#he has set the bar too high for all the other men

[blackthornluce]

Milo Ventimiglia as Jack Pearson in This Is Us (2016-2022).

[madamechrissy]

Ive had this idea that you’re the bride the Gojo clan chose for satoru (arranged marriage) and you both don’t know who you’re marrying and won’t know until your getting married right? So on your “last night of freedom” your friends throw a bachelorette party for you and take you out for dancing and drinks. Something you didn’t know is your future husband was having his bachelor party at the same place. Long story short you both meet (not knowing who each other are and not catching the coincidence) and spend your last night of freedom with each other (body shots, dancing, a little heavy making out). Come the next day you stare at him through your veil at the end of the aisle and can’t help but smile knowing the man who showed you what you thought was the last best night of your life was your future husband all along.

Hello love, I just adore this idea, I hope you enjoy what I came up with here!

Word Count- 2.4k - Pairing- Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader- explicit- making out, playing in public, oral sex (both receiving)

ఇ An Arranged Marriage with Gojo ఇ

The club pulsed with energy, a whirlwind of lights and pulsing beats that pound through your body, you're already warm and flushed from the writhing bodies on the dance floor and your first tequila shot. Your best friends pulled you back toward the bar, ordering rounds of colorful cocktails that sparkle in your glasses. Your best friend Shoko is trying to cheer you up, pinching your backside and making the funniest 'whooo noise'. you giggle.

"Look at this ass in this! Bend over, bride to be." You bend over and Shoko and she smacks your butt, as does your other good friend Utahime and then all your friends there. You're giggling, as the bartender winks at you.

"If you weren't the bride to be I think I'd ask for your number." He says to you, and you flush, luckily no one can see in the neon lights of the dance floor.

"See, you're hot, bitch." Utahime says, putting a shot glass right in your cleavage and grinning. Utahime's pretty, silky black locks are high in a ponytail, whereas Shoko's brunette locks were shorter, just a bit over one eye as she puts a lime in your mouth.

"Your husband is a lucky man." The bartender says now, and you sigh, not wanting to reveal the truth, that he'd probably resent you, that you all have never even met. Not once. You're from an entire other village, promised to marry the head of the Gojo clan, and you know nothing about him at all.

"He's gonna love you baby." Shoko says, puffing on a cigarette and smiling. You take a shaky breath, running your hands down your slinky silver dress, as Utahime takes a shot right from your tits. You notice then as you look to your right that there are three handsome men, looking right at you.

One has long dark hair tied back half up and in a dark green Kimono, the other sandy hair, looking sharp in a killer suit, but the third stands out, they're all tall and gorgeous, but something about him. Is it the shocking white hair or the brilliant blue eyes, that trail down your body as he smirks just a bit with pouty lips.

'look at her over there, fuck she's hot. Why do I have to get married tomorrow? What if she's a bitch, what if she's a-'

'Satoru, you have no choice. You know that. Enjoy your last night of freedom, go talk to her.' Suguru Geto says, he's set to be Gojo's best man, and he knows his friend is losing it at the thought of marrying someone arranged. He doesn't blame him one bit, the girl Gojo is looking at - You - is very beautiful, that little outfit hugging your body just right, a little tiara on your head.

'looks like she's also getting married. huh.' Nanami says then, and Satoru looks at your head, seeing the tiara and tiny veil, and then your glittering outfit and heels make sense. 'I don't know, should you really talk to her?'

Satoru sighs then, downing the contents of his sweet, fruity hurricane he ordered. 'I mean I have one night left. I won't take things too far, but maybe a kiss or... maybe lick her-'

'Gojo!' Nanami chides, but Suguru chuckles, his dark eyes glinting.

'Nah, kiss both sets of lips Satoru.' Satoru chuckles then, as he things of what is between those pretty thighs, and he grins big, his white teeth glinting, shooting his friends the peace sign.

'I'm out to have my last meal guys!'

"Fuck, is he coming over here!?" You whisper then, as this tall gorgeous man with some expensive black Gucci dress shirt stands and looks right at you. You nervously down another shot, eyes wide at your friends.

"He thinks you're hot! Fuck it babe, enjoy yourself, we have no clue how this... Gojo guy is going to be." Utahime says softly, and you shake your head.

"I can't just fuck someone night before my wedding!"

"So don't fuck, just... maybe, y'know." Shoko winks, putting her cigarette out, and you feel your pulse race as he gets closer.

"Y'know what? You all know I am too sheltered to have done much."

"That's even better, gotta do something before, yeah?" Utahime says, nudging you, and you open your mouth, but suddenly he's right next to you, towering over you and everyone in the damn club, even his tall ass friends were just a hair shorter.

He smiles down at you, then to your friends, but his focus shoots right back on your face, as he toys with the tiara a bit. "bride to be, huh?"

"Um... y-yeah." Fuck could you be anymore awkward?

"How about I buy you a drink, pretty?" You flush under his casual praise, as someone with such perfect features compliments you, and he was perfect, his straight nose, his pouty pink lips, jaw structure better than a GQ model. And fuck he smells good.

"She'd love to!" Utahime answers for you, and you panic, looking up at him, noticing his gaze had dropped to your breasts, pronounced in that pretty dress. You feel your nipples perk up, and hope he doesn't notice.

"Oooh, Mei is here! We will let you two mingle, we're gonna meet her out front and then get more drinks." Shoko says, and they leave you, these bitches leave you with this... tall ass, fine ass man. You gulp nervously as he has a seat next to you, scooching you a bar stool up.

"Last night of freedom huh?" He asks softly, and you nod, sighing and sitting where he'd just patted, as he holds up two ridiculously long fingers, fingers that make you think the lewdest things, how they'd feel inside you.

Fuck.

He orders you both several shots in different colors, like a pretty rainbow and you smile then, as he's handing you the red one first. "Bottoms up, pretty."

You down the shot, surprisingly tart, coughing just a bit, and he's chuckling at you. "hey now! Don't make fun!"

"Sorry you're just cute. Here, try this one Princess."

"Princess, aha no... just a cheap tiara here." You say with a little giggle, and he adjusts it carefully, you watch his Adam's Apple bob. He is too close, you see his collarbone, his strong neck muscles, wondering at his body.

"There, much better, all Princess like."

"You're sweet." You say, and he leans close, tilting your chin up, and you taste his sweet breath, far too close to lips that are tingling.

"Bet you taste sweet." He whispers, and you're a mess, you don't know this man you're gonna marry, but you still feel awful. Should you do this!?

"I um... so, I don't know who I'm marrying." You whisper, and he frowns a bit then, tilting his head.

"Arranged shit? Archaic." You sigh, nodding.

"It's bullshit. I don't have time to... date you, or get to know you, or anything."

"You saying you just want my body!?" He gasps, holding his hand to his chest, making you giggle again.

"Just to have fun."

"Then let's have fun." You two down one more shot each, and now he has you on that dance floor, as your hips are undulating to the beat of the flashing lights, and his big hands overtake your hips. He bends down then, turning you and lifting you like it's nothing, you giggle as your feet dangle, and you cling to him around his neck.

"You're a good dancer... fuck what's your name!"

"It's... Geto. Suguru Geto." He says (he doesn't know why he lies but it feels right- he doesn't want rumors about himself to spread)

"Oh, and I'm... Ieri Shoko." You say (You don't know why you like, but it feels right- you don't want rumors about you to spread)

"Shoko huh?"

"Suguru huh?"

Before you know it, you're making out right on that dance floor, and his hand is sliding up the small of your back, as Shoko and Utahime have begun talking to Geto and Nanami, and the four of them have put it together, watching you both with a grin. You two will definitely be happy, they all muse, as they watch their clueless, horny friends all over each other.

"Mmm, Suguru... can I call you that?" You whisper, in between his kisses, your tongues wrapping around each other hungrily, your body arching eagerly for more. He chuckles then, shaking his head.

"Call me baby boy, sounds cute." You giggle then, shaking your head up at him, then whining as his hand slips down your tummy, and he finds you hot and eager between your thighs. "Fuck you're hot, those noises... wanna kiss you all over."

"I'm so not calling you baby boy." You breathe out, then gasp when he's rubbing two long fingers over already damp lacy panties. He moans softly, eyes locking with yours.

"I'll call you Princess, you call me daddy."

"I am not!"

"Wanna bet?"

"Daddy!" You cry out weakly, as Satoru Gojo is on his knees, and you're up on this fancy sink at the club, he's flicking his tongue on your clit, two long fingers pumping into your dripping wet pussy, as you cling to his snowy white hair. His blue eyes lock, smirking against your hot little cunt now, his other hand yanking down your top, revealing a perky nipple for him to pinch.

"Already, you didn't cum yet, no... I need to find where you're... aha, there it is." He presses up then, as you feel your tummy clench, as this stranger makes you feel better than anything you've done. Your head whacks the mirror with a thud as he presses in on that spongy little spot, and you hear how wet you are in the bathroom echoing, along with the faded bass music.

"Fuck, fuck... m'close, shit!" You scream out, before trying to cover your mouth, remembering where you all are. He grins, brushing his lips on your puffy lips as he presses that spot over and over, making your vision blacken as the pressure builds.

"That's it, where you're weak... go ahead, Princess, let go, I've got you." He says, and fuck you trust this random stranger, the one who's watching you, flicking the tip of his tongue on your clit as he works you, and you're shattering, screaming into your palm, thighs trembling at how good you feel.

"Oh my god... daddy!" You whisper again, earning his grin before he nips at your clit with his teeth, then he kisses your thighs, finally letting you go, putting his fingers between your lips. "Mmm!"

"You're so fucking yummy. Fuck I wish I could taste you again." He huffs, pouting now, as your hand drops and brushes his hair back gently.

"Let me return the favor?" He groans, nodding, as you sink to your knees then.

"Oh fuck, I'm dreaming... pretty Princess sucking me off with her tiara?" He whispers, as he unzips his black jeans, and pushes down his boxers, revealing the most pretty cock you've seen. You still tremble as you start to suck him, as your cheeks hollow, your tongue lapping at his tip, eliciting a moan. "Oh- f-fuck... there, good girl, good girl."

The strangers praise just stirs you, as you stroke him with your fist gently, as you're sucking him down deeper, cheeks hollowing as you do, as you take him further, his big hands cupping your face gently, as he hits the back of your throat. You're moaning around him, as his brilliant blue eyes watch you, hungry, before he lets out a little whimper, and you feel him twitch in your mouth.

"You're too good at it... m'gonna... fuck where..."

"Cum in my mouth." You say then, and he curses, fucking your throat then, still gentle but more firm, as he presses the back of your head down, tip hitting your uvula, you breathe through your nose.

"Pretty girl... gonna cum... ready?" You nod then, whining, and he's whimpering again, this six foot plus gorgeous man, as he cums, his white brows drawn together, whispering over and over how good you are, as you swallow him down, all his cum dripping down your throat. "Fuck, fuck... open up pretty."

You open your mouth wide, showing you've swallowed him all, and he picks you up then, slamming his lips on yours, as you both taste each other, you're gripping his shirt and feeling his muscles, he's gripping your ass and feeling your curves. You tear into each other, then the door swings wide open, and you all seperate, giggling as you both run out past the onlooker.

You're both kissing over and over, and he frowns then, suddenly so serious, as it hits you both, that the most amazing encounter you've had was just that- one time. That you had to marry tomorrow, and who would he be, what would your connection be like.

"Thank you, for the best night of my life." You say softly, feeling emotions choke up, and his brilliant eyes go glassy.

"Thank you for the best night of my life." He responds, as now your friends are pulling you both in different directions, and soon you're looking out the window, thinking of all of the things coming your way, and a smile on your lips as you think you'll remember this white haired man, forever.

*****

The next morning, you're wearing your veil, as you nervously walk down the aisle, in this huge and gorgeous manor, Gojo manor. You nervously turn then, and you stop in your tracks as you see him, that man... not Suguru Geto, he lied just like you had, you notice with a small smile.

He looks a little lost at first, until he sees you, sees your body, his blue eyes shooting across the aisle, and you grin through your veil, as he smiles, eyes shooting across your body, recognizing it. Suguru shakes his shoulder with a grin, as Nanami smirks. You see Shoko and Utahime grinning on the other side in their pretty dresses as you step up, and Gojo takes your tiny hand in his big one, pressing a kiss like some Disney Prince.

"Well, you're not Shoko." He whispers, eyeing your friend. "She is, little liar."

"And you're not Geto, are you now?" He grins, shaking his head, gently taking off your veil, and exhaling, eyes drinking you in. "You look beautiful." He whispers, and you blink back emotions.

"And you look so handsome, Gojo." He smirks, so charming in his white suit, as you're in your white gown.

"Call me Satoru... or..." He leans close, whispering in your ear. "You can call me Daddy later."

Hope you enjoyed, anon ty for the request I had funnn <3

[a-kaash-me-outside]

˚₊‧ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪᴛ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀsᴜᴀʟ ɴᴏᴡ? ‧₊˚

♡ ft. geto, toji, gojo, higuruma, nanami ♡ total wc: 10.9k // nsfw minors dni! // ♡ contents: ౨ৎ 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 ౨ৎ, afab reader she/her pronouns, no smut in gojos or tojis im sorry, emotionally stunted men kinda but they grow isnt that nice (not talking abt higuruma and nanami god no), the aftermath of fwb caught feelings, consolation, emotional aftercare ig, lotta domestic fluff for higuruma and nanami's!!!! (everyone say ty @noosayog for nanami's bc she is the only reason i wrote his) ♡ listen along: casual by chappell roan ♡

- ᡣ𐭩 time passes and people change, and just because you fell first doesn't mean you don't get a happy ending + bonus continuation of higuruma's and nanami's ᡣ𐭩 -

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴇᴛᴏ [ 3 ʏᴇᴀʀs ]

on the list of people that you thought you’d see tonight, geto isn’t even in the top 100, not because of probability or likelihood, but solely based on the fact that you have not thought about this man in years. if you were asked the question from your future self, “holy shit, guess who we saw tonight?” you would’ve listed old friends, distant relatives, exes, minor celebrities, other flings, teachers from high school, people from stories you’ve only heard of, and then geto. 

after that night, you really didn’t see barely any of him. a few posts on your feed: one 2 weeks after and another 2 months after that one when you remembered that you forgot to unfollow him. once on campus: him across a million tables getting lunch with some girl too long after your little thing for you to care about who she was to him at all. once at a mutual (though you didn’t know was mutual at the time) friend’s party close to graduation: you ran into him grabbing a drink from the cooler and neither of you said a single word to each other, just exchanged a very knowing glance.

fast forward a handful of years, with geto not on your mind during a single one of them, and you’re stunned, nearly speechless, as you recognize him across the bar. the track of which your mind is racing takes you stop after stop to thoughts and feelings you didn’t really ask to experience. they follow a curving roadmap in your mind of: why is he here? ↝ wow, he looks great ↝ does he live nearby still? ↝ that’s weird ↝ no, it isn’t weird, i still live here ↝ then what are the fucking chances that he’s here ↝ no, seriously he looks so good

he looks different though, you realize about 3 minutes into sneaking glances in his direction, in some way that you just can’t put your finger on right now. in your slightly tipsy state, you barely stop to ask yourself how you even clocked that it was him so quickly, how there was no hesitance in the recognition or questioning in the placing. he looks really fucking good.

in fact, now that all of the obligatory thoughts have come to a heed, that’s really the only thing that you can think about. how good he looks.

the events that happened that ended your situationship all of those years ago are nothing but outlines now; whatever you said or he said just sounds like underwater conversations. you can see the way that you left and you remember being dumbfounded, but everything else has lost its sting, like a story you’d recall to a friend of a friend in a setting much like the one you’re in. time has handled the memory the way that time does and as a result, when the two of you finally make eye contact after what feels like an hour of missed mutual glances, you offer a small wave. a wave that says, “i remember only knowing you in past tense. we are such different people now, i wonder what it would’ve been like if we met now instead.”

the wave was the first step, technically, sure, but he makes the literal first step. he departs from the conversation he’s been enthralled with for as long as you’ve been stealing glances and he weaves between people in the middle of their own stories before ending up in front of you. 

when he does, he asks, as if he’s just randomly bumped into you rather than intentionally coming over, “shit… is that you?” he puts his hand on the back of your chair, thumb brushing your shoulder.

the friend that you’re with cocks their head, furrows their eyebrows, has no idea who this is or their connection to you, the timelines of their interactions with you spaced too far apart for one to know the other. geto notices this look, addresses it. “we used to…,” he pauses, “see each other? for a little bit.”

you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from your chest at the way he describes it. “yes, yes we did,” you nod. “back in college,” you explain a little further, “been a while.”

the interaction quiets, the two of you exchanging soft smiles instead of words, and your friend knows where this thing is going before either of you even do, so they bow their head, offer their seat to geto, and take their leave in the name of some bullshit excuse. he takes it without a second thought, asking you how you’ve been, laughing about the time that you saw each other at that party, and after an hour of just talking he says, “yeah, i actually thought about you the other day.”

you nearly choke on the drink he’s bought you. you rush to put it down. “you did?” you ask.

he nods. “i don’t even remember what prompted it. i think, maybe, i saw a photo of myself from college and how different i looked and how different i feel now and then just, out of nowhere, remembered how shitty i was to you.” 

you don’t say anything in return, running your finger around the lip of your glass as you stare at him. you don’t know how to say that you don’t care anymore, that you haven’t thought of those days in years, that the surprise that you displayed a few seconds ago was completely genuine, because you were so convinced that neither of you had. it comes out something like a shrug and, “we were practically kids.”

he answers so quickly, “well, kids or not, i’m sorry.”

you laugh, gently so he won’t think you’re laughing at his apology. really, you’re laughing at the notion of apologizing for an act that no longer warrants forgiveness. you laugh at the thought of giving it anyways. you place your hand on top of his on the edge of the bar. “thank you,” you nod. he nods back. 

when you let him take you back to his place for old times sake, you’re half-expecting the same person from the ghosts of memories from years ago, like all of the things he said at the bar were just a last ditch effort to usher the night in the exact direction that it’s heading in. 

but he’s different now, just like he said he was before he apologized, and you can feel it in his movements and his actions. more confident, more intentional. he kisses you first and it doesn’t taste selfish. it doesn’t feel rushed to get to the main event. he savors it, holds your head in his hands, and doesn’t touch a single other inch of your body until he’s found the right combination of fingertip pressure and tongue that has you melting into his palm.

your mind flickers to the notion that these actions might be pre planned because they feel so meticulous and thought out, but that impression quickly dissolves when he sinks inside of you, slowly, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he does, his hand reaching down to cup your cheek, fingers nearly trembling against your jaw when he presses his hips completely against the insides of your thighs. 

“shit,” he hisses, hands moving down to your waist, fingers light like feathers practically crawling against your skin, as if each print was so grateful it got to make contact with the softness below. when he grips into the fat of your hips, he’s careful, intentional or not, pressing his thumbs into the bone, but not letting his nails leave a single mark. it’s pressured, but comfortable. 

he holds you in place, slowly pulling his hips back and he can’t help but look down between your legs, watching himself disappear inside of you, a creamy mess at the base, shallow breaths recycled in his chest. 

“hey,” you say, eyes locked on the tenseness of his jaw and the way that he stops himself with sharp inhales. he finds your gaze in a second. “don’t hold out on me here.” you rest your arm on his bicep, fingers curling around wherever they can reach.

you can feel it under your palm, his muscle tensing as his pace picks up, rhythm consistent, but unrelenting. the breaths come out of you quickly and you’re unable to hold any sort of facade. “ah- shit, f-fuck,” you cry, “holy shit.” you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing harshly as strangled noises leave you without vetting a single one.

“n-no,” you shake your head, regretting it instantly as he slows down in response. you shake your head harder, “no, don’t stop, but- ah,” you groan, “your- you were- i meant,” you exhale a laugh, “let me hear you.”

his eyes widen slightly as he processes what you want from him, and then he listens. he leans down to kiss your lips and then your cheek and then your jaw and then your ear. yes, he’s fucking you better than you’ve ever been fucked in your entire life, but that’s not what makes you crumble. no, it’s his grunts and pants and breathy groans pressed right up against your skin. 

you thread your fingers into his hair, twirling the ends of the locks between the tips, raking your nails down the base of his neck to the front, and then smoothing them down his chest. “more,” you mumble against him, and you’re not sure exactly what you mean, but he gives it to you, whatever it is. you’re certain he’d give you anything in the world right now if you just asked for it.

there’s a moment after when you’re lying there with him, shoulder pressed up against his, chest heaving, barely recovered, that you find yourself back in that college dorm. you don’t know why the tightness is rising in the hollow below your sternum, but it is. you remind yourself that you weren’t expecting anything from this anyway, so it doesn’t matter, but it does. you’re not sure if you just don’t want to be treated like that again or if it has something to do with geto being the one lying beside you. 

when you turn your head to face him, he’s already looking at you. he doesn’t shy away in embarrassment, like it’s wrong that he’d be gazing at you after all of that. his features are steady, confident, strong. he smiles softly, brings his hand up to cup your cheek. “should we get breakfast in the morning?”

in the morning, you repeat in your head. you wait a beat, trying to come up with something to say, to proceed with caution or to discern his intentions or to at least not sound desperate, but all that comes out is, “in the morning?” 

he nods, turning on his side so he can stare at you without his neck getting sore. he inches closer to you, kissing the top of your shoulder and then your temple. he drapes his arm over your stomach. “if that’s okay with you,” he says and then kisses you again.

“okay,” you nod back, lazy smile on your lips, eyelids heavy at the warmth surrounding you now as he pulls you closer to him. “yeah, sure,” you affirm, voice so soft and airy that the tightness in your chest is lifted away with the words, all that’s left is a hope you feel comfortable letting stick around.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴏᴊɪ [ 3 ᴍᴏɴᴛʜs ]

you are not expecting anyone. you have resigned yourself to a nice pair of pajamas and comfy socks and a warm cup of tea and a spot in the living room that you will only leave for a refill and bathroom breaks. you are tucked into the corner of your couch, back pressed up against the sturdy arm, legs crossed, and a throw blanket over your lap.

you are not expecting anyone, so the sound at the door should have felt a lot more jarring. well, it is jarring for a second, a few seconds actually, the echoing disruption bouncing off of the walls of your living room and back to you, but then the noises repeat themselves, like they’re on a looping track, and you realize that-

you know that knock. heavy-handed with a tight fist, back of the knuckles, not the tops. almost pittering out by the end of the three successions, like the first one is direct and assured, but the second and third don’t really bother keeping up. that knock almost makes you run to the door. if it were 3 months ago, you’d be skipping to the door. 

but you hesitate for a few reasons. firstly because when the connection hits that you know that knock very well, you remind yourself to proceed with caution. secondly because it sounds the same but with a difference as small as a hairline fracture. you heard that knock far too many times during the span of a year and a half, and this one sounds almost completely identical, but there’s a half second pause between the first knock and the second knock and the raps feel less impatient. 

you don’t have to look through the peephole to know who’s standing on the other side of the door, but you’re glad you do anyway. if for nothing else, it gives you a slight edge, you’re convinced, like you’ve seen him first, you have the upperhand now. at least, that’s what you tell yourself. 

toji hadn’t contacted you since he left that day. no texts. no calls. no showing up at your apartment at 3 am. nothing. you kept telling yourself that you’d hear from him. when that didn’t happen, you started telling yourself that you didn’t care if you heard from him. you’ve actually been waiting for this moment, replaying what it would look like if he came back, the things you’d say to him and how you’d say them.

now, looking out at him just standing there, you’re frozen. every scenario you’ve replayed in your head, all of the emotional venting and blow out screaming that you’ve rehearsed and you can’t recall a single scene. you think about leaving him out there, about telling him to go away through the door or just pretending like you’re not home.

“i can see the shadow of your feet under the door,” toji calls out, muffled by the barrier between you guys, and yet it still rings out through your entire body. 

you slowly open the door. though, even if it took an entire hour to open the door, you’re not sure it would’ve mattered. you don’t think time is something that could’ve prepared you for seeing him. seeing him didn’t even prepare you for seeing him. you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything, folding your arms over your chest. you just wait. 

“i-,” he starts, but then immediately stops, half sighs/half scoffs as he leans his chest forward, eyes scanning the inside of your apartment, for what exactly you’re not sure. 

“what, toji?” you ask, voice stronger- and more annoyed- than you anticipate it being. you’re grateful for that. “why are you here?”

“shit, this is already hard enough for me t-,” he says, shaking his head, corner of his mouth tugging upward in frustration. 

you narrow your eyes, cutting him off, “sorry, this is hard for you?” you feel like laughing or strangling him more than you do crying, which is a desired outcome in this situation, you suppose. “you know that you haven’t talked to me in three months, right? you haven’t talked to me?” you ask, and you can feel your pulse in your wrist and your chest now, because the lines are coming back to you slowly, one by one, circling your brain, fueling your confidence. 

“yeah, no, of course i know that,” he combats, like you’re the one that’s being an asshole right now. 

you smooth your fingertips against your eyes, blocking the sight of him out for just a second before gesturing with your hand as you ask, “are you going to answer my question or…?”

“look, i said that this is hard enough as it is for me to just be here,” he snaps, and if you were a little less annoyed, if he hadn’t come at this whole thing exactly how he was, you might’ve clocked the desperation in his voice or the uncertainty in his pupils. 

“do you know how fucking stupid you sound right now?” you ask. it’s a rhetorical question. 

one week after he left, you were certain he was going to come back. you and toji had gone a week without seeing each other or even speaking. you had even gone two weeks. sure, the conversation felt much more serious and, sure, really deep down you knew this time was different, but still, you held out dumb hope. 

one month after he left and you realized this was not just him being weird and distant. this was something brand new that you had never had to deal with before. you were still trying to figure out how to navigate it when the two month realization hit: that maybe he wasn’t coming back at all, ever, maybe you had done something wrong. if he had shown back up on your doorstep during that time this conversation would’ve gone very differently you think. 

but he didn’t. he showed up at month three when your reaction to random memories of toji were no longer tears and guilt, but laughter and bitterness. there weren’t many things that toji could say right now that would warrant anything more than you standing in your doorway for 4 minutes or less. 

“i-,” he starts, but then sighs. he looks left, down the hallway of your building, eyes shifting from object to object out of your view. 

“please don’t waste anymore of my time,” you reply and it’s softer than you intend. you thought it’d come out angrier. that seems like a theme for you tonight: everything sounding different in your head. when he doesn’t reply, you start a countdown, promising yourself that when you make it to 15, you’ll close the door in his face. you only make it to 13.

“i’m not here to waste your time,” he says, with no air of disgust or annoyance, the first halfway decent thing he’s said to you tonight. “i-,” he huffs again, “i’m here to say sorry. and-,” he hesitates. 

you wait, just listening. the longer that he hesitates, the more time you have to think about what he might say and how you’re standing with your door open for the entire floor to hear your conversation. you’re not sure what’s worse, having this conversation in the confines of familiar grounds or the openness of neutrality.

“and ask… are you already seeing someone else?” he finishes. 

you’re dumbfounded, blinking at him slowly before responding in the only way you can think of right now, “goodnight, toji.” you shake your head, cursing yourself for expecting anything more.

“no,” he rushes to say and then stumbles over the rest, “i- i tried to see somebody else, quite a bit of other people actually…”

you scoff, squinting at him, saying more sternly this time, with an added attestation of closing the door in his face, “goodnight, toji.”

he reaches out with a quick reflex, grabbing the door before you’ve barely even moved it. “wait, no, i- fuck,” he mutters, scrambling, “can i just come in?”

“so that was your plan then?” you drop your hand from the door. “to come back here unannounced, be shitty to me, ask if i’m sleeping with anyone, tell me that you’ve slept with lots of people, and then ask if you can come inside?” you ask.

“i didn’t have a plan-,” he replies.

“clearly,” you interject.

“but i’m trying,” he finishes, and you’re waiting for there to be more, to explain exactly how this constitutes as trying, because you don’t really see that here.

“fucking christ, toji, you’re going to have to try harder than whatever the fuck this is,” you sneer. 

“we- we had a good thing,” he tries again. you don’t understand how every time he opens his mouth it gets worse and worse. why are you even entertaining this anymore?

“fuck you, man,” you scoff, and it feels like all of the anger has left your body, and in the void where it once was present is nothing but disinterest. 

“no, not like that,” he backpedals. maybe if he would say more than four words at a time, or four better words at a time, then you wouldn’t have to keep filling in the blanks or being pissed off or- “for the last six months of our relationship, i didn’t sleep with anyone else,” he admits like it’s the answer to all of your problems. the word relationship burns at the forefront of your mind so hard that you don’t realize what he’s said for 10 whole seconds.

“i, so what?” your voice is unconvincing even to your own ears. you had slept with other people even 2 months before that last day. that wasn’t the issue. you guys were allowed to sleep with other people. you had an explicit conversation about the fact that you could sleep with other people, something along the lines of, hey, we can see other people right? yeah, we’re not fucking dating. okay, just checking.

the so what, you had already answered for yourself, inner voice replying to your own question, screaming, you guys were exclusive, unknowingly to each other, for 2 whole months before you confessed and he left. 

his answer is much different. he says, “so nothing really. i just- i needed you to know that.”

“well, what the fuck do you want me to do with that?” you ask, and it comes out bitter and discouraged, but what you really mean is, please tell me what you want, please, can you just tell me that you missed me. 

“whatever you want,” he answers instead.

you take a deep breath, a million emotions coursing through your veins and up your throat. “you know what?” you say, and it doesn’t sound angry, it sounds playful, “no, seriously,” you smile and then you laugh, “fuck you, toji.” you close your mouth like you’re done talking, like that’s all you needed to say, but your heart disagrees, forces more words out into the air no matter how hard your jaw is clenched shut.

“you show up here and you’re an asshole and then you’re decent and then you say shit like that and then- then i ask you what you fucking want from this, what you’re trying to play at here and you tell me whatever i want?” you say, exasperated. 

“what i wanted was for you not to leave me three fucking months ago. that’s what i wanted,” you spit, “i wanted you to tell me this shit three fucking months ago before i sat alone, by myself, sad and then angry, and the entire time, fucking missing you, you fucking asshole. that’s what i wanted.”

and then it’s there, out in the open, airing for the two of you to witness and to face, and no matter what happens, you know you’ve done everything and said everything that you’ve needed to. he’s quiet for a few moments and you let him be, not tapping your foot or rolling your eyes or being pissed off, but just letting it play out. if this is the last time you ever see toji, why not just let it play out?

“okay,” he says, and it’s soft in a way you’ve only ever heard from him one time in your entire relationship. “i’m sorry.” he pauses. “i really don’t know how to do this,” he admits and you believe him. it feels different from when he told you something along those lines earlier, but you have a feeling that this is what he was trying to say all along. 

“do what?” you push, because your mind is making assumptions, but if he’s going to prove anything to you, he needs to start now. 

“ask for forgiveness?” he says, like he’s thinking out loud, “apologize? date someone?” you don’t say anything. you’re looking for something more concrete than that. it takes a handful of uncomfortable seconds before he says, “actually care about someone.”

“and do you?” you ask.

his lips press into a thin line, his eyes shift from left to right again. you can feel him getting antsy with the conversation and he’s barely said one vulnerable thing. you look at him, eyes soft and pleading, silently begging him that if he’s grown from this, you’ll let him back in, you swear, but you’ve been hurt before and you know what you’re worth, so you’re going to need some sort of evidence as collateral. “yeah,” he mumbles, but it’s audible. “you,” he says like it isn’t obvious, and it’s quiet and daunted, but you really appreciate the effort.

“okay,” you say, and that’s all you say.

“okay?” he questions, confused. “that’s it?” 

“yup,” you say, but your small smile and the fact that you’re not slamming the door in his face again gives away a bit more than that. 

“can i… come in?” he asks, hesitant, like he’s still being tested.

you shake your head, hand gripped onto the edge of the door. “no,” you say, scrunching up your nose and furrowing your eyebrows. “because if you come in here, we’re going to have sex,” you admit, half because it’s the truth and half just to see the look on his face. (it’s worth it.)

“wait,” he says, placing his palm flat against your door, but not moving it. his hand is now inside of your apartment, the only part of his body that’s made it past this invisible barrier of hallway and your place. “that sounds like a great thing. why am i not allowed in?”

“because this is me having self-control,” you explain, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing the small portion of him that’s crossed the division back into the hallway. when you feel his skin against your pinky, soft fabric of that familiar shirt underneath your palm, you almost make a fool of yourself right after you say the word self-control, but you remind yourself what’s at stake here, what you really want. 

“i came all the way out here to see you-,” he starts, but he doesn’t make a move to replace his hand on your door, letting his arm fall back to his side. it’s for the better, too, because you’re not sure how much more self-control you have already, no matter how much you tell yourself about longevity and whatever. 

“if you really care,” you interrupt him, using his few vulnerable words against him, “and you weren't just trying to sleep with me tonight,” you pause, letting those words sink in, “you will go home and you will call me tomorrow morning and we will get breakfast- the least sexy meal of them all- and then maybe coffee if i enjoy hanging out with you outside of just having sex with you, and then we will go from there.”

“i-,” he starts to protest, but you cock your head. the truth is, if he said another word, reached out and touched your cheek or your hip or really anywhere on your body, if he kissed you, or just walked inside of your apartment and sat down on your couch, you wouldn’t have stopped him. you might even have gotten breakfast with him anyways. he doesn’t know that, you don’t think, but even if he does, he doesn’t act on it. he bows his head slightly, conceding, and says, “okay. i will just… talk to you… tomorrow… then.”

you nod. “goodnight, toji,” you say, hand on the door, closing it as slowly as you opened it. 

“uh, yea, night,” he says back. you won’t tell anyone, and neither will he, about the stupidest small smile you see on his lips as he leaves your apartment that night or the fact that he wakes up extra early the next morning, muttering under his breath about how ridiculous dating is before he calls you at 9:30 on the dot.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴏᴊᴏ [ 3 ᴡᴇᴇᴋs ]

being away from ɢᴏᴊᴏ feels like detoxing. not from like hard drugs or alcohol, but… coffee. 

like you know it’s not necessarily good for you, drinking it every day, but it’s a habit you’ve had for a while now and you just can’t seem to break it. it’s not really hurting anything in your day-to-day and you’ve been doing it for so long that it’s probably fine to just keep doing it.

but out of nowhere it hits you that maybe drinking coffee as much as you do is a waste of money and even if you don’t feel the negative effects constantly in your daily routine, you remind yourself of the times where you could distinctly feel the thump of your heart and the unsteady of your hands. you recall the time that you stayed up all night for the promise of a cup of coffee to get you through the day. in every memory that you’ve ever had in your entire college career, you’re holding a cup of coffee.

so one day you make the choice to stop. you stop buying coffee from coffee shops and pods for your coffee maker and cups from diners and accepting free ones from friends. you don’t really need a good cup of coffee as badly as you think you do. and it’s stupid, you think, because it’s just coffee. it doesn’t mean anything. just because you’ve been drinking it consistently for quite awhile doesn’t mean it has any sort of hold over you. it’s just coffee. 

but then the headaches come and the irritation sets in and nights are hard, but for some reason mornings are unbearable, and you feel antsy all the time and you haven’t left your room in the past three days and the only thing you want is a cup of fucking coffee and you can’t relapse with coffee; it’s fucking coffee. 

yeah, being away from gojo feels a lot like detoxing from coffee. 

you try to just not see him. it’ll be easier for you if you just don’t see him, you tell yourself. you go out of your way to avoid his walking path on campus and you refuse to leave your dorm when you don’t absolutely need to in fear of bumping into him or worse, just seeing him from afar, and god forbid you even come within three streets of the corner where his apartment resides. you block his number and you delete social media off of your phone for the time being, too many mutual friends to make casualties, and you do not let yourself think about him. not falling asleep, not when you wake up, not while you’re doing homework, not in your dreams or in the shower, not when something reminds you of him, not when you see his favorite show on your recently watched, not when you really need a good cup of coffee. 

and it works for a while.

but not forever.

three weeks into your detox and you’re doing such a good job at not thinking about gojo that you mix up his monday schedule with his tuesday schedule and on your way back to your dorm, you see him. if you keep walking at the same pace that you’re walking, you will collide with him. if neither of you do anything, one of you will get hurt. 

you look down at your phone, hoping, in the forefront of your mind, that he didn’t see it was you. (in the back of your mind, you’re hoping that he’s the one to break the longest bout of silence the two of you have had since you met.) when you sneak a glance, he’s already almost reached you, jogging to catch up with you. “hey,” he calls out, just in case you haven’t seen him.

“hi,” you say, stopping in place and letting him approach you.

“i’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” he offers, like you wouldn’t have known that.

“oh, sorry, haven’t been on my phone,” you lie. he knows that you’re lying. he can tell that you’re lying, so you don’t really know why you lie in the first place. maybe to prove a point. maybe to make him feel bad.

“look, about…,” he trails off, trying to remember how long he’s been without you, “about that… day…,” he opts for instead. 

you put your hand up, waving the topic off. you mean to say something like, don’t worry about it, see you later, but it comes out like, “we don’t have to talk about that here.” here. fucking here. if you would’ve left those four letters out, it would’ve been a perfect line to walk away with, but you don’t. your stupid coffee-craving brain tacks it on, hopeful. 

“right,” he says, nodding, “should we get coffee maybe, then, or?”

it’s not out of the ordinary, or it didn’t used to be, but now it feels taboo. you want to snap and ask him if he’s sure, because coffee sounds a bit too much like a date for people that aren’t together, but you realize very quickly that the irritation from your coffee detox is maybe a little bit too much to hold in without any closure. “sure,” you agree, “i just got done with class so we cou-.”

“i know,” he says, because three weeks hasn’t erased your schedule from his brain either. 

you order an iced tea. you’re still convinced you’re done with coffee for good. he looks surprised at your choice, like he’s never seen you order an iced tea before, because he hasn’t, but he doesn’t say anything. you sip on it throughout unpleasant pleasantries and it’s refreshing, but it’s lacking something. in fact, the longer that you drink this stupid drink that has caffeine anyways and isn’t as good, the irritation bubbles higher and higher until- “can i start?” you ask, tapping your fingers against the table in rhythmic succession. 

“yeah, sure,” he says, bringing his coffee to his lips and taking a sip.

“if at any point in this conversation your answer to anything i have to say is that we weren’t together, i don’t think we should have this conversation,” you reason, and you mean it, but his reaction takes you aback. you notice the smallest flinch when you say weren’t.

“i wasn’t-,” he shakes his head, sighing, “no, i wasn’t going to say that.”

“okay,” you say, dragging your fingertips along the condensation on the side of your glass. “then what were you going to say?”

he thinks for a minute, like he didn’t assume that he’d get this far when he brought up the idea of coffee. “i wanted to stop you from leaving,” he says.

“but you didn’t,” you rebuttal.

“i didn’t,” he affirms. it’s quiet again. you can hear the scrape of the cups against the table as they’re picked up, drank from, and put back down. the chatter in the coffee shop drones over the sounds of hesitance and nerves. “i’m sorry,” he says after a while.

“so, do you think we were together?” you ask, “and be honest. i’ll know if you lie.” you search his face as he answers, and the only thing that comes up is another flinch when you talk in past tense again.

“yeah,” he says, honest. “being apart from you these past three weeks has been one of the shittiest things i’ve ever been through.”

“ever?” you ask, quirking your eyebrow, as if it isn’t somewhat true for you too. 

he nods in response, continuing, “it’s been hard.” he pauses. “i’m sorry i was so shitty.”

“pretty shitty, yeah,” you agree, but you can’t hide how nice it feels to just talk with him again, to call him shitty and to sit across from him at a coffee shop table. “i’m sorry i ghosted you these past few weeks,” because it deserves to be said too. 

“i really missed you,” he says, and he doesn’t hide from it. he looks you directly in your eyes and you can tell that he wants to reach across the table and hold your hand. you want that too. 

“me or just, like, sleeping with me?” you ask, somewhat terrified of the answer, scanning his face for the truth once again. 

he laughs softly and, try as you might, you can’t stop the fluttering in your stomach or the warmth in your cheeks hearing that for the first time in too long. “please, i haven’t thought about sleeping with you once,” he jokes.

“oh, no? not at all?” you ask, scoffing lightly, a tiny smirk threatening to break.

he forces a thoughtful frown, shakes his head dramatically and says, “can’t say that i have.” you’re laughing now, but through smile-squinted eyes you can still tell that he’s actually being genuine. “not really,” he says. 

“so just me then?” you ask to make sure.

“just you,” he affirms. “a lot of just you.” you hum, content with his answer, but he gives you even more than thought he ever could, “i don’t want to just go back to the way things were. i don’t think that’s enough for me anymore.”

even though you’re sure a response like this would’ve sent waves of shock through your entire body, it doesn’t. it just feels right. you reply quickly, “good. i don’t think it’s enough for me either.” you reach across the table. the back of your hand brushes against his, and then past it. you wrap your fingers around the handle of his coffee cup and bring it to your lips. 

he doesn’t protest or snatch it away from you or make a snarky comment. he places his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow against the surface of the table, and smiles at you. you take a sip from his mug, warmth spreading through every bit of your body. 

why would you deprive yourself of coffee when it brings you so much comfort?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍᴀ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

you’re not exactly sure how many times something has to happen before it becomes a theme. 

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“do you -huff- want to -huff- have kids someday?” higuruma asks from beneath you, palms resting on the tops of your knees, thumbs massaging up to the insides of your thighs. 

you slow your bounces and then you stop them completely. you blink at him once and then twice. “that is a really wild thing to ask while you’re inside of someone,” you scoff, searching his face for any kind of tone indicator. is he being serious? is he just saying something to get a rise out of you? is this a kink thing?

he smirks, placing his hands on your hips, coaxing you to continue your movements, and you do. you lift yourself off of him, slowly at first, but then picking up speed as you chase the feeling you lost when he asked the question. you’re breathless when he asks again, the repeated question no longer stilling you. the second time around it feels almost normal. “do you?” he asks on his exhale.

you shake your head and then tilt it side to side, closing your eyes so all of the conflicting fast paced movements don’t dizzy you. “i- don’t- know-,” you huff, “maybe- conversation- for- a- different- setting.” each word is punctuated by the slap of your thighs against his hips. he nods, completely okay with that answer, and then just drops it.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“shit,” you say in realization, hips circling, fingers combing through his hair. you pull your head away from his shoulder, pushing yourself up to look him in the eyes. “wait, how did your meeting go today?” you ask, and this time neither of you miss a beat. 

when he slows to think about it, you pick up his slack, rolling your hips, feeling the drag of him inside of you, a breathy moan floating up your chest. he answers over your noises, “really good actually.”

“everything as planned?” you ask further, genuinely just as invested in this as you are in the act. 

he nods, smiling. “yeah, to a t,” he says, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulling you against his chest. he kisses the side of your temple, holding you in place with a tight grip as he lifts his hips off of the bed, thrusting into you. “surprised you didn’t ask as soon as i came through the door.”

you shake your head against his shoulder, placing a soft kiss against his collarbone. “was thinking about it all day,” you explain. he fucks into you faster in response and it feels like a reward for caring about the things that are important to him. “but when- shit- when you got home…,” you grunt, “it completely- ah, fuck- completely slipped my- ah- mind, s-sorry.”

“ts alright, pretty.” he nudges his nose against your cheek, peeling your attention to his face. your cheek rests against his shoulder and you blink at him, focus dipping from the topic at hand as you feel that familiar tightening in your core. he can see it written all over your face, so he drops his head to kiss you, silently communicating that you don’t have to worry about finishing the conversation right now. he’ll bring it up again in a bit.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“should we get married?” he asks, back up against the headboard, looking you directly in your eyes, gaze following yours as you rise and fall. 

“you are not proposing to me while i’m riding you,” you say, shaking your head, but you don’t still or slow. conversations like this in a setting like this just don’t phase you anymore. honestly, it wouldn’t surprise you if he did propose right now. you’re not even sure you’d say no.

the corner of his lip tugs upward and he exhales a laugh as he leans forward the smallest bit to kiss you. “i’m not, i’m not,” he assures, “why? would you say no?” 

you’re quiet for a minute, not because you don’t know the answer, but to keep him on his toes. you won’t lie to him, you don’t think, but you don’t want to come right out and say it. his questions are rhetorical anyways, half-jokes that he’s not expecting serious answers to; you’ve known higuruma well enough and long enough to be confident of that. you could’ve replied with an eye roll and a scoff and nothing else and he would’ve dropped it. instead, however, you answer, “course not. i’d say yes in a second.”

he nearly comes inside of you right there.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

maybe it becomes a theme when someone points it out. 

you can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, the way that the two of you keep having these serious conversations during sex. you know that you don’t do it on purpose; things will just hit you during the repetitive motions and you worry you’ll forget them and you know that higuruma won’t judge you for just saying them, so you do. whether this is the case for him, you’re not sure. 

but the interruptions just keep getting more casual. it starts with big conversations: weddings and promotions and thoughtful decisions, and then it’s like you just start remembering things in this position: work drama and mundane did you knows. it’s almost as if starting with big topics just made it seem so easy to talk about anything like this. 

it didn’t help, you think, that it’s just always easy to talk about anything with higuruma. you guys have been together, officially together, for over four years now, and conversation, no matter the topic or severity or setting, is something you’ve never struggled with. you continue to not struggle with it, inside of the bedroom and out. 

you’re not sure what about the position and the moment makes you so susceptible to remembering little things that you want to tell higuruma when he’s not around, and vice versa. in fact, you’re not even convinced that it’s something about the action that jogs your memory anyway, it’s probably just a really weird and common coincidence.

and then one night you can’t find your keys. 

you’ve searched everywhere for them, in your car, in your bag, every nook of your room, the places where they normally are, higuruma’s coat pocket just in case, and then everywhere else in your guys’ apartment. they’re nowhere to be seen. 

when higuruma walks through the front door, even from where you’re searching in the kitchen, you hear him let out an elongated, “woah.”

you pop your head into the doorway, “don’t say anything about the mess.” you can see his eyes resting on the overturned couch cushions and then on the various opened drawers. “hey,” you warn, pointing towards him as you walk quickly into the living room. you throw your arms around him tightly and give him a small greeting peck. it’s routine at this point; if you don’t do it your whole night feels off. “i said don’t say anything.”

he lets you hang off of his neck as he puts both hands up in surrender. “i didn’t say shit,” he says, pressing a kiss into the side of your neck, then moving his hands to your waist, “the fuck happened here though?” he laughs against your skin and you can feel the vibrations travel to your fingers and toes. 

you pull away from him, shaking your head. now that you’re back in the living room, it’s like you have to start this room’s search over too. you start checking under the couch and in the hall closet. “lost my fucking keys,” you grumble, smoothing your palms over your face, “i swear i’ve looked everywhere. i just can’t remember where i left them when i got home.”

“did you check th-,” he asks, walking into the kitchen, grateful that you’re not in there with him or he knows you’d yell at him for the way his eyes go wide at the clutter and chaos everywhere. 

you cut him off, “wherever you’re about to say, probably yes, ughhh. i’ve retraced my steps, i’ve looked in places that are fucking stupid to look in like every pair of shoes we own and in the fucking guest bedroom pillowcases. i’ve looked everywhere.”

from where he’s stood in the kitchen now, he can see you scrambling as you vent. he leans against the wall, “well, not everywhere or you would’ve found it by now.”

“i’ll kill you,” you say, eyes snapping up to meet his to show how serious you are.

he just laughs, “i’ve got a pretty good lawyer, you might not want to do that.”

“good legal can’t help you when you’re dead,” you snap, almost completely joking. he meets you back in the living room, helping you check all the places you’ve already checked. 

15 minutes pass and then 35 and then he stops abruptly. “oh my god, i have an idea,” he says, and you look at him, hopeful. “you know when you usually remember things?” 

your first reaction is joking annoyance, picking up a throw pillow and sending it his way. he catches it and sets it back down on the couch. “i’m serious!” he yell-laughs. 

you throw another pillow at him as your second reaction sets in. “that’s not going to fucking work,” you say.

“how do you know?” he asks.

“because,” you say, trying to come up with a good answer other than just blind doubt, “because i don’t remember things while i’m riding you. it’s not a fucking superpower.”

“you don’t know that,” he jokes back and braces to be hit with another pillow. “okay, okay, but i’m being serious! besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen? you don’t remember and we’ve had sex, how horrible,” he reasons.

you let your arms fall, pillow in your hands resting against the tops of your thighs. you look at him, thinking, which, in hindsight, was a dumb thing to do, because higuruma can see the contemplation on your face. 

eight minutes later and he’s inside of you and you’re the most embarrassed you’ve ever been.

“this is so stupid,” you mumble. you haven’t moved an inch after slowly lowering yourself onto him. you’re fully seated against his hips, hands smoothing over your face and then lingering there, covering. 

he reaches up, fingers soft and kind as he wraps them around your wrists, pulling them away from your face. “ts not stupid,” he reassures, but you’re not convinced. you groan, turning to look away from him, but that just won’t do. he reaches up again, soft grip on your chin coaxing your gaze back to his. “hey,” he says softly, “just focus here, angel.”

you listen, somewhat, mind still flickering back to why you’re even riding him in the first place. “just enjoy yourself, okay,” he tries again, rolling his hips upwards, pressing himself inside of you as deep as he can. you close your eyes, and it’s quite easy to just focus on the feeling of being as full as you are right now. “good,” he whispers, “just like that.”

it doesn’t take long for you to lose yourself completely, moving on your own, letting the whimpers and whines take over any other thought you might think to say, chasing that feeling rather than worrying about whatever you’ve lost. 

it all kinda clicks at once: where your keys are and why you always remember shit when you’re like this.

in the midst of everyday noise, so many things get lost: important and unimportant thoughts alike. but now you’re not worried about anything else. you don’t care about anything else right now. you don’t have to. you don’t want to. and in this state of letting everything go, mindless and blissful, some things slip back through the cracks.

you collapse onto higuruma’s chest, spent and happily aware of this new revelation that you have not, for once, shared in the middle of sex, but kept quiet as a come down surprise. you hum softly as he rubs up and down your back, hum again as he presses a kiss into your forehead. “m sorry it didn’t work, angel,” he murmurs. 

you turn your head, ear pressed right against his heart as you gaze up at him. “i left them in the fridge,” you reveal, and he knits his eyebrows together. 

you assume that he’s going to say something about how did you leave them in the fridge? or why are they there? but instead he questions, “what? and you didn’t tell me until now?” like you’ve harbored a life long secret. you laugh softly, snaking your hands up and scratching your nails against his scalp, playing with the ends of his hair. “don’t think this is going to get you out of it,” he says, “‘ts my favorite thing when you just blurt shit while you’re on me.”

you can feel the warmth in your cheeks and your chest as you breathe a laugh. “you’ve never told me that before,” you murmur. 

“think it’s cute when you just can’t wait to tell me things,” he says, “feels more intimate than being inside of you.”

“ew,” you say, scrunching up your nose, even though you weirdly agree. 

he just laughs in response. a few seconds of quiet comfort pass before he backtracks, “wait, why the fuck are your keys in the fridge?” 

and you tell him all about it, about the day that you’ve had and how you remembered you hadn’t drank enough water so you were refilling your bottle from the pitcher in the fridge as soon as you got home from work, but your hands were full so you set your keys on top of the leftovers from yesterday, but then you had to go and set everything down and the fridge closed and by the time you left the kitchen you remembered you needed to do something else… and it just keeps going.

you tell him as you’re taking a shower and as you’re eating dinner together and as he’s brushing his teeth and you’re washing your face and laying in bed and setting your alarms. every room in the house is a mess, but you’ll deal with that later, you decide. you rest your chin on his shoulder. “and how was your day?” you ask, even though the clock reads much later than it should for how much sleep you both should get before you’re up early for work tomorrow. 

nevermind that, he decides, and tells you all about it anyways.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

“can i ask you something and when i ask you, you’ll know i don’t mean anything bad by it at all because i love you more than everything in the world?” you ask, putting down your phone only after you’ve finished your sentence. 

you wait a few seconds for nanami to take in what you’ve asked. he reaches over to the night stand for his bookmark and sticks it between the pages. he shuts it with an audible shuffling of paper and a sharp thump. 

nanami has been with you long enough to not typically be surprised by your out of the blue… questions. (dronings? is there a word like droning but the connotation is more positive? like you talk at him a lot and he loves to hear the ramblings in your brain, but sometimes he is just trying to read his book before bed. whatever that word is.)

he places the book on his lap and then turns his chest towards you completely. you now have his full attention. “is that a yes?” you ask. 

he inhales deeply, “if i say no, will you still ask it?”

you think on the answer to that question, really mulling it over before shaking your head. “no, i don’t think so.”

“then yes,” he smirks, “i suppose i have to say yes then.”

“great,” you say, tossing your phone onto your bedside table with a clunk. you sit up straighter, rocking forward to fully adjust your position on your side of the bed. you put your hand on his thigh and cross your legs, letting your knee rest on the side of his comforter covered hip. “do you ever regret not dating more?”

it definitely takes him by surprise. he thought you might drop another weirdly specific hypothetical about would he love you if… or request a glass of water even though you already told him tonight when he was getting into bed and he asked if you wanted one, that you did not. 

now he’s the one mulling over your question and despite how nerve wracking it could be to wait for an answer to a what if that involves not you, you’re not anxious in the slightest. you’re quiet, just waiting for his answer, and when he finally speaks, you know exactly why you weren’t scared in the first place, “i’ve honestly never thought about it since i met you.”

“really?” you ask, and you’re mostly feeling very lucky that nanami is yours and you are his, but there is an underlying feeling of guilt that he’s unintentionally caused with this statement. 

he nods. “sounds like you have though,” he says, and it’s not even a little bit judgmental. it sounds like he’s imploring you to keep talking, like he wants to hear exactly what you’re thinking, why you brought it up in the first place.

“i wouldn’t trade this security, this love, exactly what we have, you for anything in the world,” you start to explain, and it’s nothing but the truth, “but sometimes i just think about that first night when we were in that bar. the flirting, the risks, that feeling of not knowing where the night is going to end up. sometimes i think about that a little bit.”

he hums, thinking about that night, and after a few seconds of silence, he speaks up again, “first date nerves,” he nods, “now that i think about it, i miss those.”

you cock your head at him. that’s a weird part of dating to miss, you think, but then he explains further, “like when we went out on our first date and i didn’t know what you were going to wear or if you liked the restaurant i picked or if you’d let me pay for your food.”

“or if i’d take you back to mine,” you joke, raising your eyebrows at him, but really you’re burning inside. your cheeks feel warm just hearing about these feelings he’s never mentioned to you before. 

“yeah, that too,” he laughs, getting back on track, “like, i’m still finding out new things about you all the time, but back then i was discovering who you were every second we were together, and that- that felt like…”

“like finding out soulmates were real?” you ask, because that’s what it felt like to you, that same exact phenomenon he’s describing. he smiles at you warmly, like you’ve just put to words what he felt he could only experience. “i know what you mean,” you smile. 

he leans forward, cupping your cheek with his hand and guiding you towards him. he kisses you softly, placing his other hand on your other cheek and kissing you harder. “should we go on a first date again?” he asks against your lips, barely pulling away to speak. 

you laugh, but when you pull away, you can tell he’s not joking. “what?” you ask, “what do you mean?” you’re already blushing though, already feeling the exact first date nerves he was just talking about. 

“let’s go on a first date,” he repeats himself. “i’ll pick you up at your front door and i’ll choose the restaurant and it’ll be a surprise and i’ll ask you questions that i’d ask you on a first date even if i know the answers to all of them and more at this point.”

you’re smiling so big that your cheeks are sore as you nod fervently at the concept. “okay, yeah,” you agree. 

“right, so we probably shouldn’t kiss or make out or sleep with each other until then to really play into the whole thing?” he teases, and you roll your eyes in response. 

“you’re very funny, kento,” you say, leaning in, brushing your nose against his. he doesn’t even last a second, closing the gap with a small peck and then another and then another and then a much longer one and then he’s putting the book on his nightstand so he can pull you into his lap. 

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

you get a text 5 minutes before 7 that nanami is going to be 3 minutes late picking you up. the text looks a little weird underneath a thread of:

>> nami <3 >> how’s work baby

<< read << if you love me you’ll come and pull the fire alarm to get me out of here early :) :) :)

>> nami <3 >> fine but that’s a class four felony in some cases. will you be providing legal assistance or should i look elsewhere????

<< read << how do u know that?? nerd!!!

>> nami <3 >> google tbh. 

<< read << wow. first i have to stay at work all day alone and sad and now i get to know my bf isn’t sexy and off the dome smart about everything. :(

>> nami <3 >> goodbye.

<< read << :(

>> nami <3 >> i love you

<< read << :)

you bite back the urge to reply with something you’d say to him after knowing him for years. rereading the text and thinking back to your first date, it makes you giggle. actually, it makes you kinda nervous. you text back a polite no worries! take your time! and he replies with a heart and you truly feel like you’re dating for the first time again. you feel honest to god giddy. 

arriving to the restaurant, you are genuinely surprised. you thought after knowing him as long as you have and having gone to as many restaurants with him as you have, you’d go back to somewhere nice you’ve already been. but that isn’t the case. 

he drives you to a pop-up restaurant 20 minutes out of town that you’ve never even heard of, but is the cutest place you’ve ever been, and the entire time he can’t stop sneaking respectful glances at you. he won’t stop telling you how nice you look. he even apologizes for it by the sixth time, pushing your chair in at the restaurant saying, “i know i keep mentioning it, and i’m sorry, but if i said it every time i thought it, it’d be a never ending string.”

if he keeps this up, you’re going to feel like you’re cheating. this seriously feels like a first date, like you’ve been in a relationship for over 5 years and you’re also going on a first date and it’s really messing with your head, but you never want it to stop. 

he stays true to his word, asking you questions he already knows the answers to, but hearing them again, they sound brand new. he doesn’t know if he’s just forgotten some of them or if the testaments of time have weathered your answers just enough to sound unfamiliar, but either way, he’s hanging on to every word. 

by the end of the night, you’ve truly convinced yourself that there are stakes to this date, like if you play your cards wrong, you won’t get to keep seeing this incredible guy. he pays the whole bill, even though you insist on getting your meal or at the very least dessert. he says, “you can try next time too.” and you can’t breathe, you feel so lucky. 

“i’m sorry if this seems forward, but i’d really like to keep seeing you tonight,” you say as the waiter takes away the paid bill, and your heart is thumping so violently against your chest, you swear he can feel it too. 

he shakes his head, “perfectly forward,” he smiles, “your place or mine?” you break character for the first time tonight, giggling at the reality of the question, hiding behind your hand as you do. “what’s so funny?” he asks, but he’s grinning just as big as you are. 

“just thinking about how dreary my life would be if i hadn’t gone on this first date,” you say, and it’s a little too meta, but he’ll let it slide, because he’s a bit flustered at the sentiment. “mine is great,” you answer, placing your hand on his, rubbing the tips of your fingers against his knuckles. 

everything about the rest of the night feels like a first too. it feels like your first kiss in front of your front door. it feels like he’s seeing “your” apartment for the first time. it feels like you’re making out on your couch for the first time. 

it feels like the first time he’s ever been inside of you. 

when he pushes deeper into you, eyes on yours shut tight, you tell yourself that you want to pretend you’re on a first date every single day of your life. you can’t stop whimpering, pleading for him to never stop fucking you ever, please don’t stop, please never fucking stop. 

you break character for the second time when you’re right on the edge. he keeps looking down at you with so much love in his eyes and his hands all over you feel like they know every inch of you, and you can’t stop yourself. you grab his face in your hands, “kento, baby, please, ‘m gonna- ‘m sorry, i- fuck, please. i love you, fuck,” you whine, and he can’t stop himself either, hips stuttering, head falling against your shoulder as he feels you clenching around him as he empties himself inside of you, murmuring how much he loves you right back. 

the way you’ve been feeling all night: blissful and coy, it’s not because it’s a first date, it’s because he’s nanami. it’s because he’s orchestrated the entire night and no matter how “new” everything feels, the underlying foundation of that newness, and the reason everything feels so good, is familiarity and safety. 

“i’m sorry that i-,” you breathe, but he stops you, reaching his hand up to drag his fingertips against your lips, and you laugh, pressing a soft kiss into them. “okay, okay,” you say, and he places his hand back down by his side. “done with the first date stuff, just want to be yours again,” you murmur. 

he scoffs, light, and you can hear his smile in it. he falls over onto his back, pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head. “never weren’t,” he mumbles against your hair. “always will be,” he mumbles again, holding you tighter. 

“good,” you say back, settling into his arms like that’s the only thing you know to be true in the entire world. you wouldn’t trade that truth for a million first dates. 

sure, holding your breath at quick witted flirts and stolen glances is nice, but it’s a lot nicer just knowing that you will never be loved better and you will never love harder. 

♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡ no bc the yelling really worked very well idk yell at me more to write a continuation for toji (maybe also gojo bc hes the only one i havent written even an inkling of smut for) idk i'm just thinking of so many scenes idk throw hcs at me in my inbox IDK! toji dating for the first time? got me fucked UP

ᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴀɢs ᡣ𐭩 @igocrazyeveryday @vernasce-blogs @minty86 @abrielletargaryen @pompompompompompompom @mysticrays @lilolpotato @thisisew @pnkoo @optimisticsandwichgladiator @ryumurin @cisseadven @multi-fandom-fanfic @noosayog @anxious-chick @mintleafwrites @(tried to tag some other folks but couldnt!!)

[animeshotsh]

Chains | Husk x SisOverlord!Reader / Yandere!Alastor x Reader |

Summary: Its been years since you saw your brother...

Warnings: Alastor its a warning himself | Yandere!Alastor | Overlord!Reader | Canon Violence | Grammar Mistakes |

No one expected the doors of the Hotel to burst Open that afternoon. Vaggie was the first to react, being ready to fight whever decided to attack that day (it was becoming something normal).

Charlie on her part was jumping towards the stranger, ready to shake hands and introduce herself.

"Hello! Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, im Charlie, whats your na-" Before Charlie could finish two voices sounded in the back.

"(Y/N)?"

"(Y/N) MY DEAR!!"

Husk and Alastor voices echoed in the looby, the only response their got were a set of flashing sharp poker cards being directed at the radio Demon and Husk.

"ITS HAS BEEN 12 YEARS AND THATS ALL YOU GONNA SAY?" You screamed at both men.

Husk looked away, shame over his cat face. Long time ago you two used to rule. The brother and sister duo, the ones who could destroy everyone. That was till Husk destroyed himself, giving his soul to the radio Demon. Leaving you behind.

Alastor was amused by your anger. He knew you hated him, he was the one who took your brothers soul after all. And he never felt remorse because of it, he was almost happy he did it. It was the only way he got to see you, ever if you only showed him hate.

He would take whatever from you.

"Wait...are you Husk's gilfriend?" Charlie still not catching up asked, getting the most bizarre look from you.

"Hell no, im his sister" You responded making the princess blush and apologie too much. "Its fine, I know he does not talk a lot about me"

Charlie could hear the sadness in your voice. She took a moment to see you, and now she saw how similar Husk and you were. Cat face a pair of wings, the colors were different and so were your eyes, but there was something that just connected you two.

"This is (Y/N), The Casino Demon, you bet against her and you lose your Soul" Alastor explained appearing besides you. "She and Husk used to rule together"

"Yeah, well thats in the past now" You responded to Alastor both of you killing each other with your eyes.

The tension was broken by Husk, "why are you here?"

"Im here because you are here and because I want to redeem myself" You responded with your head high, not looking at the obvious smirk from Alastor or the questioning look from Husk.

Charlie quickly took your hand, guiding you towards a desk to check you in, she ramble about the hotel, the guests and things they did in here.

You kind of feel bad for her, you could see her passion but the only reason you were in here was because of Husk. Ever since Alastor took his soul it ended being a game of finding him. Alastor would make Husk's soul appear and since you two were connected as brother and sister you would fly there only to find him gone and a smirking Radio Demon.

But this time, his soul had been in one place for a long time. So you decided to use this chance to be by your brothers side.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

Later that same night you went to the bar, Husk tried to ignore you, cleaning glasses but ended facing you. No one dared to speak first, silent tears fell from your eyes, slowly your hands reached his, his fluffy hair welcoming you.

"I have missed you so much" You said smiling at him. Husk felt his heart break, he knew how Alastor played with you using him. He had tried many times to make you hate him, but you never did. You also never fought Alastor knowing he would use Husk to get you.

"Lets have a drink for the old days"

~☆~☆~☆~☆~

After many drinks you went back to your room. So many years apart...Husk and you had so much to catch on.

"You know you cant have him back"

The radio Demon appear behind you, you ignored him not wanting to fall for his games.

"Not without a deal at least"

"And what would that deal be?" You asked not looking back at the Demon.

In a flash he got closer to you, not touching you but you could feel his breath down your neck.

"Your soul for his, be mine for the eternity and free him" Hell, you could feel the psycho smile and listen the radio laughts.

"Goodnight Alastor"

You left him alone outside your room. Alastor smiled to himself, hands behind his back he started to walk to his own room.

"Just a bit more" he whispered his body turning to his full Demon form.

"Just a bit more to be mine"

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

The Alibi

⚜ Pairing: human!Alastor X reader

⚜ Content notes: Reader is a sex worker, Alastor is a serial killer, brief reference to domestic abuse and injury, explicit sexual content, reader is a woman, reader has a pussy, bathtime, cum pooling in the collarbones, the sex is transactional but not like that

⚜ Wordcount: 4.5k

Only about half the men who come to the bordello come for sex. Those are the easier half. The simpler half. The guys who will be happy as a pig in muck to have a girl who squeals real pretty and a wet hole to fuck.

The other half are complicated. Guys need things other than sex. Some of them want someone to talk to, someone to listen to them and unfurrow their brows. Some of them want someone to hold, someone who doesn't flinch and look away when they cry. Some of them have other lovers, men or women, and they use the whorehouse to hide their affairs, paying for you and the room and sending you away to play cards downstairs at the bar.

Then there's Al. Al for Alibi.

He’s a sharply dressed whiplash of a man, a sweet, charming guy who plays a mean jazz piano, but this is Storyville- everybody and his brother is a charming guy who plays a mean jazz piano, so that doesn’t set him apart. No, what sets him apart is a quality that you struggle to describe. It’s something like grit, you think. Al’s got the eyes of someone who has found themselves sitting in the dirt at the bottom of a well and decided to dig themselves out. He talks like he’s about to sell you the golden gate bridge, and he dances like a man possessed, and again there are plenty of men like that in New Orleans, but none of them have that same look in their eyes. You like him a whole lot.

You keep a spare set of clothes for him, in the bottom of the tea chest at the end of your bed. He always picks you, always picks your room- it's the one with the biggest bathtub and the window with the trellised wisteria beneath it he can climb down. You don’t know why it’s you he picks, but your guts tell you it’s something to do with the red flannel bag you keep on your dresser, the one with grave dirt, dahlia petals and a deer’s tooth in it. His eyes linger longer than a man not initiated, and later you notice he’s got his own- a faded little bag in his pocket.

He always brings you flowers, as if he has come to your parents’ house as a suitor and not to your room at the bordello, and kisses you once, on the cheek, before he changes clothes and climbs from the window. It makes you feel some kinda way when it really shouldn’t; you’re no blushing girl at a cotillion ball but a grown woman fucking men to pay her rent. The sensation of a man’s lips against your cheek shouldn’t linger like this does, a phantom on your skin long after the wisteria has stopped shaking.

When he comes back it's hours later, bloody and wide-eyed, grinning from ear to ear, trembling with adrenaline from whatever it is he's done. His eyes say he’s still in the well; still trying to dig upwards, and it stirs a feeling in your chest that is either pity or envy or both.

You don't ask him where he's been, or what he's done. That's not your job. Your job is to run a warm bath for him, and help him out of his bloody, torn clothes. Your job is to get the soap he likes, the scent in the water he likes, and help him into the tub. Your job is to hold his long, elegant hands in yours as you meticulously clean the blood from under his fingernails, his nailbeds. Your job is to help him down from his quivering maniac high, to stroke the tension from the muscles in his thin shoulders and bring his face to your chest.

Your job isn’t to desire him, but somehow he always manages to stir that part of you too. Even after a day when you’ve been touched too much he is beautiful, all long lines and sharp angles, leaning into your touch but never demanding it. The first few times you bathe him you hope that it might turn into something more, that he might rise from the waters of the tub and ask to know you biblically, but it doesn’t happen, so you content yourself, pitifully, to pleasing yourself after to the memory of the planes of his back, or the feel of his hair through your fingers as you shampoo him.

When you’re done bathing him he allows you to wrap one of the bordello’s fluffy towels around him, and he lies on the bed, his head in your lap, looking up at you as his breathing slows. He likes to talk, just like all men like to talk, and Al talks big. He talks jazz, about the musicians he’s seen and the ones he’s played cards with with. Who he’s had on his show, who he wants on his show. Sometimes he talks like he’s selling himself, like he’s one of the girls downstairs in the bar on a long and unfruitful night and you’re a big spender who just walked in. It’s not so uncommon that a guy comes in trying to impress a girl, but from him it’s downright charming. It’s not like he’d even have to try to get your panties off, but what he wants from you is approval. Your undivided attention. He’s paying, so you give it.

You stroke his hair and tell him how well he’s doing, how his momma would be proud, and he nods like he wants to believe you, but his eyes don’t change. He’s still staring like he’s got his back to cold earth and his face to distant, untouchable stars.

One night you have a bruise on your face from your boyfriend, covered with powder and rouge but the swelling still visible, and he wants to know who has done this to you. Most guys know better than to ask this kind of thing; you’re a whore, after all, and violence is a hazard of the workplace, but Al is persistent.

For once, he doesn’t leave through the window to climb down the wisteria, instead sitting on the bed with you, one long thin arm round your plush waist. Asking who did this, who did this. His voice is sweet as brown sugar, the same darkness underpinning it, as his accent drifts, from bright, clipped wireless polish to something lower down in his register, something more recognizably local. For once in your relationship Al wants something from you, something more than an open window and an alibi for his nocturnal hobbies.

“Tell me, chouchoute.” Al’s mean jazz piano fingers trail the line of your jaw to your chin, his index finger curling beneath to lift your face to his. There’s something more in his soulful brown eyes now, more than the look of a man deep in the hole. There is hunger. Desire.

You feel your mouth grow dry, feel the pulse in your neck. To be wanted by him, in whatever way that is, is a feeling with an intoxicating potency. You like sex well enough, but sex is work. Being touched by him feels like a genuine seduction, the sort that sets your skin feverish and lips chapped from kissing.

“I shouldn’t tell you,” you say. You know you’re right. Telling a customer about your personal issues is not something that ends well for people like you. Guys get involved. Guys get attached. Guys get violent.

“Oh? You shouldn’t?” His eyes are fixed on yours. He smiles like a wolf. “Are you worried about what I might do, once I know?”

The problem is, you want him involved. You want him attached. Frozen under his gaze, you think of the blood under his fingernails. He’s already violent. Every night he’s steeped in red, whiplash thin body sharp and manic. But your boyfriend is a bigger guy than him. You don’t want Al getting hurt. “Would you promise not to do anything, if I told you?”

“Where would the fun be in that?” Al gives a huff of laughter. “Let’s make a deal,” he says, his eyes still hungry, his hand still on your face. “You give me what I want, and I take you to heaven tonight. You hear the angels sing as many times as you want. Sound good?”

From most of your customers, you would dismiss an offer like this as male ego. Boastfulness. But Al’s slender fingers give you goosebumps as they trail down over your windpipe, telling you he’s good for it.

Al doesn’t wait for your answer, but he does kiss you, all sweet and soft and romantic, like he’s your sweetheart and you’re on a date, enough to make you melt into him. You don’t usually kiss clients, and it takes you off-guard, his honeyed tongue sweeter than his words as it strokes against yours, still selling his offer. His long musician’s fingers are going to curl inside you and his cock is going to be hot, silk-sheathed steel against your skin and just the thought of that makes you ache for him. You moan against his tongue and his lips twitch against yours, smiling.

“Well?” he says, though he knows your answer. He’s just offered you something that far outweighs the value of what he’s asking. A night of his attention, all for a name.

“Payment up front,” you say, drunk on his touch already.

“Clever girl,” says Al, and from anyone else that would feel damn patronizing, but out of his sly smile it makes you want more.

He undresses you, which isn’t exactly hard- you pick your costumes as things that can easily be slipped off and tossed to the floor, but Al drags his mouth against the skin of your neck, your back, your shoulder, slow, sucking kisses that aren’t quite hard enough to leave marks, but feel like they might. His isn’t a sloppy, desperate gambit, but a studied one, fingers ghosting over the bruises on your face. Fuck, you want him to take you, want him so much that it makes your guts ache with it. You want him to throw you on the bed, point your toes to the ceiling and make you see stars, but he’s not a man to be rushed.

He’s there to taste you, to breathe in your breath. He’ll be everything you ever wanted him to be, if you’ll only let him.

When he loosens his tie it’s with a coquettish tilt of his head, and you can tell he likes being watched. Al slows the process down for you, undoing buttons with a studious slowness, twirling each sleeve garter once around his finger as he removes it before tossing it to the side. When he takes off his belt, he winds it once round each of his palms and snaps it tight, mouth twitching when you startle at the noise. Hurry up, you want to tell him, but watching him is just too damn fun. When he’s down to vest, boxer shorts, socks and sock garters, the point at which most men look ridiculous, he gives you a sultry look and stalks over to the bed where you are sitting, your legs off the edge. With a haughty flick of his head, he plants one arched foot on the mattress between your knees, toes first, and leans forward onto that knee, his face perilously close to yours. You run your hands down his leg, from his knee to the garter for his sock, and he catches your mouth in a light, teasing kiss.

You undo the clasp on the garter, pulling it down along with the sock, and stroking the long, lean, line of his calf. He makes a noise in his throat that’s almost a purr, and breaks the kiss as he steps out of the sock entirely and switches legs. You take more time with the second garter, not least because the position gives you a view of Al’s boxer shorts. He’s hard for you, the small white buttons on his fly straining to hold back the length of his cock, and the sight makes your mouth water.

Al pushes you back, climbing on top of you, and his legs straddle your waist as you slide your hands up his thin sides, hooking your thumbs under the hem of the ribbed cotton of his vest and pushing it up over his chest. He has a hungry frame, not a scrap of softness to be found, just the stark plane of his stomach and the ridges of his ribs under your fingers. It suits him, matches the hunger in his eyes, the hunger that you see flickering when he peels the vest off over his head and tosses it to one side. You press your hands up to his sternum, feeling his heartbeat, and he closes one hand over them, smiling down at you as he frees his cock from its confines with the other. He’s uncut, his tip a deep fuchsia pink and weeping, and all you can think about when you see it is how he will feel against you. How he will taste. How it will feel to have him wedged deep in your cunt.

Happily, Al obliges on the first count, leaning down to kiss you, the tip of his cock pressing warm against the softness of your stomach. You kiss more, rolling, shifting, your fingers in his hair, his roving over the contours of your back, until you are side by side on the bed, skin to skin.

You love his cock. You love the hot, turgid weight of it against your hand, your stomach, your thigh. The way he beads with wetness at his tip, the trail he leaves against your skin like a proof of desire. To feel Al press it against you is a surge of warmth to the bottom of your spine, a building pulse between your legs. He’s not even seeking egress, just sliding that silky solidity over your skin in an act that has you feeling completely and utterly wanted. You touch him, stroking your palm up over his shaft, and he allows himself to groan, rutting into your hand and against your body all at once.

You shuffle up the bed a little, until your nose is level with his collar, then hook one leg over his hip, parting yourself with one hand as you guide his cock with another, so that he rests between your inner lips. He rolls his hips in a slow, considered motion, and it is you who are sloppy; slick with arousal and reckless with desire.

The noise in Al’s throat is a pleased growl, his hand sliding round over your hip. He’s not trying to get inside, not really, just enjoying the sensation of you rolling your hips so that his cock grazes your clit and entrance in turn. He stills your hip with his hand, mirroring your motion with a roll of his hips that has him rutting through the boat of your labia. There’s a purr in your throat at the feel of him, hot satin sheathed steel.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, chouchoute.” Al’s sugar laden bedroom voice brings you back to the present, the vibration of it palpable with your face against his narrow chest. He doesn’t stop rolling his hips though, something for which you are grateful as the zenith of each arc brings new pleasurable sensation.

You speak against his skin, and it’s harder to talk dirty to him than with another client, even now with his cock rutting between your lips. “You could make me come like this,” you say, face hot, and hear his soft groan in response.

“Would you like that?” he asks, his cock sliding between your legs again, and it’s the most erotic thing you’ve ever heard. You don’t even say yes, just press your face open mouthed against his chest and shoulder. You feel his soft huff of laughter, his grip on your hip tightening as he angles a little more perfectly, and the long roll of his hips becomes a movement that is tighter and more focused, a back-and-forth that brings a cry unbidden from your lips.

You are swearing, soft and sweet against his skin as he grinds an orgasm from you, the tip of his cock kissing your entrance as his shaft presses firm into your clit. It’s like his lips on your cheek, a sensation that’s going to linger like a phantom in your body long after Alastor himself has left. It’s more than the exquisite sensation, each nerve ending alight, but the knowledge of his desire; his long fingers gripping the flesh of your hip and the groan from his chest as he feels you tremble, orgasm close.

“Fuck,” you breathe, as you feel yourself fall, your hole fluttering around nothing, the entirety of your core seeming to pulse in time. Al tilts your chin up, pulling your face from his skin, and kisses you while you’re still in the middle of it. There is nothing needy in his lips and the touch of his tongue. Rather than an entreaty his mouth is a gift. His hand on your cheek is a gift, his hand on your hip is a gift. And his cock, its weeping tip brushing your entrance. That will be yours, too, as soon as you say the word.

His touch is a flame that laps at firewood, and you bathe yourself in it, pressing your quivering body against his, your softness against his hungry lines. Another kiss, another roll, and you are pulling him atop you, face to face, his knees between your legs. Another man would be in you to the hilt now, but Al is polite to a fault. Patient, he waits for your hands on his hips, your legs hooking around the back of his knees.

You kiss him as you pull him inside you, your hands on his narrow ass as you feel the cry the act pulls from his chest, the shiver that runs down his back. His cock is everything that it promised, filling your cunt with its weight and heat, but what’s more is that it’s his. More delicious than the sensation of him moving inside you is his response; the way his grip on you tightens, his mean jazz piano fingers no longer playing a melody but merely a rhythm that matches the beating of your heart, the way his hips twitch for you, his breath catching, and the way he moans soft against your lips.

When he opens his eyes they are unfocused; for the first time since you first met him they don’t have the look of a man in a hopeless kind of pit. They are the eyes of a man lost in the moment, in your moment. Al is a gift, and your heart tells you to treasure him.

“You feel so good inside me,” you tell him, and it’s no professional courtesy, but an honest and unvarnished truth, words spilling out of you as his cock pushes in. Then Al lifts your legs to get himself deeper, and you are the one who is lost. There’s no artistry to the fuck, but it’s not needed, not with your cunt still tender from your first orgasm and your toes pointing to the ceiling. The sensation is strong enough that it threatens to overwhelm, the metronome of Al’s hips drawing note after tremulous note from your voice box, and the feel of him is sublime. He puts a hand on your mons, thumb stroking your clit, and the sensation of that is something you would willingly succumb to forever. It’s his name on your lips as you orgasm round his cock, and he grins down at you, teeth white as fresh-starched shirt collars.

“You’re enjoying me so far, chouchoute?” he asks, fingers tracing the contours or your cheek, the contours of your bruises.

“Al.” You pause to kiss his fingers, an aftershock that you’re sure that both of you feel running through you. “You are a wonder of a man.”

“Someone’s good at flattery,” he says, a gentle kiss to your lips, but he’s not so good an actor that you can’t see he’s proud of himself, proud of the state he’s got you in, all boneless and glowing.

“But what about you?” you ask, a hand down his warm side, to his hip. “You’re just gonna make me go again and again, and nothing for you?”

“It’s a change of pace for you,” he says, and he pulls out of you, leaving you achingly, tragically empty.

“Who’s to say I don’t enjoy seeing a man satisfied?” you say, your hand finding his gleaming cock, drenched in your slick, and squeezing. Al breathes out, slow and shaky, lowering his face to yours.

“Is this what you want?” he asks, lips against your ear, voice low in his register. “I can spend myself over you, then attend you again as you lie covered in my regards.”

“Yes,” you breathe, voice higher than you intend, and he closes his hand over yours around his cock, nudging you supine as he pumps the shaft. His weeping slit smears against the skin of your stomach at the nadir of each stroke, and you can feel the state of him under your fingers, still slick with your juices. How he swells, harder and hotter, his grip forcing yours firmer until at last he spills himself, a line up your stomach and chest. His breath is unsteady as his cock pulses in your hand, and he strokes a hand up your body, smearing his seed into your skin.

“Now you,” Al says, a little breathless as he crawls backwards over your body, soft kisses in places his cock has marked. His long fingers find your sex, parting your lips and drawing slick across your folds. “How would you like to climax next, chouchoute? My fingers? My mouth?”

“Your mouth?” you repeat, heat spreading through your core. Even here in Storyville, there are not many men willing to kiss a whore’s cunt.

Al’s smile widens, showing teeth, and you realize belatedly that with his fingers between your folds he can feel the surge of wetness that seeps from you at the mere thought. “I think you like that idea,” he says, and he pushes two long fingers inside you.

He fucks his fingers in and out of you, and you bite your lip as you feel him start to press against spongy tissue. Girls make jokes about musicians and their fingers, but you know firsthand that the finest musician in the world isn’t much use if he doesn’t know the instrument. If a guy doesn’t know the curve of your walls, to smear slick up and over the hood of your clit, it doesn’t matter a damn how well he can play the steel guitar.

Al can play a woman’s body well enough to hit the high notes. His fingers curl and drag, and the noise the action brings from you was one you didn’t know you could make. There are tears in your eyes from the intensity of it, and it is all you can do not to beg him for more. All the while he moves down your body, his mouth soft over the skin of your chest, your stomach, your hips. His breath is hot, even in the summer evening heat, and Al is smiling all the while, glancing back up at you to see your expression.

You wonder what you look like to him as his breath graces your inner thighs, his lips brushing teasingly on the fragile skin there. Are you a thing of beauty, to be treasured and worshiped, or merely a needy wretch, trembling and panting, each movement tantamount to begging for his touch? Perhaps both. He curls his fingers inside you once more as his tongue touches hot and slick against your overwrought clitoris.

You had expected his cock, wanted his cock, but to feel his mouth on you is something else. It is bliss. Pure, untrammeled bliss. He leaves you with nothing but sensation, the flat of his tongue pressing, laving, until it becomes too much and you want to cry out, then the seal of his lips on your slick, engorged flesh, a little suction, a noise of appreciation in his throat. You stop watching, surrendering fully, his long fingers hitting a sweetness as his tongue strokes on bliss. There are no thoughts in your head anymore, only his touch. Your hips are bucking, uncontrolled, your fingers in his hair, and still he gives, his honeyed tongue sweeter than even his words had been.

It’s with a broken cry that you cum on his fingers, and he stills for you, breath hot on the lips of your cunt, fingers still inside you as you tremble and quake.

He crawls up your body again, folding your limp form in his long, thin arms, a pleased hum in his chest.

“You’re satisfied with my end of the bargain, I hope?” he asks, and it’s not a mercenary question from him, paired as it is with a kiss to the top of your head.

The notion of proposing marriage to him swims through your sex-addled brain before you remember that jobs are thin on the ground in Louisiana right now and you have rent to pay. You swallow down romance and sentiment, which is difficult with those arms around you, but you manage it. “You best not set up shop here,” you say. “The girls downstairs would be spending their whole night’s earnings for just a couple minutes with you.”

“That’s a good thing, surely.”

“They’d make themselves destitute.”

You feel his thin chest shake as he gives a soft bark of laughter, but there’s relief in there too, and gratitude. He holds you a little tighter, longer than he needs to. You let yourself enjoy it.

“The name?” he asks, when that moment of softness has passed.

“Elijah,” you say. “My boyfriend.”

“Former boyfriend, I’d hope,” says Alastor, pointedly. He has the hungry look in his eyes again, the look like he’s trapped and digging his way out. The look you like.

You touch your face, where the bruise is swelling beneath your makeup. “Sure looks like it’s going that way, yeah.”

Alastor leaves by the window that night. You fold his clean clothes and put them in your tea chest, in case he comes back, his little sleeve garters and his ribbed cotton vest and all of it, smelling faintly of him. He doesn’t return.

The next morning, when you go back to the rented room that you share with your boyfriend, there’s no sign of him, either.

[milkteamoon]

The first and only girl Martin goes out with is openly bisexual.

He doesn't know if she counts, if he's being honest — it wasn't a crush, he knows that, and years down the line, when he thinks back to it, he can't remember them ever having a proper conversation about the whole status of their single-night relationship. He knows she had short hair, and sat in front of him in math class, and needed a date to the fall semi-formal so she'd asked if he was busy that weekend, and he'd said no, and then she'd asked if she could borrow a pen, and he'd said yes. He couldn't remember her name if he tried.

He does remember the pink and blue bracelet on her wrist that she'd worn to the event itself, and then to get ice cream after, where he'd sat on the curb of some old parking lot at the edge of town with her and her friends and her friends' boyfriends and her friends' boyfriends' friends, none of which were his friends, because Martin didn't have many of those. Except maybe the girl whose name he couldn't remember. Though he's not sure if maybe-probably-not-girlfriends count as friends too when you're in high school.

"D'you like it?" she'd asked once she'd noticed him staring, holding up her wrist and not seeming to care as ice cream dribbled down her spoon and fingers.

"It's nice," Martin had said, because he's nothing if not honest. "Did you make it?"

She'd nodded. "It's a bi flag," she'd explained. "I'm bisexual."

"Oh," Martin had said.

"You know what that is, right?" she had asked. "Like, when you like boys and girls?"

"I know," Martin had said, even if it had maybe slipped his memory until she'd brought it up. "That's cool."

And then she'd nodded, and ate her ice cream, and Martin had taken her home with as little a fanfare as he had picked her up earlier that evening. And then winter break had rolled around, and she'd been put in another class the following semester, and then life and bills had finally caught up with him and there wouldn't be another semester after that. He'd never seen her again, so he'd never got a chance to ask. Never got a chance to choke down that knot in his throat when he'd left her house that evening, unable to get the words out.

He doesn't remember her name anymore, but he does remember the jealous ache he'd felt at her certainty.

Martin's first boyfriend is definitely gay.

That's how they meet each other, really — in a gay bar, where Martin has met plenty of other men (testing the waters, he's been telling himself; no harm in a little exploration) and gone home with them, except this one asks for his number afterward, and this one calls him back, and this one actually seems to want to go out for drinks the next week, and the week after that, and before Martin knows it he's quite certain that he's dating this man. It's wonderful, whirlwind of an experience. It's exhilarating.

It's bloody terrifying.

And it's not being with a man that sets his anxiety on edge. Martin...Martin likes men. That's definitely a part of his identity that he's been able to sort out, over the years. Martin likes men, and he likes dating men, and he likes having sex with men, and he'd probably even marry a man, if he had the chance, if that's where one of these loose and languid relationships end up.

It's just—

It's just that—

It's just that Martin always seems to be the odd one out in these groups. It's just that when Martin meets up with his boyfriend's friends at the bar, when they're all laughing and sharing jokes and clinking their drinks together in some toast that Martin had missed the dedication to, they all just...get it somehow. They know who they are. They all have some special word for themselves that fits them like a tailored suit: Jacklyn is a butch lesbian, and Lee is trans, and Tom is a bear, and Jordan is gay and genderqueer and Collin is a drag performer and—

He's a few drinks in, to put it lightly, when he leans over to his definitely-boyfriend and asks him how he knew he was gay.

"How did I know?" he echoes, taking a sip from his fizzy drink. "Easy, I liked men." And then he laughs like Martin has just told a funny joke, and maybe he has and doesn't realize it, so he tries to laugh along. Tries to ignore the ache in his chest.

Martin wishes it were that simple. And when the two of them break up, Martin wishes that he ached just as badly over the relationship too.

Tim and Sasha are bi. Well, no, Tim is bi, and Sasha is—

"Pansexual," Sasha says through a mouthful of reheated spaghetti. She holds a finger up as she chews, swallows, and then adds, "Well, I mean. It's like the same genus, I guess."

"Like a leopard and a cheetah," Tim chimes in, leaning over to put an arm around her shoulders. She puts a hand against the side of his face to put some space between them, knocking his glasses askew.

"Leopards and cheetahs are different genuses," she tells him. "You're thinking of leopards and jaguars."

"Nuh uh."

"Uh huh."

"Nuh uh nuh uh—"

"Uh huh uh huh uh huh—"

And it's—

He likes Tim and Sasha. They're easy to exist around. They don't make him feel like he's not welcome at the end of the lunch table, or like he has to be anything more than simply himself in their presence. Call it bonding over the shared trauma of all being trapped down here together. Tim's jokes about Jon never letting them see the sun are starting to feel less like jokes these days, and more like statements of fact.

Then Tim leans over, seating his chin in his knuckles, and says, "So, Martin, you going to pride this year?"

And then all of those nice, floaty feelings suddenly come crashing out of solution and dropping down into the pit of his stomach. It must show on his face, because Tim's smile falls as he backpedals.

"O-or not!" he says, holding his hands up peaceably. "I mean— geez, sorry, I usually think I'm pretty good at noticing these things, but if you're not—"

"What? Oh, no no, you're fine, I'm definitely—" There's something on the tip of Martin's tongue that he can't put a word to, hasn't been able to put a word to for a long time. "...not straight. Er, I— I like...guys, at least...?"

A smile curls across Tim's face — amused, but not cruel. "Hey, that's at least one thing we've got in common," he says and holds up his fist for a bump. The spark of anxiety hasn't quite fizzled away, but it's pushed far enough down that Martin feels he can humor him.

To his equal relief and horror, Jon strolls into the room not a minute later and sticks himself firmly in the crosshairs of Tim's sights.

"Boss-man," he greets.

"Tim," Jon greets back, neutrally. He strolls over to the kitchenette, digging out a tea bag out of the cabinet.

"Are you going to pride this year?"

Martin chokes on his drink.

"No," Jon says, retrieving a tea bag and filling his mug as if Tim had simply asked him about the weather.

"C'mon," Tim purrs. He reaches over and gives Jon a tug by his belt loops. "You're just gonna sit at home all weekend and leave us to have all the fun?"

"I don't particularly find crowds 'fun,'" Jon retorts, batting away his hand. He picks up his mug. "You'll have to suffer without me."

"How will we ever go on," Tim laments.

"You'll manage," Jon says, then promptly retreats to his office.

Martin simply sits there with his mouth hanging open, only daring to speak once he hears the final click of the door pulled shut. "...Jon...?"

Tim looks over to him, eyebrow quirked. "What?"

"Jon."

"Oh." A smirk tugs at the corner of Tim's lips. "You didn't know?"

"Wh— no!" It's not even that Martin has ever really assumed that Jon is straight. It's just that, out of people in the office to be open about their sexualities, there's Tim and Sasha, and then there's Jon. It's just— it's Jon. "Did he tell you that?"

Tim shoots a look to Sasha. "Well, no," he admits, "but you know how it is, you work with someone long enough and you just sort of...get a vibe, yeah?"

Sasha nods at this assessment. "Plus the fact that he did agree to go on a date with David that one time."

"Oh god, haha! I forgot about that."

"He's gay, right?" Sasha says, looking to Tim.

"I'm pretty sure he mentioned an ex-girlfriend once," Tim notes, poking his fork into his salad. "Bi, maybe...? I'm going to go with bi."

"Could also be pan," Sasha notes.

Tim thinks on this for a moment. "Mm, no, definitely bi I think. My bi-dey senses are tingling. Sorry Sash," he concludes, earning him a light kick to the shin from Sasha at the pun. He shoves a forkful of salad in his mouth before redirecting his attention back to Martin. "So, Martin. Pride, yay or nay?"

"Uh—" Martin blinks, viscerally aware of himself once more. He's not sure how to put I've never really thought about going into so many words that doesn't make him sound incredibly lame or formerly catholic, so in the end he decides on a redirect. He clears his throat. "I'm...not sure? Haven't really decided."

"That's fine," Tim says with a half shrug. "Though we'll be there, so if you do end up going, just text us and we'll meet up, yeah?"

There's a little plant inside Martin, something green and budding, but never able to bloom — always pruned too early, or watered too late, or bitten off by the frost. But some days, he thinks about opening the curtains and letting in the sun. Some days, he thinks about letting it bloom, finally, fully—

"Yeah," Martin says softly, looking up from his open palms. "Yeah, that'd...that'd be good."

And despite himself, he smiles.

Martin is—

Martin is quite certain he has never been sweatier in his life.

It's a wonderful time. It's bright. It's beautiful. He's seen so many colors and grins and glitter on more people than he can count today. People holding hands and people kissing and people dressed in outfits he can't even begin to describe, genders he can't even begin to put names to, flags he can't even begin to guess the meaning of. His heart feels so big in his chest he could die, pushing on the bars of his rib cage with each resounding thu-thump, and it's wonderful, wonderful, wonderful—

(And so very isolating. So very lonely when he feels like he's not meant to be there, like he wasn't invited, like he's invading this space carved out in neat rows of labels that he can't even straddle properly to get in line. He doesn't— he can't—)

Martin finds a moment of shade just as he feels he's teetering on the edge of heat exhaustion. He stumbles under the awning, smearing the sweat and residual glitter out of his eyes as he leans his head back against the wall. Music hums from the street over, voices carry on the warm summer air. He really needs to find something to drink, so he can appreciate it more instead of focusing on the way his shirt clings to his skin. He really should find Tim and Sasha, before they get off into any trouble.

Someone lets out a huff next to him as they lean back against the wall, and Martin peels open an eye to look.

And then both his eyes snap open at once, double taking at the man standing next to him. He doesn't seem to notice him at first, too focused on fanning himself with some pamplet he'd snagged along the way, but then his gaze shifts sideways, and the pinched expression smooths out into one of blank bewilderment.

Jon blinks, wide eyed. "Martin."

Okay, well that at least solves the issue of whether or not Martin is supposed to be pretending not to know him or not. He clears his throat, trying to smile. "Jon...h-hi."

It's not even the fact that— okay, well, yes, seeing Jon at a queer event is pretty weird, but seeing Jon outside of work, in jeans no less, is certainly not helping the sensation that Martin might very well be hallucinating this interaction. He looks him up to his thick-lensed glasses, down to his plain sneakers that have seen better days, and even pinches himself for good measure. Jon doesn't move. Martin isn't sure that he himself would be able to move either, even if he wanted to.

Then Jon's brow furrows, and he looks around. "Are Tim and Sasha around...?"

"Oh, n-no, they went off," Martin gestures vaguely in the direction he'd last seen them, "somewhere."

"Ah."

"Mm."

"Right."

"...What...are you doing here, exactly?" Martin finally asks in some burst of unsourced courage.

Jon's winces, red-handed. Not that Martin would ever say anything to Tim or Sasha about their boss going to pride without them on his own time — it's honestly none of his business — but he also knows that if the two of them suspect something is up, they'll never let either of them live it down.

Jon sighs, shoulders drooping. "I...an old friend, she— she didn't wish to come alone this year, and apparently I'm the only other queer she knows that doesn't enjoy getting plastered off my arse at these types of events, so—" Jon shrugs lightly.

There's something about the way Jon says it, the only other queer, that leaves a funny, prickling sensation in the center of Martin's chest, and it's not just the heat giving him a rash. It's just...it's nice. It's nice the way he says it, all casual like he's just giving Martin another report to follow up.

Jon pushes the sweat-soaked hair from his forehead, giving Martin a sideways glance up and down. He redirects, "You know, I would have thought you'd be more, er..."

"More...?"

"...Well, dressed up, I suppose?" He gestures to Martin's outfit — a pair of khaki shorts with pockets stuffed to the brim in emergency snacks, a green t-shirt with the local football team logo, an old pair of sneakers he really needs to replace — in a vague enough gesture to slip just under the line of insulting, but still enough to make Martin feel horribly seen. Granted, Jon isn't much better in his plain blue polo, but the fact of Jon being in jeans at all is currently eclipsing the fact that he's a tad underdressed for the event.

But—

But it's not that Martin doesn't want to. It's not that Martin doesn't want to be a part of this moment, this moment, this microcosm in the middle of London of so many people like him. It's something he's always wanted. Something he's always dreamed of, something he'd thought about all the way back in his high school bedroom when he'd had all these feelings knotted up in his chest that he couldn't put a word to, still can't put a word to, doesn't know how to put a word to even though it's right there in front of him if he could just stretch out his fingers—

"I thought about it," he admits with a shrug. Tim and Sasha were each dressed in a blinding shower of color and glitter, and he knows they'd never make him feel out of place. "It's just...there's too many—" He stops, takes a deep breath, and tries to ignore the thumping of his heartbeat in his ears. "There's too many words, I guess?"

Jon pauses his lazy fanning, looking up at him. "Too many words?" he parrots.

Martin wets his lips. "Like— like— like, everyone has a word for themselves, y'know? They have a flag, they have a group, they have— have people that they can relate to, and then you feel like you find something that almost right, but it's not perfect, and you— you—"

And you don't fit in, Martin doesn't say, because the rushing stream of words has suddenly stopped up in his throat, choking him. And you definitely aren't straight, but you aren't queer like everyone else is. You aren't queer in the right way.

Jon looks at him for a considerable moment, and suddenly Martin is all too aware of his body, his bones, his sweat, the itchy prickling of his skin—

Jon sighs as he gives him a half shrug. "So don't be anything."

The music from the street over lulls into a faint hum.

"What?" Martin says.

"So don't be anything," Jon repeats, enunciating as if he thinks that Martin misheard him. He frowns as he chooses his next words. "I'm not...it's...I..."

Martin waits quietly.

"I..." Jon says, "I guess when I was just starting to— to figure things out, I was certain I was gay. And then I went to uni and I had...a multitude of other things to address, and then for a bit I was...straight? I guess? And that was a whole thing, and then I was bi, and— well, I guess I'm technically still bi, but it's not...not exactly correct—" He frowns, looking up at him. "I guess...it just doesn't really matter to me? You don't...have to be anything."

Martin opens his mouth. He closes it. "But—" he says, tongue feeling thick in his mouth, "but—"

But then I have to be me, he doesn't say, even if the words are trying to push out past his teeth. But then the only thing I can be is me.

"...But that's scary," Martin says without meaning to, only hearing the words as they pass through his own lips. His eyes blow wide as he looks down at Jon (at his boss), and knows the simmering heat flushing down to his chest has nothing to do with the weather.

Jon stares at him for a quiet, considerate. And then he turns his head away and lets out a very undignified snort.

Martin feels his world tip onto its side.

It had to be a snort. It can only be a snort, even if Jon doesn't snort because Jon doesn't laugh, and Jon doesn't laugh because Jon doesn't smile, and Jon doesn't smile because Jon is typically too busy snapping at him over some stupid mistake he's made for the umpteenth time—

Jon looks up at him again, and he's downright grinning. Martin is quite certain he needs to be doused over the head with a bucket of ice water, or pinched hard enough to draw blood, or sent off to the hospital to get his head checked out because what the fuck. What the fuck.

"As my grandmother was so fond of reminding me, 'if it weren't scary, everyone would be doing it,'" Jon says finally, peeling off his glasses to wipe the sweat from the lenses onto his shirt. He places them back on his nose, then pushes himself up. "You should find Tim and Sasha," he says. "And I should find Georgie before I get left here. Again."

"Uh," Martin says, still trying to mentally recover from the fact that Jon smiled at him, and now everything feels like its been knocked into an alternate universe slightly to the left. His head feels weird. His chest feels weird. "Right."

"There's a—" Jon points a thumb behind himself, "a place we can cut through, if you want to—"

"Oh. Oh, yeah! Yeah, lead— lead the way."

It's not perfect, Martin thinks.

It's not perfect, but it's close. It's close when they step out of the alley back onto that crowded street, when the colors all bleed into a mess of a million different rainbows as far as the eye can see. It's close when they both get sprayed with glitter, Jon scowling and swearing as he tries to get it off himself and sending Martin laughing so hard that his sides ache. It's close even with the heat, even with the noise, even with the shouting because there's laughter in between laughter in between laughter again—

"Would you like a button?" a girl with green hair asks as she sits behind a table of every flag Martin has ever seen and then some. He takes a moment to look over each one carefully. Jon wanders up beside him, looks them through, and carefully selects a pink, purple, and blue one, to which he silently deposits in his pocket.

Martin picks up a plain rainbow one, considers it, and then pins it to the left side of his shirt.

It's not perfect, he thinks, but it's close enough.

[hoshigray]

idk if you’re taking in requests or thirsts but imagine giving toji a lap dance and even then he’s still the one who’s in charge and shiittt 😵‍💫

i want him so bad 😞

lol, why did I think of a stripper AU when I saw this? Also, this ask is like MONTHS old, I'm so sorry...also tysm for 4.9k guyssss, ur too kind

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Toji x stripper fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - sensual movements; lap dances + bumping and grinding - kisses (f! receiving) - clitoral stimulation - breast fondling + nipple play - biting/nibbling- pet names (angel, baby, sweetheart, sweetie) - no penetration, but things get steamy - cameos: Mei Mei, Nanami and Ino. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.7k

You were Toji’s favorite stripper.

You, your coworkers, and all the clients who come to enjoy the show all know this as fact. 

It’s all fun and games that this is your job, and you must cater to all the other men and women who come to see you strut and work your stuff (or else your manager, Mei Mei, would have your head).

But this is something that should never be forgotten. When that raven-haired man with a scar on his lip walks into the premises, everyone has to act right: you’re off-limits because you are his girl. 

Tonight was one of those Friday nights; women gather around the bar top to gather their weekend drinks – and flirt with Kento Nanami, the part-time bartender. Men under the influence howl at the topless entertainers, allowing them to motorboat and stuff cash into their underwear. And Ino, the DJ, plays the tunes that set the mood and keep the place going. 

Toji walks past all of that — he’s not here for it. He strides up to the open area, where there are mini stages abided by booths, a pole for each that comes from the ceiling down. He comes to one of the stages, and a dancer stops midway through her routine to greet the man, ignoring the girls who whine from her mesmerizing dancing coming to a halt. “Toji~, it’s Friday already?” 

“Yup, good to see you, Roxy,” he flashes a quick smile at the named entertainer. “They here today?”

Roxy giggles. “Knew you were going to ask me that. They should be at that back one over there at the corner…Oh! There they are.” She points, and Toji follows her finger to the promised stage and booth at the corner. He grins and gives a curt nod to Roxy before going on his way. “Enjoy the show, Toji~”

At the club corner is a booth filled with tired businessmen who come to drink. But guessing from the grins on their faces, they’re too enamored by what’s in front of them to quench their first. On the pole, twirling around the metal bar, was you. Entertaining the men with the usual routine, a few tricks, and moves to wow the mix of young and old business clients. And they gasp and roar at you, splitting your legs during a high kick.

Unfortunately, though, this was the last of their fun with you. Because after you transition from the pole, taking a client’s hand to have them aid you down the stage, something – or someone – catches your attention from the corner of your eye. You turn and smile, “Hey there, big guy.”

“Hey,” he greets you with a smirk. The guys around the booth watch, most with expressions as if their hearts dropped. Minus one, a young man who felt he should question the man standing next to him. 

“Uhh, excuse me,” he says to the dark-haired, burly man. The other colleagues looked at him as if he lost his mind. “We got this table first, so go over somewhere with the other strippers and—“ 

He could not finish that sentence. Because Toji pulled the kid off his seat with one hand, the poor bastard squeaked at the sudden action. Piercing green eyes bore into his skull, his blood shifting to icy cold. “How ‘bout I have you go somewhere? Either in the trash or six feet under, whichever floats y’r boat.” 

The scared look on the poor kid’s face didn’t change Toji’s attitude. Not even the other guys who were pleading to him to let their friend go, that he didn’t know what he was doing. He did not come here to start something, not tonight. 

And for that, you were the only one who could calmly intervene, dissuading the situation by placing a hand on Toji’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Toji. I was giving these guys a little show before you came in. Now, please let him go, okay? I don’t think Mei Mei would want to deal with another broken arm situation.”

It was the safest option that you spoke to him, his little favorite. So, with a gruff scoff, Toji lets the guy go for him to land on the floor roughly. “You heard ‘em, fellas. Outta my spot.” The entrepreneurs get up and scram with no hesitation, grumbling at the younger colleague for causing such strife in the first place as they walk away somewhere, leaving you and Toji. 

He watches them leave, turning to you when they’re at a respectable distance. Here is when he properly gets a good look at you. God, he could never get enough of you. You were wearing a black laced, caged mesh bra that covered your breasts, matching with lacy bottoms that shaped your hips beautifully. The bra was covered in rhinestones that shined with the club lights, which partnered with the side of your bottoms. And to complete the look, over-the-knee heeled boots that sparkled. A new favorite, Toji thinks.

“Well, now that you’re done terrorizing my guests,” you giggle and gesture to the booth seat. “Ready for me to spoil you?”

“Heh, think that’s the other way ‘round, sweetheart.” Toji chuckles as he takes off his coat and sits down. He notes you staring at his bulky arms for a quick second. You were fast, but not fast enough for him to catch you. “I’m sure y’re ready to drain my wallet.”

You walk between him and the stage behind you, bewitching him with the twinge of your lips as you bring your face closer. “Would that be a bad thing?”

Toji’s hand goes to your cheek, “A pretty lil’ angel like you? I’d let you rob every cent of me.”

The jest does its job of making you laugh before you withdraw your face from his hold. “You know the rules.” 

The older man rolls his eyes but obliges, putting his hands behind his head and shifting comfortably. “I know, I know. No touchy.”

“No touchy.” You repeat, knowing he’s on the same page while you warm yourself up. 

You start with the usual — he likes it. You turn and spread your legs, bending down slowly before him so he can get a perfect view of your ass and underwear. And you take your time getting up, using your hands to entice him by grazing them around your asscheeks. Next, you face him, eyes locked with his emerald ones. Taking one foot after the other, you bend again and place your hands on his thighs, rubbing them while maintaining eye contact. “How was work? Tough as usual?” 

Now, while you have rules of your own, he also has things he can’t share — like the fact that his primary source of income comes from killing people. It’s why he’s always sure to clean himself up before coming here, spending his hard-earned cash to see you. But he humors you with tiny hints, “Mmm, as usual. Broken nose here, blood on knuckles there.” 

You straighten up, placing a heeled foot on his right thigh. “My my, not that you got hurt, right?” 

“Not a single scratch.”

You lift a brow before bringing your leg down to swiftly sit on his lap, snaking your hands up from his abdomen and chest to his strong shoulders. “You’re quite the dangerous one.”

“Sure,” He chortles smugly, “but y’re one to talk.”

You play along, forming a small “o” with your lips to display faux surprise. All the while bouncing on his lap. “Me? Dangerous?” 

“Oh yeah, sweetie.” His eyes never leave your face, even when you sway to the side to measure his attention. “Y’re quite the little minx yourself.” 

Your eyes narrow, inching your face closer, your noses practically touching. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Slow grinds to his groin, it makes him swallow. You close your eyes, lips drawing in with a whisper. “Is it?”

Toji closes his eyes as well, falling for your sensual spell. “Not at all…” But nothing comes of it, only a string of giggles as you remove your face from his, poking the tip of his nose with your finger to signal with awake before fully withdrawing your figure from him. He grins, shaking his head. “Fuckin’ tease.”

“I don’t see you complaining, sir.” You throw the title at him with a playful smirk, batting an eye before turning around with your back facing him. You gently sit on his lap and transition your services to that of a lap dance. 

With an arched back, you roll your hips and ride on his lap, your butt rubbing on his jean-clad thighs to create heated friction. And Toji’s eyes examine your figure, from the highlighted skin of your back to the sway of your hips. The view of your butt rubbing on him gets him going, trying to fight the urge to just fuck the rules and grab your ass to grind on himself. Every rasp to his groin tests him to breathe steadily. 

But then, you just had to look at him over your shoulder with that cute, complacent leer. “How ya feelin’ there, big guy? Dangerous enough for you yet?”

Yup, fuck it. Rules be damned, Toji grabs for your ass and brings it down flat on his groin. The action takes you aback – unconditionally out of the accustomed routine. Before you can question him, Toji’s scarred lips are already at your ear. “You tell me, princess. Teasin’ me like that is just askin’ for it.”

You hold back a whimper when he comes to your neck, biting your lips when his lips meet your skin. “Mmmm…whatever happened to no touchy? You could get into trouble—“

“Aww, are ya worrying f’r me?” He snickers to your ear again, listening to you gasp at the buck of his hips to your ass. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, just keep dancin’ f’r me, ‘kay? I’ll take care of you…”

Toji bites the helix of your ear, rolling his hips to hump you. With a shaky moan, you grind on him to match his cadence. You’re nervous; this is against the policy: guests are not supposed to touch the entertainers. And yet, now, with Toji’s firm hands holding onto you and him whispering to your ear, it somehow feels different — a lot more hedonistic. 

You decide to play along, throwing your head back to his shoulder to rest, which gives him more access to kiss your exposed skin. His lips peck down your neck, and quivering wails seep from your lips when he mischievously nibbles on it. Too distracted to detect a hand snake down to your covered chasm. 

Now would be the right time to say things are going too far. You bring a hand on top of his, a silent warning for him. But he chooses to ignore it, creeping the other hand under the hem of your top. “Relax, baby. Just focus on danicin’, yeah?” 

This was so different, having a guest take the rails — no, having Toji take control of you. And you don’t dislike it; far from it, actually. If anything, it’s oddly exciting — letting the older man please you as you service him. It’s new and dangerous, especially in your workplace. But, oh my God, you don’t want it to stop.

You wrap your arms around his neck while he puts his back to the booth, using this to change into a different move. With your torso lifted and using your legs to maintain balance, you move your abdomen up and down. While you’re ghosting his groin with wave-like motions, Toji uses his fingers to play with your body. His left middle and forefinger rubs on your cover folds, roughly pressing down on where your clitoris is. A choked sob leaves puffy lips, even when his right hand is in your bra to grope your breast, his thumb swiping on your nipple to harden. 

“Mmmph! Ahhaaa, Toji…”

“Yeah, just like that,” he reassures you. Another tweak to your nipple has you bite your lips with a hum. “Just like that—“

“Am I interrupting something?” 

It took you mere milliseconds to recognize the new voice that enters your space, abruptly interrupting your session with purpose. You’re off of Toji just like that, hurriedly fixing yourself in the presence of your manager. “H–Hello, Mei Mei.”

“Hello there, Y/n.” She says it sweetly, but her words carry a stern connotation. The pale-blue-haired woman has her hair up in a braided ponytail while wearing a simple black split-thigh cami dress with mesh sleeves, and her gold earrings and red lipstick contrast with her pale skin. “Ah, I expected to see you here, too, Mr. Fushiguro.”

Toji greets the women, standing up at his own pace. “It is a Friday, Lady Mei.”

She smiled at the use of her business name; it was appropriate for what she was about to say. “Indeed it is. I decided to come down to check on the place and see how the life of the party was going. And all my guests seemed to be having quite a good time…Minus this one guy, who told me about the ‘scary fucker with a scar on his lip’ who lifted him like a doll and scared him and his buddies to a different table.” 

Toji rubs the back of his neck, chortling with a smug grin. “Hmm, the guy must be some dick.”

“Must be...Now listen, Fushiguro, I know how much of a valuable customer you are, throwing good money at my girls — my girl.” Mei Mei walks to you and places her cold hands on your shoulders. “I’d find it hard to have you not come here anymore for not keeping your hands to yourself. On my customers and my entertainers.”

“That I understand, my Lady,” he sighs at your manager’s lecture and crosses his arms. “But you know how I roll. I just come here to see your girls—“ He stops to shift his gaze on you. “Your sweet girl.”

“And I see you care about them quite a lot, your hand up their bra and your lips on their skin.” 

He shrugs it off. “I’m guilty.”

Mei Mei walks up to the older guest, her light violet eyes locked with his dark jade orbs. “Fushiguro, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid my rules apply to everybody. No touching the dancers. This is a strip club, not a brothel.” 

“Yes, Mei,” He grasps every word thrown at him, his eyes not leaving her feline ones. “It’s just a shame that I’m willin’ to pay whatever to have Y/n privately for one night in those lil’ VIP rooms upstairs.” 

A silver brow is quirked. “Are you trying to throw more money at my face to change the rules for your own convenience?”

“I’m trying to talk business, from one loyal customer to a good businesswoman.” He says nonchalantly, pointing to you with his chin. “That is if they’re up for it.” Now, why did he have to single you out like that? Because your manager turns to you with a patient look, gauging where you stand in this situation. 

It’s a tricky thing to answer: do you want to have sex with your guest that made you feel good minutes ago? This job is supposed to be an easy one, coming here to dance and swing your ass off til the morning sun for good money. Now, on the one night when things get a little too heated – with your favorite customer, mind you – you’re in a conflict. And you have to thank God you didn’t kiss him on the lips! 

However, it’s not like you don’t trust Toji; it’s the opposite. Sure, he can be a cocky bastard; there’s been instances where he’s touched you, but never like tonight. And yet, you didn’t find any danger in it. You were relaxed atop of him, leaning more into his touches. So, the thought that more could come from it is new. Chilling, but thrilling.

Your manager can see the inner turmoil through your face, so she answers in your stead, “Give it some thought for tomorrow, Y/n. And you,” Mei Mei turns back to the man guilty of this predicament. “Learn to behave yourself ’til then.” 

“I will, Lady Mei,” Toji sneers, grabbing for his coat to put on and taking a few bands to give to you. “And I’ll be seein’ you tomorrow, baby.”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – divideres from @/cafekitsune.

[scary-grace]

blind date (shigaraki x reader)

After endless failed attempts to help Tomura up his game, his friends have settled on their last resort: A blind date. Even before you show up, it's not going well. No quirks AU, 2k words.

this was originally in the x reader lovers community, but I figured I'd release it into the wild as well!

Part 1 Part 2

Part 1

Tomura gets being a little late. “A little late” is practically his middle name. He waits until the last minute to do almost everything, and that means any complications mean he’s running behind. Hypocrisy pisses him off so much that he tries to avoid it all costs, so that means he has to put up with it without bitching when somebody else is a little late, too.

Except half an hour isn’t a just a little late for anything, let alone a blind date Tomura didn’t want to go on in the first place. He’s been waiting outside the bar you were supposed to meet at for half an hour, and he’s pissed.

“That’s it,” he says after the eighteenth time a woman his age has walked past and hasn’t been you, whatever the hell you look like. “I’m out of here.”

“Just a little longer, honey,” Magne says. She’s smiling, but she’s also got her arm around Tomura’s shoulders, and if she squeezes any harder, Tomura’s going to pop like a balloon. “She’ll be here.”

“No, she won’t.” Tomura crosses his arms over his chest, tucking his hands in so nothing will bite them. They’re on the waterfront, in the summer, and there are insects everywhere. Whose dumb idea was this? “You showed her a photo of me and she changed her mind.”

“It’s a blind date,” Magne says. Like Tomura’s supposed to know what that means. “She doesn’t know what you look like, either. That’s why you have to stay right here and keep wearing that baseball hat. Otherwise she won’t know it’s you.”

Tomura hates the hat. Right now he hates everything. “So she got here on time, saw me, and left. Can I go?”

Magne shakes her head. “You promised you’d try.”

“I showed up. I waited for fucking half an hour. I’ve tried.” Tomura finally shoves Magne’s arm off his shoulders. “I’m done.”

Tomura wishes he could say he didn’t know how he got here, except he does. One of his friends is getting married, and there’s supposed to be a wild bachelor weekend in Vegas, one last blast of stupid before settling down. Most of the groomsmen are planning to hook up with as many people as possible, and that’s where the problems start. According to his friends, Tomura has no game. Zero game. Negative one hundred game. If he was rolling for his game stat, it would be a critical failure – and none of his friends want to babysit him when they could be getting laid.

Tomura wouldn’t want to babysit when he could be getting laid, either. His solution was to skip the bachelor weekend and just show up for the wedding in his stupid rented suit. But apparently his friends really want him to come to the party, and they decided that what he needed was to get some practice in before the trip. Which means that for the last month, Tomura’s spent every Friday night and weekend getting dragged through his own personal hell.

They made him try dating apps, which were a disaster, even though Tomura let Toga set up his profile and make the first move. Then they tried traditional online dating, which also sucked, because Tomura’s too picky and other people have standards. Hanging out in bars and clubs worked exactly how it’s always worked – it doesn’t – and when Dabi pulled out the big guns and dragged Tomura to the sex club where he met his fiancé, the only people who talked to Tomura were guys. Tomura thought that was sort of a good sign, even though he’s not into men, until he remembered that guys will fuck anything with a hole in it. He’s not high on himself on his best day, but that was a really shitty night.

He thought they were going to quit after that, but his friends had one last ace up their sleeve – a blind date, Magne’s idea, which Toga enthusiastically signed off on when she saw a picture of the woman Magne wanted to set Tomura up with. Toga’s type and Tomura’s type line up, sort of, and Spinner giving the photo two thumbs way up sealed the deal.

It’s not like Tomura was hopeful or anything. He just wanted to get his friends off his back. Still, rejection sucks, and ghosting sucks worse. He’d rather have you show up and tell him to his face that you weren’t interested than stand him up.

Magne collars Tomura again, but her phone starts ringing at the same time, Toga’s contact info popping up. “Don’t go anywhere,” she warns Tomura as she raises the phone to her ear. “We’re here. She’s not here yet. Can you tell him –”

Tomura ducks out from under her arm and books it into the crowd of people on the waterfront, figuring he can make it to the metro stop before Magne figures out which way he’s going. But even that can’t go his way today, because he runs into somebody who’s moving at warp speed in the opposite direction, colliding at the shoulder hard enough to make him stagger. Tomura’s not confrontational, but it’s the wrong fucking day. “Can you watch where you’re going? It’s not like you matter to whoever you’re going to –”

“Are you Tomura?”

Tomura’s heart lurches. He stares hard at you as you right yourself, picking up the backpack you dropped in the collision. There’s no way this is happening. There’s no universe in which his blind date would be someone like you.

He can see right away why Toga and Spinner approved of you, but he thought you’d be someone in his league, not somebody who’s several kilometers above it. Maybe Tomura’s too excited that you actually showed up to evaluate what you actually look like. He looks away, then looks back. Nope – you’re still pretty, even though your face is flushed and you’re breathing hard like you’ve just been running. Did you run here to meet him? Only one way to find out. “I’m Tomura.”

“I’m so sorry,” you say. “My boss held me back at work, and I missed my train –”

You’re wearing some kind of work uniform. Scrubs, maybe. Are you a nurse? “And then I couldn’t decide whether to wait for another train or just run, so I ran – but I don’t really run, so it took even longer –”

Tomura doesn’t run, either. When he was doing the stupid online dating thing, he sorted out everybody who said more than one sentence about working out. You pause to suck down a breath, then keep talking. “I know everything I just said sounds like an excuse, and I know you’re leaving,” you say, “but I was hoping I could catch you so I could say I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stand you up. I get it if you want to call it off.”

Before Tomura can answer or even think about what he’s going to say, Magne bursts out of the crowd. “I told you not to run off,” she scolds, collaring Tomura again. “If you don’t stay put, there’s no way she’s going to – oh! You’re here!”

You nod. Magne looks you up and down. “I told you to dress cute,” she scolds. “And to get here on time. I practically had to chain him to a streetlight so he wouldn’t escape.”

“I’m sorry,” you say. “My boss –”

“Of course,” Magne says, scowling. “He’s never met a good time he doesn’t want to ruin.”

Magne knows who your boss is? “How do you to know each other?”

“She’s a pharmacy tech at the place I go to pick up my E,” Magne says. “She’s the only one who works there who isn’t an asshole, and her boss is the biggest asshole of them all. I only go in there when she’s on and he’s off. But let me introduce you the right way. Shigaraki, this is – ”

Tomura misses your name the first time Magne says it, catches it the second time, but it barely registers except as something he probably shouldn’t forget. You’re pretty. You’re not an asshole, or at least you’re the same kind of asshole as Magne and everybody else Magne’s friends with, including Tomura. Your boss is the wrong kind of asshole, which means you probably didn’t blow Tomura off on purpose. And you ran here so you could meet him even when you knew you were really late. You must have really wanted to meet Tomura. What did Magne tell you about him?

Tomura can ask you about that later. “So?” Magne is saying expectantly. “Can I leave you two alone, or are you going to run away again?”

“No,” Tomura says. “You can go.”

You look surprised. “Um –”

“Now.”

Magne cackles. She snatches the hat off Tomura’s head, ruffles his hair, and slaps him on the back hard enough that he staggers. “Have fun! I want all the details later!”

“Sure,” you say, bewildered, as she kisses you on the cheek. Tomura’s going to have to talk to you about that – any details you share with Magne will be fair game for the rest of Tomura’s friends, and he’s not sure how much he wants them to know. “Um, bye.”

Magne waves and vanishes into the crowd. Now it’s just you and Tomura standing on the sidewalk. You shuffle off to one side, out of the way, and Tomura follows you. “Are you sure you still want to do this?” you ask once you’re both leaning against the railing. “I get it if you’re not in the mood. When I’ve gotten stood up, I haven’t wanted to –”

“You’ve never been stood up in your life,” Tomura says, and your expression changes from confused to offended. “Look at you.”

You look down at yourself, then back up at him. “What does that mean?”

“I didn’t know anything about you and I got here on time. If I knew what you looked like beforehand I’d have been two hours early.” It sounded like a compliment in Tomura’s head, but he can’t tell if you’re taking it that way. “People like you don’t get stood up for dates.”

“I wish that were true,” you say. You look away. “I know how it feels. I get it if you don’t want to go out anymore.”

Tomura pretends he’s thinking about it. “How far did you run to get here?”

“Sixteen blocks.”

“You ran sixteen blocks to meet me. That cancels out being late,” Tomura says. You look up, surprised for a second or two before the relief kicks in. “I still want to go out.”

“Me, too,” you say. You smile at him. Women don’t usually smile at Tomura. People don’t usually smile at Tomura. He doesn’t know what to do with it. “Thanks, Tomura. For giving me a chance.”

“Yeah,” Tomura says. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t really know,” you admit. “It’s been a while since I went on a date.”

“Same,” Tomura says. ‘Never’ counts as a while in his book. “I don’t know – grab drinks or something?”

You nod. “Can we find somewhere to sit down for a second first? I don’t usually run that much, and I don’t want to pass out on you.”

“You can pass out on me if you want,” Tomura says. You blink. Tomura facepalms even though you’re looking right at him. “There are benches back there.”

The crowd on the sidewalk is only getting denser. Tomura doesn’t want to get separated from you, so he tells you to hold onto the back of his shirt. You grab his hand instead, and you’re still holding it when the two of you find a place to sit down. Still holding it once you’re both settled, searching for something to talk about. Tomura’s not optimistic about this. You’re too good to be true – the kind of woman who’d run sixteen blocks to meet him and hold his hand is a kind of woman who doesn’t exist. Even so, it’s – nice. Tomura laces his fingers with yours and decides to enjoy it while it lasts.

[steddiehyperfixation]

eddie munson has only ever been kissed in clubs, in crowds, under deafening music and flashing lights with more alcohol in his veins than blood. he knows what it's like to kiss rough and want carnally, to be pushed against walls and dragged into bathroom stalls.

but what is it like to kiss someone and have it mean something? what is it like to know someone's soul, or even just their name, before their lips, before their body?

what is it like to kiss someone and feel something? what is it like to have a kiss make your heart beat louder than the music and set off fireworks in your body brighter than the flashing lights?

that's something he's never known, something he's starting to believe he never will. maybe it's something he's not even capable of knowing.

he's loved before, never been loved in return. the men he's cared for, fallen for, in any real way were always ones who would never be able to care for him the same. the only men willing to kiss him are the ones who dance away at the end of the night and leave only faceless, nameless memories in his hazy mind.

until steve harrington. until a chance encounter in a gay club with a high school crush years after high school has ended.

it's the same old story: too-loud music and strobe lights; drunk and dancing closer, trading glances and smirks until hands land on waists and slide over hips and lips crash together and bodies collide. it's the same old story: kissing hard and wandering hands and grinding hips; eddie gets pressed back into the gross wall damp with the humid sweat of all the other bodies in the room.

but steve doesn't dance away at the end of it. he pulls away with a grin, keeping his fingers entangled with eddie's as he jumps and shouts along to the lyrics of the song that just came on. he dances with eddie innocently then, just for the fun of it, not like he's trying to get any more out of him.

and when he tugs on eddie's hand and drags him from the dance floor, it's not to a bathroom stall but to the bar where he buys eddie a drink and they talk. they catch up on all the years that have passed between them, trade stories and laughter and banter that reawaken eddie's old crush and set it aflutter in his stomach like he's 17 again.

eventually they return to the dance floor. ("i love this song!" steve gasps, eyes lighting up, and how could eddie refuse?). after a song or two, steve pulls eddie into another kiss, hands and lips softer than before, yet still just as passionate.

and the music is still deafening and the lights are still flashing, but this time, finally, eddie's heartbeat is louder, the fireworks brighter.

(ao3)

[cheesesoda]

resident evil men as parents!

a/n: i had this idea randomly so i wanted to write some headcanons 💪 lmk if you wanna see the girls as parents! (i might edit these headcanons and add more later too)

cw: slight mention of smoking and alcohol

genre: fluff, headcanons/blurb

______________________________________________

leon kennedy

leon is a girl dad!

cried when she was born

from when she was born until age 1 he would just go into her room at night and watch her sleep

he spoils her fr

youll come home late from work (well past her bedtime)

there they are making ice cream sundaes in the kitchen

he participates in tea parties and he enjoys it

he tells even MORE dad jokes now

very protective

tries to drink less after his daughter is born

chris redfield

chris is a girl and boy dad!

i think he has 1 boy (older) and 1 girl (younger)

like him and claire

was in awe when his kids were born

“oh my god she/he’s so small”

auntie claire babysits all the time

teaches his son to play football

honestly i think he’d be protective of his daughter but not as much as the others because he would teach her self defense from a young age

ethan winters

ethan is a girl dad! (which we already knew)

we already know what hes like as a dad but i’ll still write a bit for him

100% cried so hard when his daughter was born

best husband and father

definitely bought every brand of diapers because he didnt know what to get

hes very affectionate and caring to his daughter

i don’t see him as the type of dad to kill any guy who speaks to her once shes older

if someone breaks her heart tho mans just might kill

albert wesker

wesker is a boy dad!

very calm when he was born

not very affectionate

he does care he just doesn’t show it very well

luis sera

luis is a girl and boy dad!

i think he’d have 2 or 3 kids

if he had 2 kids, he’d have 1 girl (older) and 1 boy (younger)

if he had 3 kids, he’d have 2 girls (oldest & youngest) and 1 boy (middle)

definitely sets a very high bar for how his daughter/s should be treated

teaches his son to be a gentleman definitely

loves all his kids so much

smokes less after his kids are born and would rather die than expose them to cigarette smoke especially when they’re babies

carlos oliveira

carlos is a girl and boy dad!

you cannot tell me this man does not want a village of children

he would probably have 4 kids

i think he’d have 3 boys and 1 girl

has the biggest soft spot for his kids

he’s very non-toxic masculine with his sons

he always tells them he loves them, hugs them, etc.

he also has tea parties with his daughter

[shunsuiken]

HOW THE GENSHIN MEN FIND YOU DRUNK

pairing(s). kaeya, diluc, zhongli, childe, ayato, thoma, tighnari, kaveh, wanderer x gn!reader

genre. fluff + mentions of alcohol use ofc + reader is a lightweight (welcome to my life guys <3)

wc. 400-800 for each character

an. SOOOOO this was inspired by a cdrama i watched back in 2021 and when i saw it i just HAD to write about it <3 also i think i had a bit too much fun on zhongli’s and childe’s i hope its not so obvious dear god. also??? for some reason the ones i had the hardest time writing for ended up being the longer parts omg

kaeya alberich

after spending some time upstairs with a couple of treasure hoarders who were completely unaware of being thoroughly deceived by the cunning cavalry captain, kaeya decides to head down and run over the knowledge he collected with mond’s famed beverage, death after noon.

but as he walks down the staircase, he spots a familiar figure sitting by the bar. he squints his eye slightly, almost not believing the sight in front of him. is that y/n? on the high stool by the bar? dozing off to only a few shots of liquor? tonight just became even more interesting. now he’s starting to wonder what things you would say under the influence—for no shady reasons, obviously, as he genuinely enjoyed your company and witiful mouth. he’s just a curious man with the goal of unveiling a few other things about you.

he makes a beeline to the bar, setting himself on your right side so you’re in his line of vision. glancing around, he motions for charles for his death after noon. kaeya only turns to you once his drink arrives, quickly giving you a once over. seeing as how it looked like you came to angel’s share after work he might as well stir up a conversation.

your vision is blurry but you can definitely feel the presence of another person beside you. as you lift your head from your crossed arms, your brows crease in irritation. which imbecile decided to disturb your time alone? you’re literally brooding over the fact that captain kaeya would never be yours, so you irresponsibly decided an hour ago that some liquor would magically help you forget your worries.

you’re ready to scare the person off with a glare but what you’re met with is quite literally, much worse (because your glares don’t work on him and also because he's part of the reason you’re in your drunken state).

kaeya chuckles at your expression. “why the long face? it’s just me.”

you rub your eyes, groaning from the bitterness lingering in your throat. of all people, you weren’t expecting him. “you never stop by on wednesday’s. is something up?” you ask drowsily as kaeya watches you pick up your glass, clumsily squinting at the bottom of it to see if there was any more of your liquor left.

kaeya dodges your question, humming, “y/n sweetheart, you look like you’re on the brink of passing out.” he tilts his head, observing your flushed expression. if you can’t handle your liquor, he doesn’t mind taking you back home if it means securing your safety.

“am not,” you reply, turning your gaze to him. it’s all thanks to the alcohol that you can do so when in reality you actually struggle to maintain eye contact with him. “you… you haven’t answered my question yet. why’re you here?” your voice is hoarse and you’ve made enough voice cracks to entertain a crowd, but kaeya finds it rather endearing instead.

kaeya could reply honestly. but this conversation is one to be forgotten after you woke up tomorrow morning. he could lie and you would never know he did, but for a reason unknown the lie he was supposed to tell never left his lips. instead he blurts out the plain truth.

“somebody has to be responsible for you, y’know,” kaeya teases you with a grin but his actions are the opposite of his tone. he stands from his seat, pulling your arm over his shoulders to support your weight even when you attempt to resist his help. he keeps your body close to his so you don’t fall over. hopefully you’re drunk enough to be oblivious of the erratic beats of his heart alongside the cautious and warm touch of his hand on your waist.

diluc ragnvindr

he still can’t believe he has such a massive crush on you. it’s almost embarrassing to let others know about this secret because nobody would expect someone like diluc to have a thing for you. it’s even harder to hide that fact when you’re sitting at a table with venti and kaeya. they’re laughing their asses off at some joke you told them.

“cheers to y/n!” venti hollers, cheeks undeniably pink. “you are paying for this, right?” he leans back down momentarily, making you release another burst of laughter from your lungs at the way he mentioned it. “of course!”

after chatting, you decide to greet the man of the house by the bar. it’s been a while since you’ve seen the master diluc of dawn winery anyway. as you get up from the table to make your way over, you accidentally bump into a crowd of big, brawny adventurers who’ve just arrived.

“oh—!” tripping backwards, your hands fail to find something to keep yourself on your feet before your fall is cushioned by someone.

they hold onto your shoulder as your back collides with their chest. the force from being pushed aside has you breathing unsteadily, and it doesn’t help that you’re pretty tipsy right now too. however, despite how tipsy you are, you feel as though air is sucked right out of your lungs when you spot a tuft of crimson red hair from the corner of your eye.

you stand right up immediately, facing the person you fell onto.

“master diluc!” the dazed and naive look on a drunkard's face normally doesn’t appeal to diluc but this expression on yours actually makes you look rather adorable. your eyes are half-lidded and your smile is lopsided, and oh if he could squish those cheeks of yours-

“uh, master diluc?” you blink, toning your voice down a bit.

“oh.” diluc slides out of his mindscape, paying attention to your words. “yes? would you like a drink on the house?” because if you actually asked that, he would have sent one your way on the spot.

you wave your hands dismissively. “n- no no, not that! i was just asking how you were doing. you haven’t stopped by angel’s share since last month, i thought something was up so when i heard you were here today i…” you trail off, realising that you’re rambling and that diluc probably didn’t want to be greeted like this after taking a month off but when you look back at him, he’s still looking at you (and has been since you fell into his arms).

diluc raises his brow when he no longer hears your voice. but when he sees an expectant look in your eyes, he offers you his arm with a smile. “how about you tell me everything by the bar? that way i can serve you properly.”

your cheeks burn like a wild bonfire as you take his arm, now struggling to find excuses to somehow change the topic of conversation because if you continued your sentence from a minute ago, you would have exposed your secret attraction for the man in front of you.

(funny how you don’t even need kaeya or venti to expose you, you’re already the man for the job!)

diluc senses your sudden nervousness at the invitation. he does his best to bite away at the fond smile making its way to his lips. if he can help calm your nerves then maybe you’ll tell him about how much you missed his company at the tavern.

zhongli

zhongli didn’t know that his late night stroll around the streets of chihu rock would include witnessing your drunk state at third-round knockout. the streets have thinned out and it’s rather late too. he wonders what brought you over to the distinguished tavern.

the curious adeptus makes silent haste to peer over your shoulder. a cup in your hand and your head is lolling over. putting two and two together, you must have had your fill of alcohol for tonight.

zhongli finds himself chuckling before neatly folding his hands behind his back. “i wonder how y/n is faring on this wonderful night?”

your head snaps out of your drunken state momentarily, the coherent cells in your brain recognise that voice immediately but your vision is blurry. so instead of being able to greet the gentleman with dignity and grace, you end up tripping over the levelled bricks below you. 

“oh—!”

zhongli is quick to open his arms and catch you, his reflexes still polished despite his retirement as the geo archon. your head bumps into his chest as you grunt at the slight fright. and after regaining your foothold on the bricked ground, it comes to your attention that your body is flat against the man in front of you. more specifically, his arms are wrapped around your waist to keep you steady and your hands are fumbling awkwardly in the air because you don’t know where to put them.

looking up to meet zhongli’s eyes is exactly what you expected but you can never maintain eye contact with him. it’s not your fault he’s so handsome! his kind gesture makes your cheeks warm up, and he probably doesn’t even mean anything out of it but sometimes your mind likes to be a little creative and indulges you in a variety of impossible scenarios.

“archons, zhongli i’m sorry—i didn’t see you i—” 

“it’s not a problem, y/n. shall i walk you home?” zhongli offers, voice gentle and non-judgemental, like you didn’t just trip over a couple of bricks.

you shake your head, earning a raised brow from him. “i only live a few minutes away. plus, look at the time, we’ll look weird.”

“holding you in my arms will not make us look weird, rather i believe this is appropriate for us both. don’t you think?” the way zhongli tilts his head to the dominating tone in his voice makes you feel so small.

“i mean—sure but,” you reply, not daring to look directly into his eyes unless you were going to expose your hidden feelings for him. “but i’m drunk. it’s my fault, i can take myself ho—” your words are caught in your throat when zhongli lifts you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style down the steps and continuing down the street to bring you home.

this extra pinch of boldness is something that lays dormant within zhongli. but it always comes alive when you’re around. he has spent enough time around mortals to pick up the signs of the heart. your reactions to his touch, your flickering gaze and the heat from your face is no brainer. however, he will have to properly communicate with you when you’re sober.

for now, he only hopes that you will disregard the warmth radiating off his neck when you lean in to rest your forehead there.

childe

he’s dancing. dancing to his heart’s content. the band plays the second to last song but the harbinger barely feels like he’s lived up to the heights of the night. he requires more vigour, more energy from his dancing partners. sure, they were all wonderful dancers but he’s really only waiting for someone else to enter his field of vision.

childe knows you’re around here somewhere, you told him personally a week before the ball that you and your father were invited. after all, only the most distinguished noblemen and women were eligible to attend. and you, being the one and only child of one of the leading snezhnayan trade merchants, are an obvious guest on the list of invites.

childe dances, switching and gliding between different and eager dance partners, secretly hoping that the next gloved hand he would take would be yours. unfortunately, for the second to last song, he still doesn’t manage to find you amongst the crowd of participants dancing. so when the music stops he makes sure to return everyone a wave and entertain those who greet him warmly, doing everything in his power to stop the itch of impatience showing on his sweaty face. thankfully, he manages to maintain a calm and composed expression.

childe’s head perks up to a certain sound. amongst the music, the cheers and the clings of wine glasses he recognises a laugh. a laugh, to the extent of his knowledge, only he’s able to get out of you. he brings his wine glass away from his lips, licking the remnants of it from his bottom lip as he captures the sight of you chatting away with other guests.

scanning the guests’ faces, he concludes that they’re harmless thanks to information he was told prior to the event. so he makes his way over, smoothly including himself in conversation just to make an excuse to the other guests to ‘borrow your attention’ for a moment.

you take his arm that he offers you, holding your wine glass in your other hand. childe has always been a gentleman towards you, such a passionate person with excellent manners. you’re almost always guaranteed to have a grand time whenever he invites you out (obviously as friends, which you two have made known to the entire town).

“so ajax, tell me about your journey to liyue—” your throat interrupts your speech with a very clear hiccup. “—harbour.” your cheeks burn, quickly apologising for your lack of manners under your breath.

childe hums, loving how you used the name he told you to use when it’s just you and him. “your grace, are you drunk?” he gazes at your flushed face and how your styled hair looks more undone. he thinks you look better this way actually.

“i might be,” you sigh, wanting to hand your glass over to a butler but childe stops you before you can, taking your glass to quickly down the last sips of your beverage.

“ajax, what are you doing?!” you tap his arm repeatedly with concern, telling him to slow down.

you just got that glass a few minutes ago! but besides that, he’s drinking the wine you just had?! what if his lips touch the part yours did on the glass? not that you mind at all—you wouldn’t dare say that out loud but your thoughts are as clear as day on your expression.

childe enjoys the look on your face, satisfied and relieved that you didn’t show a hint of dissatisfaction. “i’ve not had the honour to dance with you tonight.” he passes the empty glass onto a passing butler’s tray. “shall i have the pleasure now?”

kamisato ayato

by this time in the evening, you, thoma and ayaka are probably done playing the hot pot game. which is alright since ayato knew he would return home from business later than usual tonight, but that doesn’t stop him from checking up on all of you. so when he slides the door open to see his faithful retainer, his sister and you sleeping soundly in the designated hot pot room at komore teahouse, the lord cannot help but stifle a fond laugh.

it then comes to his attention that the room reeks of alcohol. oh dear. that explains why everyone’s blacked out.

“‘yato?” he watches you lift your head from the table. ah, you’re still awake… and definitely drunk. no wonder you dropped the formalities all of a sudden. if you were sober you would have rushed to greet him by the door and refer to him by “my lord” despite all the protests he’s made to call you by his first name instead.

ayato hushes you gently, ignoring how his heart skips a beat at the mention of his first name leaving your lips and sits himself beside you. he’s almost taken aback by how you immediately lean onto his body for support. he knew you were an affectionate person but you normally asked before proceeding with anything just in case he felt uncomfortable (surprise! he never did). so seeing this side of you is rather refreshing to his eyes.

“what’re you doing here?” you blink hardly at him but it’s to no avail as the alcohol in your veins distorts your vision.

he brings you closer, gloved hand rising to caress the back of your head. “i just came to visit. however, it didn’t occur to me that you would all have so much fun without my presence.” 

“nonsense!” you claim dramatically, a satisfied smile immediately appearing on ayato’s face at your predictable reaction.

you poke his arm you don’t realise is already sat on your waist. you’re too ready to defend your lord from his own words to notice anyway.

ayato scans your face. lavender eyes find your plumped lips, the thin sheen of sweat along your cheeks and your hair attempting to escape the confines of your hairpin—hold on a moment, he got you that hairpin!

the way ayato has to physically restrain a grin from showing on his face is uncharacteristic of him. he’s noticed that he uncovers new parts of himself whenever you’re beside him. such an interesting person you are…

“we were waiting for you—hic—however, we got a little distracted.” you admit, gesturing at ayaka who sleeps soundly on thoma’s jacket. you look up at ayato through your eyelashes, giving him a lopsided smile.

“i remembered your—hic—advice when you said ayaka can’t drink more than a glass. she might even have it worse than me. but thoma, on the other hand, was a completely different story. that man was a mess!” you move your head to look at thoma’s body sprawled over the floor, ugly giggles leaving the back of your throat at how much of an idiot he looks like right now.

your hair tickles ayato’s chin but he pays no mind to it when he’s so immensely amused by your relaxed nature when drunk.

thoma

thoma mentally checks his list of things to do before retiring for the night. his lord is in his office, accompanied by a freshly made pot of tea, his lady should already be sound asleep and the other retainers are also readying to retire too. he sighs to himself, patting his jacket down as he heads to the kitchen to finalise his cleaning.

when he enters the kitchen, he is baffled at the sight in front of him. he stares blankly for a moment to process it.

there’s remnants of sake dripping out of a tipped-over tokkuri and his lover who plays with the o-choko absentmindedly with their finger, drawing invisible lines along the rim. thoma stifles a giggle, a curled finger covering his lips.

his giggle sends your consciousness back into focus. you only have the power to tilt your head ever so slightly to the right, your movements pausing on the o-choko when your gaze falls upon the view of your lover.

“tho—ma,” your cracked voice calls for him, making him rush toward you in such fondness so he could pinch your cheeks.

“oh, y/n, what are you doing?” thoma asks as giggles leave his lips, watching you squint at him dazedly. “it’s dripping from the corner of your lips as well!” he takes a napkin, sitting next to you to wipe it away gently.

“wh- where’ve you been, pretty?” your words are slurred but thoma hears you perfectly well.

the pet name makes him blush, but you’re too drunk to notice. “i’ve been doing my job—oh, honey—” he huffs when he brings you to lean on him instead. the longer you lay your head on the table, the more you’ll want to throw up later (and thoma makes sure to prevent that from happening).

you giggle at the little voice crack you hear when he calls you by your pet name, leaning onto his chest as your head rests on his shoulder blade. taking advantage of this position, thoma presses a cool ceramic cup filled with water by your lips and when you lazily open your eyes, you see that it’s the glass that’s been sitting on the side from earlier.

“drink up, honey.” you can’t refuse such a request when it’s mumbled so affectionately by your ear. you’re probably even warm at your cheeks from it, but then again, the sake has kept your cheeks warm for a while. you can’t even tell anymore.

after taking a few sips of water, your throat feels fresh and renewed—if thoma heard your thoughts, he would deadpan at you and say “y/n. it’s called getting hydrated” in a sassy little voice. this scenario amuses you and it causes a small laugh to leave your lips.

above you, thoma is confused. “what are you thinking about?” he asks curiously with a smile.

as you rest your head on thoma’s shoulder again, you reply, “you. i’m just thinking about you.”

tighnari

a shout from outside tighnari’s lodging brings his attention away from his documents, brows furrowing and pushing himself up from his chair to see why his forest rangers are making such a fuss at an ungodly hour (yes, tighnari was awake at said ungodly hour but that wasn’t because he was with his fellow rangers after a night out!).

“tighnari, we’re back!” a drunk forest watcher waves and yells at the figure of tighnari, who has his arms crossed in front of him.

a sigh leaves tighnari’s mouth, one of exhaustion, to be precise. “do you intend to wake all of gandharva ville up? go find yourselves home and rest.” he turns around to head back inside until another forest watcher pipes up.

“wait, tighnari! y/n’s black out drunk!” a female forest watcher, who’s eyes can’t even look at a single point any longer due to the alcohol running in her veins, displays your figure with your arm dangling over her shoulders. “you need to take them back, i don’t know where they live!”

tighnari raises a brow and chuckles, shaking his head. “yet you’re sober enough to tell me this.” he walks towards the group of drunkards and collects you easily from the forest watcher, carefully placing your arm over his shoulders while his other hand holds your hip.

you barely know where you are and what’s happening but it appears that your assigned guardian angel for the night has retired and put you in more capable hands—or, arms. you blink in an attempt to gather knowledge of your surroundings but it’s to no avail when everything is a blur of darkness with hints of warm light from the dew lights.

a grunt escapes your lips in slight frustration as you walk away with this other person, but they’re quick to hush you gently and in a soft voice you hear, “i promise we’re almost there, just walk with me, okay?”

“yeah, okay,” you reply promptly but to tighnari’s ears, he’s never heard such a tone in your voice ever since you were recruited. his heart skips a beat and his ear twitches along. it’s rare to see you so vulnerable and he can tell you have no idea that he’s the one carrying you back to… well, his lodging. because your lodging is simply too far away (it’s only a bridge away) and he can’t have you walking any longer when you look like you’re on the verge of passing out! 

he doesn’t know what’s gotten into him when his gloved hand holds onto your forearm to keep your body steady against his as he walks you to his lodging. his body is going against him and his heart can only take the blame for such ridiculous delusions. what does he think he will get out of this?

he’s just your chief forest watcher, that’s all he will ever be to you—is what tighnari thinks. but in reality, you only went out with the others to spiral in alcohol due to your failed attempts of romancing your handsome superior. it seemed that the sumeru roses and the letter you left at his doorstep were blown away by the wind (you had to commit blasphemy on that day and curse the anemo archon), the pita pockets you made for him were stolen away by some petty treasure hoarders when you weren’t looking and overall, your thoughts were a mess thinking about your failed attempts. it was like your beloved archon forgot to bless you with wisdom to avoid these situations.

“see! i told you he had a soft spot for them!”

“it’s so obvious the feelings mutual, i can’t believe they didn’t believe us.”

“they’re literally the only one who can’t see it!”

tighnari clears his throat loud enough for the group to hear him. he turns around and gives them a pointed look until they’re all skipping away to their respective lodgings.

he glances at your drunken face for a brief moment and smiles to himself, continuing to walk you back.

it appears that all his worries were meaningless.

kaveh

the sight of you leaning against the door to his home almost makes his soul fly right out of his body.

“hello y/n, i thought we were meeting for dinner?” but when kaveh finally makes it to where you are, you are nowhere near sober. no wonder your figure was leaning against the wood so flimsily. you were akin to a ragdoll at this point. “great heavens, is the end of the world upon us? why are you drunk before me?” he hesitantly collects you in his arms while mehrak hovers beside him. he can’t have you just leaning like that!

“went to… birthday party… drinks…”

that’s enough information to bring kaveh up to speed with the situation. but also… why did you decide to go to his house?! was it instinctive?

kaveh cringes at his thoughts and opens the door with his free hand while his other hand supports you by your waist (he can feel his palm warming up to the touch on your body and it’s making the poor man sweat). “come on in, let’s sober you up.” 

when you’re sat nicely on the couch, your eyes are still closed with zero awareness of your surroundings. how your head suddenly tilts backwards at such speed almost brings the most horrific yelp out of kaveh, he’s relieved to know his reflexes are still sharp enough to have caught your head before it snapped right off your neck.

“archons, you’re going to give me a heart attack!” he holds the back of your head and somehow manages to bring your body to lean against the spine of the couch. he doesn’t forget to put a pillow behind your back either, because you being drunk doesn’t mean you’re drunk enough to not feel discomfort.

after collecting himself from that scare, he returns with a cup of water, hands carefully hovering it in front of your lips. “here, drink up,” he says but you keep moving your mouth away from the cup that it’s slowly beginning to irritate him.

“y/n, you need to sober up if you’re going to walk home later,” he tells you in a more serious voice which makes you groan, throwing your head forward into your hands.

“you don’t understand.”

“what don’t i understand?”

what am i doing here? i swear i was in front of my friend's place… how is it that my drunk feet led me here? out of all the places on this continent, why did i take myself to the one place i’m trying to avoid?!

kaveh raises a brow and puts down the glass of water. “is something wrong, y/n? i haven’t even seen you since last week.”

“i’ve been… busy…” trying to keep my feelings at bay!

“i see,” kaveh responds before adding, “do you still feel drunk?”

“i wouldn’t say i’m drunk to the point of passing out—i did feel like that earlier but now that i’m sitting i can at least participate in conversation.” you remove your face from your hands.

why is his face so pink? you think to yourself, grabbing the glass of water from the table to take a sip before leaning back with your free arm supporting you. you grin to yourself, feeling a little cheeky.

you offer the glass of water you just drank from to kaveh, hovering it in front of his lips and you swear you almost watch his eyes fall out of their eye sockets.

“what—what are you doing?!” kaveh’s voice shakes and you let out this cute drunken giggle that makes his heart leap. 

“i know i’m the one drunk, but for some reason you look drunk without even having drinks!”

kaveh touches his face and he purses his lips. his cheeks are so used to being hot from being in your presence that he didn’t even realise!

“allow me to assist you.” you lean your body a little closer so you can press the chilled glass of water against kaveh’s cheek.

his bottom lip falls and quivers when you lean closer towards him. last time you were this close, you were putting medication on his face after a run in with fungi.

the coldness of the glass somehow gives him time to think to himself—rationally. maybe in this moment right now he could…

“thank you, y/n.” you’ve never heard this tone in kaveh’s voice, it’s unfamiliar and so… tender. what he does next makes you finally meet his scarlet eyes.

a warm hand wraps around your wrist that holds the glass to his cheeks, your skin immediately lights up in fire at the contact. it makes you gulp so embarrassingly loudly before him.

he leans into the coolness of the glass, gazing at you with such gentle eyes that it’s tempting you to look away. as his thumb gently caresses your skin, he smiles. “it helps.”

wanderer

wanderer returns to his home a little later than usual tonight. he made sure to leave a note on the dining table to let you know of his whereabouts for the day. he knows you have the propensity to worry about him, despite his claims that he’ll be perfectly fine because of how well-versed he is in the arts of defence (and nasty attacks). which is why he left the note on the table, and he acknowledges how it was moved to another spot on the table from this morning.

you’ve seen it. he thinks to himself and now he wonders where you are. you’re not normally out at this time and from your cute daily schedule reports you tell him before bed, he doesn’t remember you mentioning that you would be out until this time. or if you were going out with friends.

that’s alright. wanderer can wait.

the tapping of his own foot is driving the man on edge. it’s been two whole hours—the sun is far beneath the horizon and the birds are already snoring. where the hell are you? wanderer cannot do this anymore, he rises from his seat and takes flight with his anemo abilities.

the city is rather easy to navigate at this height. in the dark, the city is at least still lit up by streetlights and with the help of one nearby lambad’s tavern, he spots your curled figure sitting on the floor very easily.

he hovers over the cement before landing smoothly on his feet. “what are you doing here at this time? it’s so late,” wanderer remarks with irritation, standing in front of you with his arms folded. he stares at your figure with a frown.

“h-huh?” your voice comes out hoarse, lifting your head and your eyes slowly make out the figure of wanderer. “o-oh it’s youi… where’ve you been?” you manage to say despite how the world shakes around you.

“tch, what do you—” wanderer stops himself, raising a brow then finally taking the time to scan your face and posture and it hits him.

you’re fucking drunk.

“you’re insane,” wanderer scoffs, kneeling down to silently take a closer look at your face and body for any drunkenly bruises. “do you even know what time it is? i was waiting for you.” he doesn’t exactly know what to do with his hands but he decides to offer you one to help you get up on your feet.

“you think i’m insane but really, you’re the one doing insane things all the time! you know, like fighting fatui agents in the rain… to avenge a bird!” you put emphasis on the word ‘bird’ and wanderer scoffs at the finger you point at him.

“it was in danger,” he replies simply before sighing, “but that’s not the point. you’re drunk outside at a time like this so i’ll be taking you home now.”

talking to him magically makes you more sober with every passing second. you decide to play with him a little, leaning back on the brick wall as the crease in your brow melts away. “ooh, shouldn’t you take me on a date first?”

wanderer groans, pulling his hand back. he’s never had to deal with you drunk before! so he thinks for a moment, and he stands tall on his feet, turning his head the other direction. “if this is how you will continue to act then i will leave you to your own devices, however if you come back crawling to me—”

wanderer almost gasps at your figure suddenly standing beside him, steady on your feet as you give him a hard and long stare. “you don’t have to tell me twice about how you wait for me at home, i’m well aware of that. complain all you want about me but your words aren’t consistent with your actions, my love.” you slide your hand down his arm to reach for his hand as you lean your head on his shoulder.

you feel him tilt his face in the other direction. curious, you briefly lift your head for a moment to spot your pretty artificial lover gritting his teeth as a sheet of pink blankets his cheeks.

“fool,” he whispers, but there is no malice behind it.

[archangeldyke-all]

okay i’ve seen people talk about werewolf sevika but what about werecat sevika like she gives off such cat vibes she’s an introvert who so would love sitting by her window or on her porch watching things also i’ve always headcanoned that she literally purrs when you scratch her head so werecat sev just makes sense to me

YES i fucking LOVE THIS

this is what i think sevika would look like in cat form btw hehehehehe (send me cats u think sevika would look like too! i want to see all ur ideas)

men and minors dni

it all starts with a loose lab-cat. singed had pumped the thing with shimmer and underestimated its strength. he returned to the lab the next morning to a broken glass cage, quickly followed by hissing and hollering coming from the bar.

sevika stepped on the cat's tail where it had been sleeping beneath a table. in return, the cat sunk it's claws into sevika's calf-- four deep scratches running down her leg-- dripping half blood red, half shimmer pink.

singed told her she'd be okay.

he told her to go home and sleep it off and that she'd be fine.

singed is a fucking liar.

the next full moon, sevika turns into a cat.

not a panther, or a lion, or a fucking tiger or something cool. a fucking house cat. and a tiny one too.

she didn't tell anyone. who could she tell? singed would just try to strap her to a lab table and start experimenting on her. silco would probably just laugh. jinx might be her best bet if she wanted answers, but she fears that jinx would do something horrible like pet her or something.

so she just... deals with it.

the more full moons that pass, the more used to it she gets, and the more she can transform herself at will without the moon's powers.

she kinda likes being a cat. it's useful as fuck in the undercity, with all it's steep walls and drop-offs. it gives her crystal clear vision, even in the deepest darkest streets; it gives her great instincts, even in her human form, and...

there's nothing quite like finding a stray beam of sun and curling up for a few minutes to snooze on a peaceful day. both in her human and cat form.

which is how she meets you.

you live on a high floor of a big apartment building in the lanes. it's miserable climbing up and down the stairs multiple times a day, but the nice thing about it is you're high up enough to get some direct sunlight in your home for a good few hours a day.

you don't have a cat-- your landlord would kill you. but you keep a two little pots of catnip and catgrass growing on your fire-escape, a little tin of water and some tuna or chicken when you've got scraps to spare.

you've got a few cats that come to visit you a few times a week, all varying levels of friendly.

the white stray visits every afternoon to snack on your plants, sometimes bringing a skinny orange friend along with her. you let them be, watching fondly through the window as they groom each other.

there's a fat tuxedo cat that you know has an owner somewhere in the neighborhood, that seems to know when you set out food scraps-- always there in a flash to gobble them up. he's friendly as hell, meowing incessantly at your window until you open it up for him and let him come in to get pets for a few hours before returning home for dinner.

there's a new litter of calico kittens you've caught sight of. you think there's five or six separate kitties, but you can never keep track because they grow so and change so much between your sightings of them.

and then there's your newest visitor.

she's a unique cat, silver eyes, only three legs, her left front leg missing completely. there's blue scratches running down her left side, shimmering in the sun when the wind blows her fur away enough for you to see them.

and she doesn't eat any of your plants, or drink any of your water. most of the time, you come home and find her sleeping in a ray of sun. and every time when she wakes up and realizes you're home, the cat will jump up on your windowsill and simply watch you; her tail twitching occasionally in the wind, purring loud enough for you to hear through the little window as her silver eyes follow your every movement inside.

.....

sevika's fucked.

she's so, so, so fucked.

she's been fucking stabbed, twice, and she's loosing blood so quickly that she's starting to see spots.

the men who stabbed her are chasing her, and she's leaving a trail of blood right to herself. no matter how fast she runs, she's not going to lose them.

she's so woozy that she almost forgets that she's got fucking magical powers. she ducks into an alley and quickly transforms, before sprinting away. that takes care of those idiots beating her to death-- but it doesn't change the fact that sevika's dying.

she doesn't know where to go.

the last drop is way too far for her to get there before she bleeds out. she's got no friends in this neighborhood-- and people down here don't have the spare time, money, or sympathy for a dying street cat.

wait.

she knows someone who likes street cats.

someone sweet, and pretty, and always smiling and talking to her like she can speak human language. she can, but she knows your other cat visitors can't-- and it just makes her like you all the more- - the idea of you talking to some clueless cat, just like you talk to her.

she makes it to your fire escape just before her three legs give out.

and while her vision starts to fade completely, the clouds overhead move and a beam of sun shines down on her, the smell of your cat plants wafting over her as the wind blows.

well, sevika supposes. if i'm gonna die i guess this is the nicest place to do it.

you come home and find a dead woman on your fire escape... which isn't a total surprise in this neighborhood.

it's only when you go out to prod at her that you get really freaked out-- because she's not dead, just barely breathing.

you scramble to pull the woman inside your apartment, spreading her out on your bed and nearly throwing up at the sight of two deep stab wounds in her sides.

you've got some shimmer stored in your medicine cabinet in case of emergencies, and you quickly slide the liquid down her throat before scrambling to find something to stitch her side together with.

you aren't sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing when she starts blinking awake, groaning in pain and weakly trying to shove you away from her wounds.

"hey hey hey, wake up." you say, shaking her shoulders. she grunts and scrunches her face up. when her eyes blink open, your stomach twists.

you've never seen eyes that silver besides on the cat that comes to visit you. they're different on a person. much more attractive.

"uh..." you say, trailing off for a second suddenly realizing that the woman beneath you is very naked. and now that you're looking at her, the blue scars on her left side seem awfully familiar. you clear your throat. "uh, wake up." you say again, gently smacking her cheek.

she gasps awake when you start stitching up her second wound. "fuck!" she shouts. and then, she seems to process where she is. "fuck." she says.

you gulp. "uh, i'll get you a blanket." you offer.

sevika nods numbly as you-- the woman she's been shamelessly peeping on for the past year-- stumble out of your bedroom.

"i thought you were dead, honestly, and then you started moving and i got really freaked out. gave you some shimmer-- i hope you don't mind." you ramble as you walk back into your room, throwing a blanket over sevika. "is there anyone i should call for or...?"

"you're even prettier up close." she says. then she cringes.

fuck she didn't mean to say that. it must be the blood loss. and the shimmer. and your pretty eyes.

"uh..." sevika watches as you start to back away like you're scared, and she huffs before she gathers all her energy and transforms into her cat form. "what the fuck?!" you squawk as the woman in front of you disappears in thin air.

and then, a little lump under the covers starts to move.

and the three legged silver eyed cat comes crawling out, two new wounds on her side.

"what the fuck?" you ask, immedietly reaching forward to pet the cat in front of you. you don't consider that the cat is a woman-- it's your natural instinct-- you see a cat, you pet it.

but then the woman's back and your hand is in her hair and she's blushing all the way down to her tits which you can see because she's still naked.

"wha--"

"i'm sevika."

"hi, sevika." you giggle, slightly hysterical. sevika's blush gets even darker. "i'm--"

"i know." she cuts you off, then bites her lip in embarrassment and presses her head harder against your hand, like she's a cat. well, you suppose she kinda is. "i... sorry for stumbling into your life like this. i thought if i died as a cat i died in real life." sevika shrugs. "guess the whole nine lives thing is true, though."

"i don't--"

"i can leave, if you give me a pair of sweats or someth--"

"no!" you squeak. sevika smiles, and now you're embarrassed. "i-i mean... you're injured. you should stay until you're better..." sevika raises an eyebrow at you. "plus... you're kinda cute."

she grins. "as a cat or...?"

"fuck off." you giggle, crawling into bed beside her. "you've fucking... been watching me for a year! it's only fair i get to interrogate you, too, you creep."

"i-i'm not a creep!"

"you've seen me naked!"

"you didn't seem to mind at the time..." sevika pouts.

you can't believe how ridiculous this whole fucking situation is. sevika's blood drying into your mattress underneath the pair of you, but her skin is becoming more vibrant as the shimmer works through her system, flashes of pink sparkling in her silver eyes. she's practically purring as you scratch her scalp. you burst into laughter, and sevika grins up at you.

when you finally catch your breath, you shake your head and look down at the only sorta-stranger beneath you. "so, what are you... a werecat, or something?"

sevika groans before bursting into laughter with you.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @claude999 @nhaaauyen

[perfctvelvet]

A smut involving Jenna or fem reader as a stripper or only fans star?

Down; Jenna Ortega/Fem!Reader

Content: 2nd POV. AU. Stripper!reader, teasing, Jenna gets reader off.

A/N: I had two requests for stripper!reader with jenna so I just combined them :) I think I've only wrote a strip/lapdance scene once and that was years ago so forgive me if this is little awkward!

Muse was nothing short of a poor excuse for a "high-end" private club. The floor was sticky from spilled overpriced drinks and the air was thick and muggy. Behind the branding and high-earning clientele, it was simply a strip club.

The year end company dinner started at Jenna's boss's favorite restaurant, to a bar across the street, and eventually to Muse. One by one her co-workers fell off, citing their tiredness as the reason they need to leave. In reality the crop of people that wanted to be out all night weren't the most ideal people to party with. Jenna said she would leave when her closest co-worker, Eve, decided to leave. However when it was her turn to bow out for the night, Jenna looked amongst the people she would be left with. It was nearly all of the senior-level employees of her department. Why she thought she could be one of the boys for the night, just for a small chance of career advancement, was beyond her. But she stayed. She stayed until she was front and center of a woman in sparkling lingerie that exposed her breast.

"We were surprised a girl like you could hang," one of the more obnoxious colleague nudges her side and winks at her.

Maybe this was some sort of joke on their behalf. The photo of her with her ex-girlfriend had sat on her desk for months until things came crashing down. Jenna wasn't ashamed, but her rule was to never talk about her personal life at work. That photo was the most she's ever said about the inner workings of her life and it was clear people had picked up on it.

Perverts.

Jenna is sure her colleague's wedding bands are shining under the stage lights, but no one seemed to care. It was par for the course; some wealthy, married men found their enjoyment in going to a club and seeing what they don't have.

Jenna found the women on stage to be pretty, beautiful even, but she felt out of place. She felt like everyone's eyes were on her like she had "newbie" written on her forehead. If she was with friends it would be different, possibly, but she was with men she has to turn reports into on Monday morning.

The same obnoxious guy in her office leans over and yells over the music, "you want a lap dance?"

The look on her face must've been a stupid one because he laughs at her.

"Not from me, of course. From one of the girls!"

"No, no. No thank you!"

It was then and there Jenna didn't realize what she got herself into. The men she work with don't like to hear the word "no." And when he got the others in on it, she soon found herself in a private room waiting for a "special visitor." She could've easily made a great escape the moment she entered the room, but was scared she would come face-to-face with the woman who was suppose to entertain her for the night. It made her feel guilty. Besides it might be best for her to occupy this person's time instead of one of her co-workers.

The lights dim in the room and the silhouette of a woman appears behind a curtain. Her outline giveaway that she's braless too, her nipples erect. Soft music played while the woman swayed her hips. She certainly knew what she was doing, moving her body to each sultry beat. Jenna can't deny that it is sexy to watch even if she wasn't use to this setting. Her ex had modeled lingerie for her and even gave her a drunken lap dance before, but this felt much more intense even with the curtain in the way.

She wondered what goes through the woman's head while she's doing this. Is she being a good audience member? She should clap every time the woman pauses? Can she even see her?

Her heart skips when the curtains began to draw back and you're revealed to be the woman behind them. You've seen plenty of women in the clubs (and nervous people in general), but you instantly took a liking to Jenna. She looked all cute just sitting there, clearly feeling our of place. Must've been a dare.

Jenna watches you closely as you begin to move to the music again, but she doesn't dare make eye contact with you. She's sitting so stiffly in her chair, you almost wanted to come down and shake her loose. There was nothing to be nervous about but the first timers were always a bit endearing to you.

You walk down the steps and stop right in front of her, giving her no choice but to look at you in the eyes. Her eyes are so gorgeous and she has a sweet face. It becomes more obvious to you that someone else definitely put her up to this.

"Relax," you whisper, voice lacing with the music.

Her ears perk up at the sound of your voice, as silky as the lingerie on your skin. It could be the loneliness from the break-up and missing a warm body against hers, but Jenna felt a tinge of desire for you.

She's like this with everyone. This is just her job.

Jenna listens to you and sinks into her seat. As she leans back, you lean in, turning around and sitting on her lap. Your hips swirl against her and you feel her clench her legs together. The purpose was to turn the client on, but you were enjoying this a little too much for your own professional lines. You turned your head over your shoulder to watch Jenna's face and she quickly adverted her eyes once again. You almost laughed at her reaction, but didn't want to make her nervous again.

However it was almost impossible not to make Jenna with the way you moved against her body. You leaned back and she she moved with you in the process. Your head rests on her shoulder and your arm comes around to wrap around her head. It takes everything in her not to run her hand up your body and grope your tits. The cool air made them so stiff that they begged for attention. There was a wetness that was growing between your legs that you tried to ignore, but some people turned you on so much that it drove you crazy. Jenna could feel your passion radiating off of you. You closed your eyes and let out a groan as if you were turning yourself on. It was in Jenna's instincts to do something to help you, but she remembered the setting. It was polite to keep her hands to herself, but you didn't want that. You grabbed one of her hands and placed it on your chest. Finally she seemed to give in a little and groped your flesh causing you to let out a heavy sigh.

"Baby," you moaned as if you too were intimately familiar with each other. It let Jenna play into the fantasy a little more.

She touched you like she would touch her ex-girlfriend. If she closed her eyes she could imagine that it was her. Guilt swam in her belly along with desire. All of her thoughts were in her head, so it wasn't like you had to know, but she would feel wrong for doing a pretty girl like you injustice by imagining she's thought someone else.

Jenna opens her eyes back to reality. Your exposed neck is right within reach of her lips and she takes the opporunity to just kiss your skin one time. She pauses for your reaction and feels warmth spread through her body when you moan in approval. She kisses your skin again and again until she feels comfortable enough parting her lips to suck on your skin. Now you're the one clench your legs together in search for some kind of relief.

This all escalated quickly and you know the timer is going to be up soon. The room was only booked for 30 minutes. You didn’t want things to end so soon, but just like Jenna you also had your rules about work. you felt the urge to take things farther and it was getting harder to ignore.

“Touch me here,” you say desperately.

Once again, you grab her hand and move it on your body. This time it lands in between your thighs. You spread your legs wide to give her a hint and she bravely takes it. She rubs your clit through your panties. The wetness of your arousal seeps through the material and Jenna can feel it.

“Just like that,” you sigh with pleasure.

Jenna is too stunned to speak. She didn’t expect that her night would end with her making a stripper cum. She wishes she could feel your bare, wet flesh against her skin but she wasn’t going to push her luck. She let you take control of the situation. She was like most clients who were eager to please but you liked how she touched you more so than others. She wasn’t too rough with you but used the right amount of pressure to make you pop. She sucked on your neck and rubbed you like you were precious cargo. It was possible that you were fulfilling a fantasy for her which was your job.

"Oh baby I'm gonna cum!"

The way you drag out the syllables and how it's followed by a moan makes Jenna heart beat out of her chest. She wonders if you can feel it while pressed so close against her. She can surely feel your clit pulsing under her touch. She rubs you through your orgasm as your entire body shakes. It's been so long, probably months, since someone has made you cum so hard and it was at the hands of someone who obviously has never stepped into a strip club before. It was easy to suss those ones out, and Jenna had something in her eyes that screamed naïve and you were sucked into what brought her here. She was probably put up to this, but to be bold enough to touch a stripper let alone make her cum, she was something else.

Once your movements stilled and you got off of her, Jenna looked everywhere besides into your eyes. "Uh...thank you." She scurried out of the room before you could say anything and before the allotted time for the room was up. It's unlikely she'll ever come back this place again, but this city isn't as big as many would think, and you hope that you'll be able to say 'what a small world' very soon.

[charliehoennam]

karma's kiss

a/n: @harmonity-vibes requested a smutty lil fic with anthony because he is foooooine so here it is

Pairing: Anthony Saint Claire x F!Reader

Summary: Anthony finds himself swindled by a con-artist and tracks her down to get his own justice.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, dark themes like rough sex, asphyxiation, stealing, dub-con, smut (let's remember anthony is not a nice guy like our sweet little adorable professor so read at your own risk)

SHARING IS CARING SO REBLOG IF YOU LIKE IT

The bar you’re in is far different compared to the dive bars you started in your early years.

Your job isn't the kind you include in resumés, but it's paid your bills since college and you've managed to work your way up to a more high-end clientele.

Sitting at the bar, you can feel eyes boring into your side as you sip your daiquiri.

You smile at the bearded man, waiting to see if he'll approach you first. And, indeed, he does taking your smile as an invitation.

"Staring isn't very polite, you know" you smirk setting your drink on the bar as he sits next to you.

"Well, can you blame me? A beautiful woman like you in a dress like that is bound to get some attention, right?" he smiles slyly.

You smile pretending to be flattered by his compliment. It's nothing you haven't already heard before. It might be just bait that he tells all the girls he meets to get what he wants out of them, but you have to admit it feels a little nice coming from someone as attractive as he is.

In order to hide your real name and identity, you give him a fake name as you hold your hand out to shake his.

"Anthony," he smirks shaking your hand lightly before lifting his whisky for a sip. "Are you here with your husband?"

He glances down at the fake wedding ring and band on your finger. There is no husband. You just wear the rings because you've found it makes you more intriguing to most men.

You never really understood why, but if you had to guess, you'd guess it must have something to do with the chauvinistic idea of conquering something that's not theirs or that belongs to another man.

It doesn't exactly surprise to see a gold band on his finger too.,

"Are you here with your wife?" you retort.

"Touché," he smirks raising his glass to your witty observation.

"I'm not here with my husband, but he does know I'm here."

"Your husband lets you go out alone dressed like that?"

"We have an open relationship."

Anthony's smile stretches from ear to ear. Attending underground sex clubs, he's no strangers to forbidden kinks. They arouse him. Your beauty attracted him, but now, you have his full attention.

"That's interesting. You don't hear that every day," he smirks. "Tell me more about this relationship. I'm intrigued."

"Well, once a week, he allows me to go out on my own. I like getting to meet new people and he likes watching me get fucked by other men."

Your bluntness has his cheeks turning pink as he beams with amazement.

"So it's a kink?"

"I prefer the term alternative modern lifestyle," you smile mischievously at him. "Keeps the marriage spicy."

"I can imagine. And how's it work huh?"

"I go out, find a very attractive man," you explain glancing at his lips and making no effort to hide it. "We talk, drink, kiss and I take him home to fuck me in front of my husband."

"Seems simple enough" he smirks catching your glance at his lips. "How do you choose the man?"

"Consent is the most important factor, of course. If he's not alright with that, then everything stops. But I tend to gravitate towards those that are more pleasing to the eye."

"And are there candidates yet?"

"The night is still young. This is still my first drink and I'm already interviewing one," you reply with a cheeky smile.

"Oh, my. I am very flattered," he chuckles pretending to be surprised. "I'm very interested. Although I've never done anything like this before."

"You'd be surprised at how many have."

"I'm guessing a lot?"

"More than you think. Open relationships are becoming more and more common and accepted nowadays."

It hardly takes him any further convincing. You can tell by the way his legs and hips squirm in his seat he's turned on by the sole thought of it.

Moving to a more private table, you sit in the corner of the high-end bar sharing details about what you and your husband enjoy.

Anthony is up for anything. Just the thrill of fucking you in front of your husband already his dick leaking with anticipation.

The hardness in his pants is noticeable when you place your palm on his crotch after he tells you how big he is when you ask about his size.

Granted he is perfectly sized and thick, it doesn't change any of the plans you have for him.

You invite him to come back to the motel you're staying at under the guise you and your husband always go out of town for your escapades to avoid running into people you might work who wouldn't understand your lifestyle.

A sexual deviant himself, he knows just how well it is to have to hide your sexual fantasies and desires from others.

In the backseat of a taxi on the way to the motel, his lips are all over yours mauling yours as his head tilts to the side. His tongue wrestles for dominance between you. The thumb on the hand on your neck strokes your cheek.

His touch warms you from the inside. You can't let yourself give in, but it doesn't mean you can't enjoy it while you can.

You have to focus. This is our opportunity to get what you need.

Your hand glides down his chest under his leather jacket towards his crotch. With a firm unexpected squeeze to his cock, he moans into your mouth.

The driver can't help but glance at the rearview mirror, torn between stopping you from getting too heated and letting you go on to enjoy the show.

You palm Anthony's cock over his jeans. You have to admit, the man does have a nice size that makes your panties wet.

Reveling in your touch, his knees spread to invite you in as his torso adjusts to face the front.

"You like that, huh?"

"Can't wait to get my mouth around it."

"Why wait?" He smirks darkly.

Taking a glimpse at the driver, he immediately looks away and back to the road when your eyes meet his in the mirror.

You smirk back at Anthony as he unbuttons his jeans and pulls his cock out.

Lowering into the darkness of the backseat, you lean down to take it into your mouth, letting your tongue swirl around his tip to lap at his precum.

Anthony closes his eyes as his head dips backwards at the welcomed warmth of your mouth. With one arm stretched along the backseat, he uses the other to rest his hand against your bobbing head.

Too lost in the sensation, he doesn't notice or feel your hand sneaking into his pocket to steal his wallet.

The thrill of accomplishing your mission excites you enough to add a little more enthusiasm into the blowjob until the driver clears his throat to get your attention as the car rolls to a stop.

"We're here. That'll be 8.50."

"I got it" you say quickly to stop Anthony from looking for his wallet.

Taking a 10-dollar bill from your bra while Anthony tucks himself away, you hand the money to the driver and thank him telling him to keep the change.

Climbing out of the cab, you lead him to your room fumbling for your room key.

Anthony follows you inside and takes a look around. The room is nothing fancy as expected but it has a double bed which is all you need. Or so he thinks.

"My husband is on his way. He'll be here soon. Why don't you get comfortable while I freshen up real quick? I'll be just a minute."

You smirk sliding your hands up his chest to gently push at his black leather jacket.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he smirks down at you with lustful eyes.

As he shrugs off his jacket, you walk to the bathroom. While he takes his shoes off, you quickly race to the back wall of the bathroom to open the high shower window. You pop off the bug screen and let it fall to the ground. The collision makes an echoing noise and catches Anthony’s attention.

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself.

Using the ledge of the dingy tub, you pull yourself up into the window and see-saw on the sill. You planned the escape; should’ve also planned the landing of it.

Your heart races when Anthony knocks on the locked door.

“Hey, sweetheart. Everything ok in there?” he questions growing suspicious.

Your legs flail in the air, knocking the shower rod and one of your high heels down. The clattering encourages him to throw his shoulder against the door to bust it open. Pushing yourself forward, you hold your arms out to soften the drop to the ground outside just as Anthony is able to break inside, catching a quick glimpse your feet just before they slip out of view.

“Hey! The fuck are you going?!” Anthony shouts bewildered as he pats his pockets for his phone and realizes his wallet is gone so he darts to the window, standing on his toes to pop his head outside.

It dawns on him that this is a set-up. Everything you told him was merely a lie to get him alone. And now he’s stuck in a run-down motel with no way to chase after you.

“Hey! Get back here, you little fucking thief!”

Giggling to yourself with his wallet in hand, you quickly limp toward the car you’d left in the alleyway behind the motel specifically for your get-away.

He tries to climb out through the window and, although he’s much better at it than you, you’re already speeding down the alleyway and onto the road when he stands up. He tries to run after you, but he knows his feet are no match to your car.

“Fuck!” he shouts angrily as he pants.

Standing in the alleyway, he quickly whips out the cellphone you thankfully managed to leave behind and types in the digits of your license plate in his digital notes before he can forget them.

Once they’re saved, he goes through his list of contacts which – unfortunately for you – is rather long and full of assorted figures. Some, which thanks to his night job in an underground sex club, happen to be people in powerful positions. Judges, lawyers, law enforcement. You name the job and he’s guaranteed to have someone of the area in his pocket.

Cashing in a favor with a sketchy local sergeant of the police department, Anthony asks him to notify him as soon as they get a hit on your plate. The sergeant doesn’t ask any questions. Anthony wouldn’t answer him with anything other than a threat of blackmail if he didn’t, but the less he knows, the better.

It takes a few days, but Anthony eventually gets a call informing of the car’s whereabouts and original owner. He’s not surprised to know it’s not you.

Assuming you live practically on the run, moving from motel to motel, he knows he has to act fact but still cautiously. There’s still quite a bit that he doesn’t know about you like if you work with any other parties or if you impose any danger. And if so, what level of danger could it be?

With a recently purchased gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans, he sets his helmet on and speeds off to the illegally given address. He lurks from a distance and waits until you finally leave the room.

He keeps his distance from you, but decided to stalk you as you go about your day, buying groceries and clothes with his money. There wasn’t much pocket money, but you were able to clone his cards and identity to cash up a couple thousand.

He could’ve stopped you and cancelled all his cards, filed an official report. But you’ve would known and been caught before he’s had the chance to make you pay. And a couple thousands aren’t going to cause a lot of financial troubles for him, thanks to his fairly wealthy income from the night job.

As you go about your day, you can’t shake the feeling that someone is onto you. You keep looking over your shoulder, but there’s no one there. No one that you notice, at least. But then again, you always get this feeling after a theft.

You head back to the motel where you’d left your car. After a theft gone right, you always opt to get around on foot with the most important things in your bag at the slightest sight of a cop. That way, if anyone is onto you, it could provide you some time to get away.

Assuring the motel is safe, you head to the room you’d paid to stay at for the night and unlock the door. But just as you open the door, you instantly feel cold metal press against the side of your head. Your groceries drop and scatter on the ground as you hold your hands up.

“Don’t get smart again. I found you once and I can find you again.”

You can’t see the face of the figure, but you can tell it’s a man and you’re almost certain who he is.

“Close the door and step away from it.”

You don’t have much of an option. Run away and he’ll find you again. Or worse, shoot you down in the parking lot of this crappy motel and that’s not how you want to die.

With your hands carefully raised, you slowly close the door with your foot and walk deeper into the room just as ordered. You keep your back turned to him as he locks the door and face him only after he says you can.

The newfound power intoxicates him. It swells him with an authority that he's never felt before. You, on the other hand, are filled with fear. You try to play it cool to avoid letting him know that you're actually scared.

With your hands carefully raised, you slowly close the door with your foot and walk deeper into the room just as ordered. You keep your back turned to him as he locks the door and face him only after he says you can.

"I want my money and my documents back."

"I can give your documents back and all the copies I've made. But the money is already gone. I already spent it."

"Well, it seems like we got a bit of a predicament here, doesn't it?"

"I can pay you back, but it's gonna take some time."

"I don't have time," he lies. "I want it back now."

"I don't have any money now. Why do you think I do this?" You sigh. "Look, what if... I paid you back some other way?"

"What other way?"

You lower your hand to unbutton your white shirt and reveal your lacy bra.

"This is what you wanted in the first place, isn't it?"

His eyes lower from your face down to your chest. He stays silent, considering your offer but his gun stays aimed at you. 

"It was..  it still is."

"So why don't you put that away and take what you want?"

A sly smirk grows on his lips. His eyes darken with a sudden and familiar lust that revisits his being.

"I'm gonna keep this, just in case." He stated walking over to sit on the bed, manspreading his legs as he keeps the gun pointed at you.

"C'mere. On your knees."

Glancing at the weapon, you take slow steps to approach him and kneel between his knees.

"You know what to do. You did it so well before. Don't be shy now." 

You nod and raise your shaky hands to unbutton his jeans, pulling down his zipper.

Feeling the end of the barrel rest against the side of your head, you carefully release his dick from it's confine. It's not quite hard as before, but its getting there with you under his will.

You hold his dick up to take him into your mouth, lathering his member with your spit.

"Eyes up here, sweetheart."

His order is your command which you obey. You don't know what he's capable of and you don't want to find out.

Looking up at him, he relishes in the contrast of your teary eyes and dirty mouth full of his dick. He takes his free hand and threads his fingers into your hair, holding it back to keep it away from distracting you. How thoughtful, you think sarcastically.

Anthony's moans and groans fill the room as he breathes heavily, cock twitching with every bob of your head.

The grip on your hair tightens with every twitch. After forcing himself to the back of your throat, you buy yourself sometime to breath by licking up the backside of his heavy cock and swirling your tongue around his dome, putting your saliva pool against your plush lips.

"Fucking Christ" he groans deeply as he watches your mouth working its wonders, his angry cock throbbing with desire.

"Take them off" he orders nodding at your clothes.

Obeying his command, you slowly stand between his knees and unbutton your pants. He tisks as you move too fast.

“Slow… and turn around for me.”

You turn your back to him and slowly push your pants down, gliding your palms over your cheeks as you undress just to tease him a little. You figure you might as well enjoy it.

He smirks at the sight of your matching panties and admires how they perfectly hug your curves. As you bend forward to push your pants down to your ankles, he takes advantage of your position and trails the edge of his gun down the split of your cheeks.

Your body tenses at the touch of cold metal. You remind yourself to take calming breaths to keep yourself together.

“Nice fucking ass you got here, sweetheart,” he simpers, poking the barrel at your clothed cunt from behind. “Bet you got a cute pussy too…. Show me it.”

You gulp and lift your trembling hands to slide your panties down to reveal yourself to him. Although Anthony is undoubtedly attracted, you don’t trust him. The fact that your life is essentially in his hands is still in your mind. You comply to his orders, but you pray that he doesn’t hurt you too much. Not enough to be fatal at least.

“Atta girl.” He says removing the gun from between your legs. You quietly sigh in relief.

“Now come on over here.” Anthony stands behind you and presses the gun into your side.

“On the bed. Face down.”

Accepting your fate, you climb onto the mattress and lay on your front. Out of your view, you hear the jostling of his belt as he removes it with one hand and climbs on top of your legs to lock you in place. Setting the gun beside his foot, he takes the belt and tightens the leather tightly around your wrists.

You wince as the leather pinches your skin, but he doesn’t seem to care if it hurts you. You can feel his emotionless eyes on you, so you turn your head to the side to avoid look at him.

He climbs off of you and the bed, but he stays close. You try to zone out as you listen to him undress.

Walking around the bed now completely naked, he kneels down to pet your hair and wipes a tear from your cheek.

“Listen, sweetheart. I’m sorry for the scare. I’m not gonna kill you, alright? I’m not a monster.”

You nod looking up at him confused.

“I’m just gonna fuck you. Really, really hard. I think I deserve to get my money’s worth, right? Even you gotta agree with me on that.”

His words don’t exactly ease you, but the promise that he won’t shoot you dead is enough. After all, he doesn’t have to. It’s not like you can simply go to the cops to report him anyways.

“Ok,” you agree. “C-can you just please put the gun away?”

“I can do that. But don’t get smart. Deal?”

“Deal.”

He walks back around the bed and takes his gun to set it on the nightstand. You feel like you can finally breathe after what seemed like hours holding your breath.

You feel his weight on the mattress as it dips beside you again. He pulls you up by your arms and stands you on your knees.

“I want you to do something for me first. Sit on my face. Can you do that?”

You’re almost surprised by his request and the contact on your wrists as he unbuckles the belt, letting your wrists go just to bind them again but in front of you this time. He wants to…. pleasure you?

“I’ll make you cum if you’re a good girl.”

Once he’s on his back on the bed, you straddle his head carefully and lower your hips down to meet with his hungry mouth. With your ass spread by his hands, you lean forward to place your hands on his taut abs for balance.

You can’t hold back the moan you release as he licks a long-wet stripe from your hardening clit to your puckered ring of muscle. The hands that keep your cheeks apart squeezes into your flesh when his tongue begins its work on your pussy.

Anthony just can’t enough of you. Your taste is wonderfully delicious to him that he just has to fuck you with his tongue. And the position allows him to flick at your sensitive nub, making your walls slick.

��Jesus, fuck!” you gasp as he toys with your clit bringing you closer and closer to the brink. You’re so turned on although you feel like you shouldn’t be. He held you at gunpoint. This is wrong. So wrong, but it feels so fucking good.

His beard heightens the sensitivity between your legs as his nose pokes at your asshole. He pulls your hips down against his face harder, restricting himself of air.

“T-That feels so good!” you whine with tears prickling at your eyes feeling the pleasure snaps in waves throughout your body.

You’re not sure what comes over you, but you find yourself leaning forward to wrap your mouth around his cock again. The burning heat that bubbles from your core provoking yet another orgasm has you so hot for him that you need to suck him off.

He chuckles surprised by your sudden urge as he lifts your hips up to hiss out in pleasure. It doesn’t take him long to start thrusting his hips violently up, shoving his cock down your throat. He stops suddenly and pushes you off him, feeling himself close.

Shoving you onto your back, he spreads your legs and eagers aligns his dick with your hole before pushing himself into your wetness.

His hips relentlessly thrust against yours as he pounds you raw. The sounds of your wet cunt squelching around him make your cheeks warm as you realize how wet you really are for him.

The lecherous stare down at your body proves he’s getting closer. He pants as he watches your breast bouncing free from your bra. Eager to feel them, he stills and tear the bra in half to expose you completely.

He growls dipping his head to grope and maul at your breasts. Your skin burns with his prickly beard and rough teething kisses.

With one hand squeezing your breast, the other sneaks around your neck. He squeezes your neck and throat, choking you as he restricts your oxygen. His hips drill you into the mattress as you watch him, slowly losing your conscious.

Anthony looks like he’s been possessed by something else and it scares you a bit. You claw at his wrists as you feel the pressure in your head weighing heavy. Your eyes roll to the back of your head from the combination of pleasure and pain.

You gasp for air as he finally releases your neck and fills you with his heavy load, spilling into your pussy in hot ropes.

He pants as he eases his cock out and into you again, admiring how his cum trickles out from your hole and coats his cock.

“We’re gonna have a very long night.”

“Night?” you question. Could you even last a night with him?

“I told you. I want my money’s worth.”

[jinkicake]

i’m so sorry for adding onto the never ending requests for arranged marriage fics but could you please do one with kaeya? thank you so much :D

Forced / Arranged Marriage Trope 

(pt. ??) Kaeya Alberich x Reader

A/N: thank you for requesting kaeya </3333333 this is a lot longer than the others because kaeya is my fav </3 i wrote this and other different ideas so many times and it's still not what i want but i will always post anything kaeya related!!! </333

fem!reader bc I like the use of ‘wife’

WC - 2.3K

~~~

“Diluc, you don’t understand. He’s never home, never listens, and he never spends any time with me!” Complaint after complaint, your long list of issues seemingly comes to an end. The bar owner nearly sighs. “I can’t understand why Crepus wanted this arrangement. A last wish for marriage makes no sense,” You all but fall forward onto the bar of Angel’s Share and Diluc could not be any more annoyed. He braces a neutral expression as he tries to keep his irritation at bay, but the truth is, he has no interest in your or his brother’s marital issues. 

“Give me another drink, please,” You raise your empty glass and the owner is quick to fill it up before roughly pushing it back toward you. He nods to one of his men by the door, a gesture that demands Kaeya needs to be found soon. “what do I do, Diluc?” Despite your whining and how tired the poor owner is, he was raised to be a gentleman. He will listen to your worries and consult you when possible because that is what a gentleman would do. “Kaeya doesn’t like me at all and it’s been eight months since we got married!”

You truly must be pushing him now, this is a test of his character. Diluc tries not to show the way his face sours at this awful interaction but, he feels his eye twitch. He wants to grab you by the shoulders and demand that you just try speaking with your husband because, to him and everyone else, Kaeya's care for you is borderline nauseating. However, he remains quiet and waits to hear the familiar ding of the front entrance. 

The cavalry captain should be showing up soon, any time now. It’s nearly eight in the evening and Kaeya always finds himself in the stool beside yours at a quarter to seven but, you’re usually not with him. You’re not the daily drinker like your husband. 

“I really want him to like me but he just doesn’t, is there something wrong with me?” Your eyes have grown glassy now and Diluc anxiously looks over your head as he wipes a glass dry for the fifth time. Now, now, now. 

Finally, the familiar ding of the door and a set of dark blue hair comes. 

Too bad you’re drunk out of your mind to notice. 

“Kaeya doesn’t love me!” The sight of you bursting into tears finally breaks Diluc’s stone expression. He raises his brows high as he glances at his brother. Much like his vision, the younger man has an expression that is cold as ice. The hard look on Kaeya’s face freaks him out even more than your outburst. Quickly, the owner removes himself from the situation as he places the cup down and walks to the backroom. 

Privacy is what you and your husband need. Diluc needs a break from failing to play counselor. Distancing himself does both of those things. 

Kaeya remains quiet, simultaneously calm and collected. 

Your husband is a very professional man, one who always manages to keep his cool. Even now, he ignores any lingering stares from employees rushing upstairs as he places his coat over your shoulders and dips his head beside your own. 

“Let’s go home, dear,” His encouraging hands gently squeeze your shoulders before helping you out of the chair and stabilizing your movements as you begin to stumble. You glare at him with watery eyes and a fierce frown. Drunk or not, you recognize his touch anywhere. After shrugging him off, you continue to move forward and leave the bar with him in tow. 

The walk back to your shared apartment is quiet, peaceful, even if you don’t count the lingering tension that suffocates the two of you. Kaeya remains a pace behind you with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He watches you with a protective eye and follows your natural sway as you bobble all the way back home. 

Irritation pricks him entirely the wrong way, do you truly think he doesn’t care about you? Aside from your difficult schedules, the captain has always made it a point to make sure you are cared for. His duty as a husband is important to him and something he takes great pride in. Kaeya bites the inside of his cheek as his dull fingernails dig into the palm of his hand. While he may not outwardly show it, his affection for you could never be measured so easily by ‘like’ and ‘love'. His feelings exude adoration but, perhaps he is not as vocal about it as he thought. He thinks about this further as you head up the stairs and his hands automatically go to hover over your waist. Even if he is not touching you, the captain has a firm belief that doing this will keep you upright. 

Kaeya watches as you struggle to take your key out and how you flinch away when he gently covers his hand over your own. Again, he frowns. He’s never given you a reason to act so timidly. His frown only deepens as you attempt to brush past him immediately after he opens the apartment. 

“Hold on now, wait a moment,” Your husband grabs your wrist and keeps you from making a b-line straight to your individual bedroom. He locks the front door before directing you toward the bathroom. “let’s wash up.”

Your irritated expression doesn’t scare Kaeya but, your silence makes him a little bit anxious. Still, he follows closely behind as you walk into the bathroom and then attempt to slam the door in his face. 

“Easy now, honey,” Kaeya coos as he reaches for a cleanser and soft towelette. “don’t hurt me too badly.” It’s as if your lips are glued shut by the way you’re now ignoring him, refusing to talk to him. Your husband doesn’t mind, he’s always been able to make enough conversation for the two of you. 

You visibly soften and relax at Kaeya’s touch as he begins to lightly dot the towel over your face. Not once does he tug or harshly pull on your skin, he allows the dirt and grim to melt off with nothing but patience. You continue to sit there on the rim of the bathtub while observing him closely. 

“Beautiful,” Kaeya smiles when he finally pulls the towel away. He offers a warm expression, one that is genuine and kind. His affection makes you feel anxious, even if it’s one of the things you desperately yearn for. You look away the second you can bring yourself to do it. Your husband continues to gently tap a few more products into your skin before helping you put your hair up for the night. When he is finished, he quietly puts your products away. Kaeya keeps his eyes trained on the tiny bottles as he lines them up in their designated positions and then attempts to pour his heart out. “I hope you know that I do care for you. I really do, wife.”

He wills himself to glance over his shoulder to look at you and the sight that greets him nearly makes him breathless. You’re staring again, eyes blown wide at his short confession. All you can do is blink at him in surprise and the sight roots Kaeya in his spot. 

Had it not been for the slight curl of your lips and the gentle smile subtly resting on your face, Kaeya would have been afraid that he said too much. 

He quietly watches as you stand up and wobble over to him, now standing in front of him with exhaustion weighing on your shoulders. 

“Let’s get you to bed,” Kaeya murmurs before guiding you using a soft hand resting between your shoulders. He brings you to your bedroom and easily pulls out one of his shirts from your drawers before handing it to you. Despite the slight strain in your relationship, there have been many nights when you both enjoyed each other’s company. The clothing and slight blend of your lifestyles littered throughout the apartment is proof of that. It’s proof of your sacred bond, unknowingly special to the two of you. He then hands you a pair of his boxers over his shoulders and puts his faith in your drunk ability to balance because he refuses to watch you change like this. 

It’s only when he hears the creeks of your mattress that Kaeya knows it is safe to turn around. Safe for his eyes but not his heart because this new position is dangerously enticing. It takes everything in the grown man not to fall to his knees and pray to you. 

On your stomach, leg perched high where it is bent on the mattress, you look up at him from over your shoulder. The slight pout in your lip and furrow of your eyebrows makes Kaeya quiet, stunned speechless as his talented tongue grows heavy in his mouth. He looks at you in a way you once would have dreamed of. You briefly look away from his intense gaze and opt to play with the pillow instead. 

“Can you stay with me?” 

Oh, he would be a fool not to. Kaeya eagerly nods and he can’t help how his cool composure is slipping between his fingertips. This is you asking for him, he would freeze the entire world over twice if you asked. Never did he expect you to ask for this, his company.

Your husband slowly gets undressed and waits for you to change your mind, he still thinks you may kick him out but, you don’t. You patiently wait for him to get under the covers himself even if it is in nothing but his boxers. 

He’s almost resting on the edge of the mattress now to keep a respectable amount of distance between the two of you. Kaeya doesn’t want to push you any further, he would hate it but, you seem to have no issue with it. 

You scoot closer to him, subtly shimming until both of you are on the edge of the bed. There are mere centimeters between the two of you and Kaeya watches breathlessly as you lift your hand to reach out for his own. He meets you halfway almost too eagerly, the feeling of your fingertips explodes light inside of him that he never knew he had. You then smile at him and Kaeya can’t think of a sight that could rival it. 

“You don’t know how much I love you.” Kaeya finds himself confessing as the words melt off of his tongue. He watches as your expression softens and you intertwine your fingers together. Through the bearing of his soul, Kaeya scoots closer and presses his lips to your forehead. “For all the times you have been lonely, I am sorry.”

“Please forgive me,” Kaeya stops at your lack of response and almost freezes entirely, did he say too much? He’s afraid he said something wrong that would turn you off forever but, in truth, you fell fast asleep. Your cheek is pressed up against his chest, breathing deeply as you rest somewhere in a deep slumber. Kaeya lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding in. “I should just keep my mouth shut.” He softly traces your cheek with one of his fingers while subtly moving both of your bodies to the middle of your bed. Oh, you always had the more comfortable mattress and he desperately missed it almost as much as he missed you. 

In the times of your silence and weeks filled with tension, the captain held back from reaching out. The blend of two dated lives molding together in forced proximity seemed so much easier in his head but, it was anything but that in reality. Kaeya wanted to give you time and space, but now all he can think about is greedily having those things of yours to himself. Regret fills him at the thought of missing out on anything that has to do with you. 

“If you ever need me, let me know.” Kaeya sighs as he places his chin on top of your head and wraps his arms around your waist. Tonight, he can only hope that sleep comes easily. 

It does.

The knight wakes up to gentle rays illuminating the room and your warm fingertips pressing against his ribs. He cracks an eye open, flinching when he notices you already staring at him. There’s a pout on your lips as your brows furrow in concentration, if your husband had to guess, he would say you look timid and hesitant. 

“Was it all true?” Your voice croaks and Kaeya has half a mind to get up and grab you a glass of water. Sleep still fogs his mind which makes for a pathetic attempt as he tries to grasp the situation. “What you said last night?” Seconds go by as he scrambles for an answer. 

Oh. Your husband did not expect you to remember all of that. The words are not any less true now, they won’t be any less true a handful of years in the future but, he feels a bit shy about his confessions. You’re sober now and looking at him with such determined features, almost as if his answer will break your entire world. Kaeya knows he needs to choose things carefully. 

“You love me?” Your question, laced with genuine curiosity, makes his words tumble out without a second thought. 

“So much,” His cool palm spreads across your jaw as he moves to cup your face. All Kaeya wants to do is kiss the frown off of your face but, he settles for watching you instead. With each press of his thumb against your cheek, you shuffle closer and closer to him until the space between your bodies is nonexistent. You’re looking up at him now and all Kaeya wants to do is erase any lingering doubt in your body. “allow me to prove it.”

If his words do not satisfy you now then perhaps his touch will be more than enough. 

[the-froschamethyst4]

Stuck In The Devils Arms

𖤐Pairing: Price x F! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: smut, language, drinking, P in V, kissing/making out, age gap, blind dating, eating out, manhandling, praising, ass smacking, teasing, brat taming (?), groping, nipple play, aftercare,

𖤐Summary: When an Angel and Devil accidentally meet how will they handle each other

————

————

"Price is old," Soap says as him and all of Task Force sat in the mess hell.

"That was so fucking random," Gaz says.

"I mean, the man is single, no kids, lives alone, probably has a cat or something...I mean, have you guys ever hear him talk about his love life?"

"Probably for a good reason, Johnny." Ghost says.

"Does he even date?"

"If he did, we will never know," Graves says, sitting next to Soap.

"What are you poor bastards talking about?" Price asked, sitting between Ghost and Alex.

"Soap, is being nosy about your love life," Ghost said.

"My love life?" Price asked, sounding offended.

"Price, you are a single man, when's the last time you went on a date?" Soap asked him.

"I went on a date not too long ago."

"WITH WHO!?" Soap jumps up.

"Jesus, I'm not telling," Price says. "I don't want you finding her and asking her how I am in bed, you'll never know, Soap," Price smirks as everyone at the table laugh.

As Price was eating his attention was caught by a new recruit, she was young late 20's maybe 26-28? Somewhere around there. Price watched as her dark green shirt showing off her breasts and her pants sitting high on her hips.

The Military's pants were men sizes and didn't fit the ladies, so the only way to get them to fit was buckling them around their waists. She picked this trick up by her dormmates.

She carried a tray, her hair slicked back into a high ponytail. She walks pass the Task Force table sitting with a group of girls, she knows.

Price watches her not in a creepy way or anything, but she was cute, beautiful even.

"Price, I'm going to set you up with someone."

"Fuck that, I'll do it on my own."

"No, let me, I know someone," Soap smirks.

"I don't trust you," Price says.

"Yeah, you do, come on, one time, you will like her."

"Man-"

"Come on, Price, it's one time."

"FINE!"

"YES! I'll let her know, you said yes."

"Why the hell did I just get myself into?" Price asked, putting his hands on his face, dragging his fingers down his cheeks.

----------

That Night (8:00PM)

Price was wearing some dark blue jeans, a black t-shirt with a black and white flannel, this was a casual date, hell, they are meeting at a bar, nothing special.

He has a drink in his hands and was looking at the TV behind the bar watching the football game going on. The bar door opens and the person was greeted by the bartender.

Price turns his head and sees a girl, she had asked for a screwdriver and waited, she looked like she was looking for someone. Price didn't want to bother her just in case it was the wrong girl.

"Are you John Price?" She asked, he turns and looks at her, she was cute, a cute sun dress and her hair curled with light makeup.

"Yeah, I am...are you?"

"Y/n...I'm Soap's friend." She moved a bit closer to John and she put her hand out, he shook her hand.

"Nice to meet you," he says.

"Same."

"How you know, Soap?" Price asked her.

"Our parents know each other," she says with a smile. "He told me a lot about you," she was sweet, Price can tell. She was calm and her voice was like velvet, smooth and soft.

He wanted to hear her talk, he would listen to her forever!

"So, are you and Soap friends?" She asked.

"Kind of."

"What's kind of?"

"I mean, we talk and hang out...so I guess we are," he says. She just gives him a smile. His heart skipped a beat. Price hasn't felt like this about anyone in a long time, his first love cheated on him, and all he's been doing is sleeping around every now and then.

"How come you agreed to meet me, without knowing me first?" she asked. "Was it to get him off your back?" She giggles.

"A bit yeah."

"Yeah, Soap can be a bit much, he's done it to me a couple times," she says.

The night consist of them talking, they forgot about their drinks, and mainly started talking more then worried about their drinks. Y/n had gone to the bathroom and she trusted him with her drink alone.

Price kept the cup in his view and death stared anyone who dared get close to her drink. She came back, her hand touched his shoulders, letting him know she was back and not to freak out.

She sits back down and fixes her dress. "Thanks for watching my drink."

"Of course."

Price and Y/n talked and then he asked her. "Do you wanna...go back to my place?"

"If it's okay with you?" She asked, her fingers circled the rim of her glass.

"Of course, it is, come on," he gives the bartender his card paying for both his and Y/n's drinks.

------------

Price opens his front door letting Y/n go in first. She takes off her flats and Price takes off his shoes and flannel.

"You want anything to eat?"

"Oh no, it's okay, you don't need to cook anything," she says.

"It's okay, come on, what do you want?" He asked, leaning over his marble counter as Y/n sat at the stool.

"Umm~ spaghetti?"

"Anything for the pretty girl," he smirks, giving Y/n butterflies.

Price was getting everything ready and Y/n walks to him and she washes her hand and helps Price.

"Can I help?"

"Sure," he smirks. He watches her pour the sauce into a pot and putting some water in the glass bottle shaking it to get the last bit of it and pouring it into the pot again.

He watches her, she was gentle, he stir the pot of tomatoes sauce. He grabs a knife and cutting board and starts chopping up mushrooms, green peppers, onions, and a few other things.

Y/n sat at the counter watching him with a glass of red wine between her hands. She watched at how skillful he was with a knife, she rests her chin on her palm as she was amazed by him and started to make small talk.

"So how long have you been in the Military?" She asked him.

"Since my twenties," he says with a smile.

"Wow...do you think you'll ever retire? Settle down with a family maybe?"

"Are you asking me, to start a family with you, miss Y/n?" Her face was red and she stood up straight.

"Eh-no...that's n-not what I-I meant, I was just wondering if you'll ever retire?"

"I don't have a plan to do so," he tells her.

"I understand...so when you're on your last leg," she cracks a joke on him.

"Wow! I will not. When I get married, and I have kids, then I'll retire till then I'm single, currently on a date with my Sergeants friend, who keeps...staring at me with her beautiful eyes," he says.

"John Price," she turns her head to avoid eye contact.

"They're pretty," he says.

She just shakes her head to try and hide her embarrassment. "You're just saying that," she says.

"I mean, I'm not wrong...Soap didn't say anything about those eyes of yours," Price says, leaning on the counter.

"I think my eyes are just fine," she giggles at him.

"...Can I kiss you?" He asked, bluntly.

"Price!” She was shocked.

“We don’t have to,” he says.

“No, it’s okay…” she gets off the stool and comes around the counter.

Her hand glides over the countertop and she looks up at him, her hand resting on his stomach before standing on her tippy toes to kiss him.

The kiss was soft and gentle, Price pulls away first and then picks up Y/n placing her on the counter, he stood between her legs cupping her face and giving her another kiss.

Her hands rested on his chest as they both hear the water sizzling on the stove top. Price turns and lowers the heat on the stove.

"Should we eat first?" He asked.

"If the old man needs his food first to have enough stamina," she teased him.

"I not that old, I'm 40 years old," he says with a pout.

"Nothing to be ashamed of," she says, cupping his face and getting another kiss from him.

"Fuck it," he pulls the noodles off the stove along with the sauce and picked Y/n back up and took her to the bedroom, she giggles knowing she struck a nerve.

"What are you giggling at?" He asks her.

"Just how you got so mad over a simple comment," she says, Price can feel the smirk from her.

"Oh yeah," he smacks her ass earning a soft squeal from her and her legs bending up. He chuckles at her. "How cute, you got such a bratty attitude but when I manhandle you that all goes away."

"Oh no, sir, this is only a treat," she says, her hands on his back sitting up but then she flopped on the soft mattress.

She giggles when she bounces up a couple times, and Price watched as she was now on her back, elbows propping herself up, and her right knee bending exposing a bit of her panties.

He smirks, crawling up her and kissing her lips. She smiles and kisses his lips. His hands went up her body, holding her waist before his left hand unzipped her dress, she pulls the straps off her shoulders and Price pulls it down off her body.

She giggles when Price starts kissing her ankle and kissing all the way back up to her exposed chest. His mouth attached to her right nipple and his fingers played with her other.

She let's out a soft moan, her hands going into his hair and her back arches against his body. Price sits up and removes his shirt and starts messing with his belt.

Just undoing the belt before going back to kiss her lips. Price's rough, calloused hands held her waist before he starts moving them downward pulling her panties off and then he grabs her thighs and moves them over his shoulders.

It's been a while since someone has done anything like this to Y/n. Soap had known about Y/n never really wanting a relationship but didn't mind a hook-up every now and then, but this...what her and Price are doing is something she could live with.

Price licks his lips before gently kissing her wet folds. His tongue licked between her folds and then soon his tongue was pushing inside of her. She squeezed her thighs together as she felt good from what Price was doing to her.

She looks at Price and made eye contact with the older man. He smirks before sucking on her clit and shaking his tongue back and forth earning a breathy moan from her lips.

Price likes hearing her moans, he soon tasted some pre-cum coming from her lower half, he smirks before removing his tongue which earned him a annoyed groan from Y/n, he taps the side of her butt.

"Flip," he demands, he removes his pants as he stares at Y/n's ass as she flips over. He smirks before bending down and biting at her ass, she looks over her shoulder mouth opened letting out a soft and satisfied moan.

he moves a pillow under her lower half as he positions himself at her entrance and pushing inside of her. She puts her head back, her head hit against his broad shoulder. She looks in his eyes and lets out a few satisfied moans.

He was thrusting fast, he wasn't sloppy, kind of professional in a way, like he knew what he was doing. Y/n felt him hit against her spot a few times.

"You're doing so well," he praises. "You look so cute with your eyes really in the back of your head," he says.

"P-Price-" she was cut off by his lips on hers and she moans into the kiss.

"Those pretty eyes...rolling back...looking at me...they are so fucking intoxicating," he says with a smirk on his face before kissing her neck, he thrusts became harder, rougher even, the loud smacking of skin against each other filled the room.

His tip was throbbing wanting to cum inside of her, she squeezes around him when the feeling of wanting to cum filled her body, Price and her both moaned before they ended up coming together.

Price keeps going, he doesn't want this night to end just yet. he was going to keep going to prove that he isn't just some 'old man'. He smirks when seeing Y/n's face buried into the pillow, her moans muffled and her legs shaking.

price smirks knowing that her little comment is eating her. His hands rested on her waist guiding her to keep going faster, cause he wasn't done just yet.

As he was moving faster, Y/n's lovely moans being muffled and her eyes carrying some hot tears, not of pain but of pleasure. She loves this feeling probably more than Price.

"One more, love. I know you can cum one more fucking time," he demands.

He was sloppy with his thrusts again, and the sound of skin clapping, and sounds of something wet and sticky filled the room. She did what he asked her to do and that was to cum once more and she did.

Price smirks and pulls out of her, cum rushes from her lower half.

------------

Price was plating up the food, yes, he reheated it up. Y/n came downstairs in some shorts and a t-shirt that belonged to price.

"John, the shorts," she lets go of the shorts and they immediately drop to her ankles. "They don't fit," she says as Price laughs.

"Okay, you don't have to wear them," she steps out of them and temporarily places them on the back of his couch. She sits at the table as price gave her the plate and then goes back to get her a glass of water.

Y/n and Price ate and talked and by the end of it, she was being carried back upstairs to the bedroom to join Price. He places her on the side facing the closet door and he laid near the door.

"You get some rest okay?"

"Okay...good night."

"Night," he cups her face before holding her close to his chest.

------------

"Kids are confirmed," Soap says as he sits next to Price at the mess hall.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Price says.

"Y/n told me what you two did-"

"Is she pregnant?"

"Price, that's not how it works, it'll take time before that happens, and not only that, Y/n's on birth control, she wouldn't stop taking it for a stranger."

"She would for me," Price says, raising his eyebrows and sipping from his tea.