to the air, mixing with cheap cologne and the sweat of bodies packed too close together. It was a slow night, and you had no intention of entertaining anyone. Just you, your drink, and the mindless scroll of funny TikToks.

Then the two men entered.

The door swung shut behind them, cutting the hum of voices. The blonde man was already scowling, tugging at the loosened tie around his neck, while the platinum blonde one—grinning, despite his equally irritated expression—dragged him towards the bar.

“I’m just saying,” White-haired one drawled, voice loud enough to carry over the music. “If that asshole tells me one more time that I need to ‘act professional,’ I might just kick his cane.”

Bonde exhaled, running a hand through his already slightly tousled hair, falling on his forehead. “But you’re not professional, Satoru.”

“I am!” The “Satoru” guy protested, leaning against the bar. “You just don’t appreciate my methods.”

“You told Gakuganji his clothes looked like a knockoff thrift store find.”

“Which was true!”

Blonde groaned, ordering them both drinks before sinking onto a bar stool.

You barely glanced up, too engrossed in your phone. The smooth, almost hypnotic voice of a robotic TikTok narrator filled your ears: ‘POV: You’re watching your pet’s reaction after ignoring them for five minutes.’ You stifled a snort at the meme, lazily swirling your drink.

But Satoru noticed.

“You laughing at me?” he asked, voice warm, teasing.

You looked up, meeting a pair of crystalline blue eyes. Too bright. Too sharp. Too close. But the grin that accompanied them was lopsided and easy—like he was already familiar, like he knew you.

You arched a brow. “Not everything’s about dude-bros, you know.”

The blonde huffed a quiet chuckle at that.

Satoru grinned wider, unfazed. “Ouch. That one actually hurt.”

The blonde took a sip of his drink before speaking but didn’t look at you yet. “Trust me, if you let him, he will make everything about himself.”

You smirked as you set your phone down. “And here I was, thinking you two were just going to suffer through overpriced cocktails in peace.”

The blonde finally glanced your way. “We weren’t. My colleague insisted on dragging me here instead of letting me go home.”

Satoru shrugged. “He’s boring. I couldn’t let him waste his night like that.”

“And you?” the blonde asked, tilting his head slightly. “Drinking alone?”

You raised your glass. “Celebrating.”

Satoru’s grin widened. “Oh? What’s the occasion?”

You shrugged. “Got through another week of life. That’s worth drinking to.”

He laughed, and it was the kind of sound that wormed its way under your skin, rich and full of something dangerously addictive. “I like the way you think.”

The blonde swirled the whiskey in his glass, eyes flicking over you, assessing. “Do you always spend your fridays like this?”

“Lately? Yeah.”

Satoru leaned in slightly, chin resting on his hand. “That’s a shame. You seem fun.”

“And you seem like trouble,” you quipped.

His grin turned wolfish. “Guilty as charged.”

The blonde sighed, exasperated but amused. “Don’t encourage him.”

“I am fun, though,” Satoru continued, ignoring him. “For example—” He gestured vaguely to himself. “I happen to be a very accomplished man of mystery.”

The blonde scoffed. “He’s Gojo Satoru.”

Satoru gasped. “Kento! You ruined the illusion!”

You snorted.

The blonde continued, “And I’m Nanami Kento.”

You smiled and told them your name.

The conversation flowed from there. Drinks kept coming, the low burn of whiskey on your tongue. Satoru exuded a reckless, infectious energy that made you feel like the most captivating person in the room, as if nothing else mattered but this fleeting moment. In contrast, Kento was the slow burn, a quiet force beside him—steady yet equally enthralling.

Then it all began with stolen touches—those accidental brushes that felt anything but accidental, lingering just a moment too long.

Satoru’s laughter danced against your ear, warm and carefree, while Kento’s hands, steady and sure, grazed yours when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

Together, they were perfect.

Too perfect.

By the time Satoru leaned in, breath warm against your cheek, voice thick with the edge of intoxication—“You should come with us.”—you didn’t hesitate.

And that was your first mistake.

Their hotel room was a blur. Fingers tugging at fabric, laughter swallowed into kisses, your back pressing against soft sheets, hands gripping, pulling, needing. Satoru, all heat and hunger, his mouth dragging over your skin, murmuring something against your throat that you barely processed. Kento, slower, deliberate, watching, touching, like he was memorizing the moment.

Somewhere between the tangle of sheets and the press of bodies, it stopped being just a night.

But only for them.

Morning came too fast. The light creeping through the curtains painted everything gold—the crumpled sheets, the slow rise and fall of Satoru’s breathing, the way Kento’s arm draped over the edge of the bed. You didn’t wait for them to wake.

No note. No number. No goodbye.

Just a night—nothing more.

You moved on.

Your world was cars, speed, control. The hum of an engine, the precision of a well-designed machine—things that made sense. Things that lasted. A drunken one-night stand with two men who, though good in bed, meant nothing to you.

You didn’t expect them to care.

Except they didn’t see it that way.

For them, it was everything.

The unease started small.

A bouquet on your desk—perfectly arranged, not a petal out of place. No note, but the scent was familiar. A message from an unknown number: Missing you.

You ignored it.

The song you had casually mentioned to a coworker once played as you entered the nearby grocery store. And every time you needed a ride, a cab would pull up to the curb before you could even reach for your phone; the drivers seemed to know your destination instinctively.

You told yourself it was nothing.

Coincidence.

But coincidences didn’t feel like someone breathing down your neck.

You forgot where you put your keys. Normal. Then, you started finding them in places you never left them—inside the fridge, under your pillow, in your shoes.

It moved to the weird things

Your phone screen dimmed and brightened at random, like someone else was controlling it. Once, you watched in frozen horror as the brightness slider moved on its own. A glitch. It had to be.

Then came the dreams—or at least, you thought they were dreams.

The feeling of someone sitting at the edge of your bed, just out of sight. The mattress sinking ever so slightly under phantom weight. The sound of breathing—soft, steady, too close. But when you bolted upright, gasping, there was nothing. Just the dark.

Your apartment door... you knew you locked it. You always checked. Twice. Maybe three times. But some mornings, you’d wake up and find it slightly ajar. Not wide open, not enough to set off alarm bells—just enough to make you doubt yourself.

Your coffee shop always had your order waiting. You never called ahead. You never used an app. Yet the moment you stepped in, the barista would smile, handing over your drink before you even reached the counter. “Regular time, regular drink,” they’d say. But you didn’t have a regular time.

Then, the lights.

Your bedroom lamp flickered. The kitchen light buzzed, casting shadows that didn’t match the angles of the room. Your reflection in the mirror lagged—just half a second, just enough to make your stomach turn.

Maybe it was stress. Maybe early-onset dementia.

You started medical tests. Bloodwork. Brain scans. Sleep studies. The doctors reassured you—no signs of anything serious. Maybe anxiety. Maybe exhaustion. Maybe—

Maybe you were losing your mind.

Until you saw them.

Satoru, standing outside your office building, sunglasses pushed up, head tilted back, staring at your window. Not looking at his phone, not passing by—just standing there.

Kento, seated in the café across the street, a book open in front of him. His gaze never strayed from you.

You told yourself it was a coincidence. A trick of the mind. But coincidences didn’t leave messages in the condensation of your bathroom mirror.

You can’t run.

You locked your doors. You triple checked. You changed the locks; even got a security system.

And yet.

Your spare key was missing.

The scent of their cologne—expensive, unmistakable—lingered in your apartment, despite you being alone.

Your closet door, which you never left open, was slightly ajar one morning. Your bed felt warm on one side, as if someone had just been lying there.

A whisper in the dark, right against your ear.

A flicker of movement in the mirror—something that didn’t match you.

They were everywhere.

One night, they stopped lurking.

And let themselves in.

Satoru leaned against your kitchen counter, swirling a glass of wine like he’d been there for hours. Relaxed. At home. His mouth curled in amusement, but his eyes—glowing, warping the very air—held something... something wrong.

Kento stood by the doorway, arms crossed, gaze steady. He didn’t need to speak. His presence alone filled the space, pressing against your lungs.

Your stomach twisted.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?”

Satoru exhaled, long and slow, like you were being difficult. “You left.” His voice was soft, almost hurt. Almost. “After everything we gave you, you thought you could just... leave?”

Kento’s head tilted slightly. "Do you have any idea how many things in our lives aren’t ours to keep?" His voice was calm, measured. But there was something underneath it. Something fractured.

Satoru set his glass down. The sound it made was quiet. Intentional.

"You never even asked what we did," he mused, stepping closer. "You never thought about it, did you? What it means to be us? What it feels like to give and give and give until there's nothing left?"

Kento sighed. "We don’t get to have things, darling. We don’t get to keep what’s beautiful. Not when we spend every waking moment cleaning up messes that aren’t ours."

Your pulse pounded.

"I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about," you snapped, reaching for the knife on the counter.

The air shifted.

Your fingers brushed metal—then suddenly, the knife was in Satoru’s hand. His grin widened as he turned it over, inspecting it like an afterthought.

"That was rude," he pouted.

You stumbled back. But the space around you bent. The hallway stretched, the walls melted, the door—gone.

Kento tsked. "You really think you can fight us? When we’ve spent our entire lives fighting wars you don’t even know exist?"

Satoru chuckled, twirling the knife between his fingers. "See, that’s the thing. It’s always been about everyone else. Protecting the weak, stopping the threats, and making sure the world stays just safe enough for people like you to go about your day without ever realizing how close you are to dying."

His eyes gleamed. "And for what?"

Kento’s voice was steady. "For nothing. No thanks. No peace. No rest. Just more battles, more corpses, more being chewed up and spit out by a world that will never care about us."

Your breath hitched.

"So," Satoru continued, stepping closer, "we decided—just this once—we’re keeping something for ourselves."

You ran.

The space around you twisted. The walls breathed, the floors split, the lights flickered—off, on, off, on—until there was only darkness.

Then—

You were somewhere else.

A basement.

The air thick with damp and decay. The walls pulsed, the ceiling felt too low, pressing in like the weight of a grave.

No doors.

No way out.

You spun, your breath sharp, and—

Kento was beside you. He caught your chin, tilting your face toward his. His fingers felt wrong, cold but alive, pressing against your skin like they were deciding whether to crush or caress.

"You need to learn obedience," he murmured.

Something sharp pressed to your throat.

Not a blade.

His fingers.

Too hard, too precise. Inhuman.

Satoru's voice came from everywhere and nowhere. "You should have never left."

The room moved.

Hands clawed from the walls—decayed, desperate, their nails scraping against stone. The shadows slithered along the floor, writhing like living things, whispering.

The air turned thick. The pressure pressed against your ribs, squeezing, drowning—

"Shh," Satoru soothed, suddenly holding you from behind. "Breathe, sweetheart."

You couldn’t.

The whispers swelled, filling your skull, echoing.

Stay. Stay. Stay.

Kento brushed his fingers over your pulse. "You’ll understand soon enough," he murmured.

Satoru whispered against your ear. "You think we’re the monsters?" His laugh was soft, almost affectionate. "You have no idea what we have to do every day to protect you."

The room shrunk.

The walls closed in.

You screamed.

And they just watched.

And then—

The locks on your doors changed. Your world shrank to the space they allowed you to exist in. Freedom became a distant memory.

Because once Gojo Satoru and Nanami Kento decided you were theirs—

There was no escape.

---

Months after, the world had shrunk to the space they allowed you to exist in.

There were no locked doors. No chains. No visible walls. But you learned quickly that freedom wasn’t about doors or chains—it was about choices. And you had none.

Some days were easier. Some days, Satoru curled up beside you, his fingers playing absently with your hair, murmuring things that almost sounded like love. Some days, Kento held you in his arms and read to you, his presence lulling you into the illusion of normalcy.

Some days, you forgot you were a prisoner.

Other days, you didn’t.

Like today.

It started with the phone.

Satoru had left it on the table, an oversight, because you weren’t allowed to have one. It vibrated once, the screen lighting up. You barely had time to register the name before it disappeared—Ieiri Shoko.

Another buzz. Another message.

Shibuya. Now.

Your stomach twisted.

You barely had time to think before Satoru appeared in the doorway. His smile was there, easy, playful—but his eyes weren’t. They were sharp, gleaming with something you couldn’t place.

"You saw that, huh?"

Your throat tightened.

Kento entered behind him, already pulling on his suit jacket, his movements too practiced, too quick.

Something was wrong.

"I—" You started, but Satoru was in front of you in an instant, tilting his head.

His hand brushed your cheek, fingers lingering just long enough to remind you who you belonged to.

"You’re going to be good while we’re gone, aren’t you?"

Your heart pounded.

"Where are you going?" you asked.

Kento sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Shibuya."

Satoru’s smiles never reached his eyes when he spoke of the higher-ups.

And because you weren’t stupid, you realised—

Something bad was happening in Shibuya.

"You can’t just leave me here."

Satoru hummed, quickly kissing you. "Of course we can," he said simply.

"You’ll be fine," Kento added, but his voice lacked the usual certainty.

Your chest tightened. The air in the room felt thin.

"You’re lying," you whispered.

Neither of them denied it.

Then, Satoru sighed, long and heavy, and for the first time in months, you saw it—a crack in the façade.

Kento kissed you and turned toward the door. "We’ll be back," he said, but there was something final in his voice.

And then Satoru looked at you, really looked at you. His fingers brushed your jaw, tilting your chin up.

His smile was still there.

But you saw it in his eyes.

A silent goodbye.

And before you could say anything, they were gone.

---

Silence.

That was the first thing you noticed. The silence stretched and stretched until it became a living thing, pressing against the walls, seeping into your skin, curling around your ribs like something hungry.

They were gone.

For the first few days, you assumed they’d be back. Of course, they’d be back. They always came back.

But the food ran low.

The fridge, once always stocked with your favorites, emptied. The last slice of bread curled at the edges. The fruit turned to mush. You rationed water like a soldier, sipping only when your throat burned.

The first few days, you screamed.

You clawed at the windows, pounded on the doors—but there was nothing. The ward around the apartment didn’t just keep people out. It kept you in.

The realization hit on day five.

You weren’t locked in. You were buried alive.

By day ten, the hunger gnawed. The mirror reflected someone else—someone hollow-cheeked, dry-lipped, eyes sunken.

By day fourteen, your body stopped feeling like yours.

The loneliness sank in next. The kind that felt like drowning. The kind that made you remember.

Satoru’s laugh.

Kento’s presence.

You hated them.

You loved them.

They’d trapped you. But at least you weren’t alone.

At least they loved you in their own, twisted way.

Maybe you should have been grateful. Maybe you should have just submitted.

Because now, it was quiet.

And the quiet was worse than them.

By day nineteen, you could barely stand. Dehydration blurred the edges of the world, made everything tilt. Your lips cracked, your limbs shook.

You laid on the floor, staring at the ceiling.

This was it. This was how you died.

Not in a struggle.

Not in a fight.

Not screaming.

Just fading.

Your eyelids drooped. The blackness tugged.

And then—

The door opened.

At first, you thought it was a hallucination. But then, footsteps came. Fast and uneven.

You barely had the strength to lift your head.

And there he was.

Satoru.

But not the Satoru you knew.

He looked different. His uniform torn, the fabric dark with blood—his? Someone else’s? His face was paler than usual, hollow, the bright blue of his eyes somehow dulled. He held you and gave you water. His breath came ragged and shallow.

He stared at you.

You stared back.

Neither of you spoke.

Then—“…Kento’s dead.”

Your breath hitched.

The room tilted.

The words didn’t make sense. They couldn’t.

Nanami couldn’t be dead.

Because if he was—

If he was gone—

Then who was left?

You grasped at his arms, fingers digging into fabric and skin, just to make sure he was real.

"You're lying," you rasped.

He didn't argue.

He just stayed on the floor, holding you close against him, his fingers burying in your hair, his shaky breath warm against your temple.

Your body shook. You clung to him, pressing into the heat of his chest, feeling his heartbeat—proof that he was still here.

Because if he died too—

If he left you too—

You’d have nothing.

Satoru wanted you out.

---

The moment he had the strength, the moment the wards lifted, he took you by the wrist and dragged you outside. Fresh air hit your skin, but it didn’t feel freeing. It felt wrong. Too open. Too empty.

You dug your heels in. "No."

"You need sunlight, baby," he murmured, squeezing your wrist. His voice was lighter than it should be, like he was distracting you, like he knew what would happen if he stopped talking.

"I need you."

His fingers tensed.

"I came back, didn't I?" he said. "I always come back."

You didn’t let go. He didn't either.

You should have run.

You should have screamed.

You should have hated him.

But you had nothing left to run to.

No one left to save you.

Only him.

And now, he was trying to leave you behind.

"Shinjuku’s different." His voice was calm. Steady. Lying.

"I don’t care," you whispered. "Please—"

Satoru sighed and leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. His breath was warm. His fingers traced soothing, familiar circles against your back.

"You’re safe now," he murmured. "You can go anywhere, do anything. Live a real life."

You shook your head, fingers clawing into his shirt.

"I don’t want a real life," you choked out.

Satoru’s breath hitched.

His mask cracked. Just a little. Just enough.

A single tear rolled down his face.

His hands slid up to your cheeks, his thumbs pressing against your skin, tilting your face up. His lips brushed against your temple, your nose, lingering at the corner of your mouth.

"You’re breaking my heart, sweetheart," he murmured, voice cracking.

Then he stepped back and disappeared.

And for the first time since they took you, you were alone.

—

You found out the same way the rest of the world did.

On a screen.

In a storefront window.

The broadcast was jerky—news anchors trying to piece together the impossible. The buildings of Shinjuku were a massive rubble. Smoke curled into the sky. And there, in the middle of it all—

Him.

The Six Eyes. The strongest sorcerer. The man who could bend space itself.

Sliced.

Half his body on the ground.

Looking at the snow.

You stared at the screen, breath frozen in your throat.

The world kept moving. People walked past you, laughing, talking, living. Unaware. Unaffected.

Like it was nothing. Like he was nothing.

Come to think of it, he wasn’t the same after Kento died.

The glass reflected your own face back at you—pale, gaunt, hollow-eyed.

You had spent so long waiting for him to come back.

Now, he never would.

---

A year passed.

You still weren’t living.

Existing, maybe. If you could call it that.

The therapist said it was trauma. Said you needed to find purpose again. A job, a hobby, something. Anything to pull you forward.

You nodded. Said you’d try.

You never did.

Your days blurred together—waking up late, skipping meals, staring blankly at walls until your body forced you to move. Even the weight of blankets felt suffocating.

You hadn’t worked in months. Hadn’t touched an engine. Hadn’t felt anything but the emptiness stretching inside your ribs, gnawing at your lungs.

The world had moved on.

But you were still here. Alone.

---

Then it started as a whisper.

The first time, you thought it was the wind. Just a flicker of sound curling around your ears. But then—

‘Sweetheart.’

The word slithered into your skull, thick and saccharine, like a voice pressing against your skin.

You snapped your head around.

Nothing.

Just the empty street, dim under flickering streetlights. The chill of autumn creeping into your coat.

Your pulse hammered.

You hadn’t heard that name in a year.

The wind rustled again. And then—

A hand touched your back.

You flinched, spinning, but no one was there.

Your breath hitched, a strangled sound sticking in your throat.

Your therapist said you might experience hallucinations. That grief could warp the brain and twist reality into things it wanted to see.

This wasn’t that.

This was real.

You ran.

The apartment was empty and silent. Still, your hands shook as you locked the door behind you, triple-checking the deadbolt.

You turned—

And nearly screamed.

Because they were there.

Satoru and Kento.

Or—what was left of them.

Satoru leaned against your kitchen counter, just like before. His grin was sharp, jagged. His eyes—wrong. The irises burned blue, too bright, too empty.

Kento stood near the doorway, arms crossed, the rotting holes in his skull gaping. His skin was burnt, stretched too tight over his bones, veins twisting beneath the surface.

“You—” Your voice broke. “You’re dead.”

Satoru tilted his head. “Yeah. And?”

His body flickered, his form shifting like static, like he wasn’t really there.

Except he was.

He moved before you could blink, appearing inches away, fingers ghosting over your cheek.

But his legs lagged behind.

“We missed you,” he whispered.

Kento exhaled slowly, stepping forward, the scent of grave soil and old blood thick in the air. “I’m sorry for leaving you alone, darling.”

Your body locked.

This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real.

"We loved you," Satoru murmured. His fingers trailed down your throat. Cold. Too cold. "And now you’re all alone."

Kento was behind you before you could turn. His hand pressed against your waist. Solid. Unrelenting.

"Say it," he said, voice low.

"Say what?" Your voice shook.

Satoru grinned wider. "That you missed us."

Your breath hitched.

They were dead. They were dead.

And yet—

Your hands curled into Satoru’s t-shirt. His body felt wrong. His chest didn’t rise, didn’t fall. No heartbeat. No warmth.

Still, your fingers tightened.

Because for the first time in a year, the emptiness in your ribs wasn’t so hollow.

"I missed you," you whispered.

Satoru’s grin softened. Just a little.

Kento sighed, pressing his forehead against your shoulder, his grip firm like he was anchoring himself. "We knew you’d understand."

Your breath shuddered. Your eyes burned.

This was wrong. This was so, so wrong.

But at least now—

You weren’t alone.

A/N: This was a one-shot, and I’m so grateful you followed it to the end. Which moment stood out most for you – the slow burn, the twists, or the tragic conclusion? Or, if you were in the protagonist’s shoes, what would you have done differently? I’d love to hear your thoughts, no right or wrong answers – just curious minds. Drop a comment below and let me know how this all landed for you.

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