#he's going to be living this high for the rest of his life

[piichuu]

AFTER LAUGHTER (COMES TEARS) - GOJO SATORU

WARNINGS: hurt to comfort, gn!reader

WORD COUNT: 906

you’re laying on the couch when your boyfriend arrives back home from a long day at work. he was called in early in the morning to exorcise curses before it was time to switch roles into a teacher and help his students at jujutsu high. now it’s late into the evening, and he has most likely not gotten the time to rest at all today.

“i’m home!” he says cheerfully, walking into the living room as you get up from the couch to greet him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “how was your day?” you ask, pulling away a little to look at his face, brushing your fingers through his white messy hair.

he looks at you with a smile on his face, one that you see every single day, almost every single time you look at him. “it was good, yuji is finally getting the hang of it and it’s the same old with the others,” gojo explains as you scan his face, slowly but surely noticing the dark bags under his glassy eyes.

“are you okay? you must be tired, you’ve been working all day,” you lower your voice slightly, trying to sound as soft as possible, hoping he won’t lie about his feelings like he almost always does.

that seems to be his breaking point, his smile quickly faltering and his lower lip starting to quiver while tears begin to form in his eyes. his hands that were resting on your waist are starting to shake and it almost seems like he is about to faint.

sobs fill the room as you once again put your arms around him, pulling him in for a hug. he’s holding onto you as tightly as he can, nuzzling his face into your neck, his tears falling onto your shirt. he’s hanging onto you as if his life depended on it, like he’s afraid to let go.

you sit down on the couch with him, rubbing gojo’s back in an attempt to comfort him. “i’m sorry, i-i’m sorry,” gojo sobs. “i don’t want to be weak, i’m sorry-“

his own tears interrupt him as he sniffles, trying to look away when you cup his face in your palms. “don’t say sorry, satoru. it’s okay to cry,” you say, tears forming in your own eyes at the sight of your boyfriend feeling like this. “you don’t have to hide just because you’re letting your feelings out.”

you rub his cheeks with your thumbs, allowing him to take his time, watching as the sobs slowly die down and he tries to wipe his tears away. “did something bad happen today?” you ask but gojo shakes his head, sighing.

“no, nothing happened. it’s just-i’m so tired. these stupid fucking higher ups keep putting me on all missions they can and then i have to be a teacher to the kids. i love them, they’re amazing, but i keep getting reminded of the old days every single time i see them,” he admits, looking down at his lap while speaking.

“i’m tired of being the strongest, i just wish i could be here at home all day and just sleep, eat, cuddle with you, watch movies. i wish i didn’t have to be the strongest all the time, i’m not even the strongest because if i was, suguru would be alive by now, i would’ve been able to help him,” gojo once again tears up at the thought of his friend who is no longer here.

you brush a hand through his hair gently. “don’t ever blame yourself, satoru. it’s not your fault, okay?” you try your best to reassure him, not knowing what to say.

he sighs and reaches for your hands, intertwining them with his own. “i don’t know what to do,” he whispers and you squeeze his hands. “that’s okay, we’ll just take it minute by minute, we don’t have to think about the past or the future right now if that would make it feel easier. we can just be here right now,” you say while leaning your forehead against his.

gojo closes his eyes for a little while and takes a deep breath with you, trying to calm down. “but maybe it’ll feel a little easier if you keep telling me whenever you feel like this, whenever something that disturbs you crosses your mind. it will all feel much worse if you keep trying to smile when you’re not happy. i’m your partner because i’m here no matter what, okay?”

gojo nods and opens his eyes to look into yours. “okay, thank you…i’m sorry for putting all of this on you-“ “don’t say sorry, i want to know what’s going on in your head,” you say, watching as he begins to place soft kisses to the knuckles of your hands.

“okay, i’ll try my best,” he mumbles, eventually letting go of your hands to pull you in for a hug again. “can we just go to sleep now?”

you smile softly and nod, placing a kiss to his cheek. “yeah we can, you don’t want dinner?” you ask and he chuckles lightly. “maybe i’ll eat some dinner first, i do love your cooking after all.”

gojo begins to get up from the couch, taking your hand. “and i do love you, of course,” he speaks before pulling you up from the couch as well, pressing a kiss to your forehead before walking towards the kitchen.

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[mostlysignssomeportents]

When prophecy fails, election polling edition

In Canto 20 of Inferno, Dante confronts a pit where the sinners have had their heads twisted around backwards; they trudge, naked and weeping, through puddles of cooling tears. Virgil informs him that these are the fortunetellers, who tried to look forwards in life and now must look backwards forever.

In a completely unrelated subject, how about those election pollsters, huh?

Writing for The American Prospect, historian Rick Perlstein takes a hard look at characteristic failure modes of election polling and ponders their meaning:

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-09-25-polling-imperilment/

Apart from the pre-election polling chaos we're living through today, Perlstein's main inspiration is W Joseph Campbell 2024 University of California Press book, Lost in a Gallup: Polling Failure in US Presidential Elections:

https://www.ucpress.edu/books/lost-in-a-gallup/paper

In Campbell's telling, US election polling follows a century-old pattern: pollsters discover a new technique that works spookily well..for a while. While the new polling technique works, the pollster is hailed a supernaturally insightful fortune-teller.

In 1932, the Raleigh News and Observer was so impressed with polling by The Literary Digest that they proposed replacing elections with Digest's poll. The Digest's innovation was sending out 20,000,000 postcards advertising subscriptions and asking about presidential preferences. This worked perfectly for three elections – 1924, 1928, and 1932. But in 1936, the Digest blew it, calling the election for Alf Landon over FDR.

The Digest was dethroned, and new soothsayers were appointed: George Gallup, Elmo Roper and Archibald Crossler, who replaced the Digest's high-volume polling with a new kind of poll, one that sought out a representative slice of the population (as Perlstein says, this seems "so obvious in retrospect, you wonder how nobody thought of it before").

Representative polling worked so well that, three elections later, the pollsters declared that they could predict the election so well from early on that there was no reason to keep polling voters. They'd just declare the winner after the early polls were in and take the rest of the election off.

That was in 1948 – you know, 1948, the "Dewey Defeats Truman" election?

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dewey_Defeats_Truman

If this sounds familiar, perhaps you – like Perlstein – are reminded of the 2016 election, where Fivethirtyeight and Nate Silver called the election for Hillary Clinton, and we took them at their word because they'd developed a new, incredibly accurate polling technique that had aced the previous two elections.

Silver's innovation? Aggregating state polls, weighting them by accuracy, and then producing a kind of meta-poll that combined their conclusions.

When Silver's prophecy failed in 2016, he offered the same excuse that Gallup gave in 1948: when voters are truly undecided, you can't predict how they'll vote, because they don't know how they'll vote.

Which, you know, okay, sure, that's right. But if you know that the election can't be called, if you know that undecided voters are feeding noise into the system whenever you poll them, then why report the polls at all? If all the polling fluctuation is undecided voters flopping around, not making up their mind, then the fact that candidate X is up 5 points with undecided means nothing.

As the finance industry disclaimer has it, "past performance is no guarantee of future results." But, as Perlstein says, "past performance is all a pollster has to go on." When Nate Silver weights his model in favor of a given poll, it's based on that poll's historical accuracy, not its future accuracy, because its future accuracy can't be determined until it's in the past. Like Dante's fortune-tellers, pollsters have to look backwards even as they march forwards.

Of course, it doesn't help that in some cases, Silver was just bad at assessing polls for accuracy, like when he put polls from the far-right "shock pollster" Trafalgar Group into the highly reliable bucket. Since 2016, Trafalgar has specialized in releasing garbage polls that announce that MAGA weirdos are way ahead, and because they always say that, they were far more accurate than the Clinton-predicting competition in 2016 when they proclaimed that Trump had it in the bag. For Silver, this warranted an "A-" on reliability, and that is partially to blame for how bad Silver's 2020 predictions were, when Republicans got pasted, but Trafalgar continued to predict a Democratic wipeout. Silver's methodology has a huge flaw: because Trafalgar's prediction history began in 2016, that single data-point made them look pretty darned reliable, even though their method was to just keep saying the same thing, over and over:

https://www.ettingermentum.news/p/the-art-of-losing-a-fivethirtyeight

Pollsters who get lucky with a temporarily reliable methodology inevitably get cocky and start cutting corners. After all, polling is expensive, so discontinuing the polls once you think you have an answer is a way to increase the enterprise's profitability. But, of course, pollsters can only make money so long as they're somewhat reliable, which leads to a whole subindustry of excuse-making when this cost-cutting bites them in the ass. In 1948, George Gallup blamed his failures on the audience, who failed to grasp the "difference between forecasting an election and picking the winner of a horse race." In 2016, Silver declared that he'd been right because he'd given Trump at 28.6% chance of winning.

This isn't an entirely worthless excuse. If you predict that Clinton's victory is 71.4% in the bag, you are saying that Trump might win. But pollsters want to eat their cake and have it, too: when they're right, they trumpet their predictive accuracy, without any of the caveats they are so insistent upon when they blow it:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1jDlo7YfUxc

There's always some excuse when it comes to the polls: in 1952, George Gallup called the election a tossup, but it went for Eisenhower in a landslide. He took out a full-page NYT ad, trumpeting that he was right, actually, because he wasn't accounting for undecided voters.

Polling is ultimately a form of empiricism-washing. The pollster may be counting up poll responses, but that doesn't make the prediction any less qualitative. Sure, the pollster counts responses, but who they ask, and what they do with those responses, is purely subjective. They're making guesses (or wishes) about which people are likely to vote, and what it means when someone tells you they're undecided. This is at least as much an ideological project as it is a scientific one:

https://prospect.org/blogs-and-newsletters/tap/2024-09-23-polling-whiplash/

But for all that polling is ideological, it's a very thin ideology. When it comes to serious political deliberation, questions like "who is likely to vote" and "what does 'undecided' mean" are a lot less important than, "what are the candidates promising to do?" and "what are the candidates likely to do?"

But – as Perlstein writes – the only kind of election journalism that is consistently, adequately funded is poll coverage. As a 1949 critic put it, this isn't the "pulse of democracy," it's "its baby talk."

Today, Tor Books publishes VIGILANT, a new, free LITTLE BROTHER story about creepy surveillance in distance education. It follows SPILL, another new, free LITTLE BROTHER novella about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/26/dewey-beats-truman/#past-performance-is-no-guarantee-of-future-results

[ckret2]

If Goldie was a normal human, unrelated to bill, would bill want to hit that

Well, she'd have the prettiest eyes he's ever seen on a human, she's got that going for her—right up there with some of the sexiest frogs on Earth—but aside from that, the rest of her body is just human. And unless they're fascinatingly mutated, all humans are about a 5.5/10 on looks for him. Like, the whole species. Uniformly. So her looks don't really make a difference. The frog eyes knock her up to a 6/10 but having a 0.5 point lead on the entire rest of humanity isn't really that much help.

The answer rides entirely on personality.

By "normal human" do you mean normal human? As in lives a Regular Human Life has some random generic Regular Human Personality, with normal human traits and behaviors like "participates in capitalism by having a job" and "goes on dates in the hopes of finding romance" and "remembers that Thanksgiving exists" and "thinks wearing makeup has any actual impact on her appearance even though she looks just as human with or without it" and "doesn't have any delusions of grandeur"?

If that's the case, then whether or not he'd want to hit it comes down to this: has she been recruited into one of his cults? Does she literally worship him? If the answer is yes, then yeah, he'd want to hit that, because he's got the world's most grandiose praise kink.

On the other hand, by "normal human" do you mean born and raised on earth like any other human—and yet, for whatever nature/nurture reason you want to imagine, still ended up with the exact same personality, opinions, and beliefs as Bill?

Because if you mean THAT, then Bill would go "that human's a FREAK! Down to party, up for chaos, and has all the right political opinions! How can somebody be SO social and yet SO misanthropic at the same time? I LOVE it! And talk about your secretly insecure egomaniacs, wow, this little lunatic is desperate for fame and popularity, I could get her to do anything if I promised she'd be famous for it. Most pathetically manipulable human I've ever seen, she's an even easier target than Ford. Bang her, hench her, get her to build a portal, invite her to the party, bang her again while we're both too high to feel our faces. Bam. She'll have me on earth in half a year and if I offer her a minor demigodhood I won't even need to lie to her about what it's for, she'd probably let her own dimension burn in exchange for three days of youtube viral fame"

And he would NOT have the self-awareness necessary to realize how viciously he just dragged himself

[fic-over-cannon]

Part 9: The Bargain

part 8 | series masterlist | ao3 link

jason todd x fem!reader

summary: unsettling news upsets the careful balance of your friendship with jason todd

tags: mention of offscreen violence, angst, misunderstandings, kissing, fingering, p in v sex

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 3.1k

a/n: wrote most of this while i was sick and a little loopy from medication, so if this is tonally a little different from the rest of the series that's why

Time seems to melt together, like the snow that covers the Gotham University campus. Jason looks devastating with wind chapped cheeks and snow dusted curls, red rising high across his cheekbones. Maybe you won’t ever get to tell him how beautiful he looks with snowflakes collecting on his lashes or how your heart had soared when he complimented you on finally getting one of his recipes right. It’s fine, or that’s what you tell yourself. You can have this much of him at least. As much as you wish it would, the strange tension never really dissipates between you, only fading to a low thrum in the background of your mind that your learn to live with. Eventually exams consume your life and you have very little time left to nurse wounds that never seem to heal quite right.

Winter break – when it finally, blessedly arrives – is not exactly the reprieve you had hoped for. Aside from a few random emails from the school warning of increased muggings near campus (which, when supervillains exist, ranks high on your list of problems why exactly?) you could almost forget that one Fall night. Almost. But Danika keeps inviting everyone over to celebrate the end of the last first semester and Lina won’t stop sending you and Jason considering looks every time you so much as breathe in his direction. You can tell she wants to ask but it won’t be Jason she comes looking for and so you don’t give her the opportunity to corner you alone.

On one memorable occasion you had physically dragged Jason in front of you as a human shield, spilling hot chocolate onto your glove and onto the snow covered ground. The hot liquid had melted into the snow immediately, carving out uneven abstract patterns. Jason hadn’t seemed to catch on as to why exactly you were so determined to attach yourself to his side, but had endured your proximity with what you might almost call joy if you didn’t know better. There wasn’t the resistance you expected, though the cavern between you doesn’t fully dissipate. It was...nice to feel his arm tucked under yours, a solid weight against your side. Maybe the little scraps of affection you could stomach weren’t so bad after all. Maybe one day the two of you could return to the time before you destroyed the closeness between you. Now if only you could get Danika to stop trying to set you up with someone, maybe you could find your footing again.

All of your best intentions go to hell only two days before you’re meant to be back for the final semester. There was a temporary skating rink in the public park, courtesy of Mr. Freeze’s latest foiled plot, one that would only last a few days before melting on its own. Like any true Gothamite, Danika had seized the opportunity with both hands and dragged you all out skating with her. It had been fun to watch Rei windmill his arms, red faced and struggling to keep his balance on his rented skates. Lina had been more than happy to offer him a steadying arm and flirtatious grin. Oddly even Will had decided to participate, the gleeful joy infectious. Jason, of course, had been a natural, gliding across the icy surface and dodging other people with an ease you envied. It had been a lovely afternoon, meant to end with laughter and chafed noses, maybe even a snowball thrown or two.

A choreographed ping of notifications to all of your phones puts an end to that. Digging with numb fingers through your thick pockets, you manage to pull out your phone and swipe through to your notifications. An email from the Gotham U, odd for this late in the day. 

An NYU student visiting home killed near GU campus, screams the subject line. It goes on to talk about measures the school is taking to keep students safe but you can’t help but click on the embedded news link. A funhouse mirror stares back, smiling. Sweat prickles at the nape of your neck. She looks like me..., you think dazedly. The texture of her hair, the colour of her eyes, even the sweep of her nose all echo yours. Dead in an alley, disfigured, torn to pieces, the news greedily crows. Violated. A hand falling heavy on your shoulder causes you to flinch, breaks the trance it has on you. With wild eyes you stare back up at Jason as he steadies you before you can fall on your ass on the ice. Wordlessly you look at your gathered friends and their bloodless faces. 

“She looks like me,” you croak, needing to have someone – anyone – tell you that you’re seeing things. 

“A little bit," Rei hedges, eyes darting to Lina for support.

“A little,” Will snorts, “try a lot."

“Hey–” Jason cuts in, glaring at Will over your head, “–not helpful.” He turns back to you, eyes still focused somewhere on your shoulder, neatly sliding himself between you and Will’s gaze. “What happened to her is a tragedy, yeah? But she’s not you, you’re right here with us and you’re safe.” 

His voice – his presence – steadies you but it’s not enough to erase the mental image of the girl with your face dead in an alley you probably know. The dead girl you might have been if Jason hadn’t stopped that mugger. Your hand tightens around your phone until the edges cut into your palm and you shiver, but not from the cold. 

“Sorry I don’t– I don’t really feel like having fun anymore.” You smile apologetically up at them over Jason’s shoulder.  Your phone pings again, your mother texting for the first time in weeks asking if you’d seen the news. The smile on your face turns brittle. “I think I just want to go home for a bit.”

“Sure, but text when you get back and let us know if you need anything,” Danika tells you gently, throwing a withering look in Will’s direction and smacking his mostly healed arm. You bite your lip and nod, skating slowly over to a nearby bench to wrestle with your skates.

Large hands shoo your shivering fingers away and you look up to see the top of Jason’s curly head as he kneels in front of you. He props your skate up on one broad thigh and untangles the knot in silence. Gently, he sets one foot down and starts working on the other.

“Look I’ll walk you back so you don’t have to worry, yeah?" he says as he sets your foot back down, still not looking at you. You can’t do anything but nod and accept his help as you change back into your boots, cold air still biting through your thick socks.

The bus ride home is fairly silent between the two of you. Jason manages to snag a recently vacated seat and ushers you into it, leans against the hand rail and shields you from the world. Unable to spend the 20 minutes or so just staring at his belt buckle, torturing yourself with the clink it makes as it comes undone, you lean your head against the window glass and watch the world melt past. It starts to snow again, fat flurries gently skimming through the streets. A quiet, still cocoon has built around the two of you and not even the bus coming to a screeching halt at your stop breaks it. Dreamlike and hazy, your body pilots you back to your front door, Jason holding your bag as you fumble for your keys.

He turns to leave you at your doorstep then hesitates, fingers running through his snow dusted curls. “Would it– would it be fine if I took a look around?” he mutters nervously. “Just, I noticed the other day that there’s some potential security issues and I’d feel better if I took a look and maybe you’d too?” His voice rises on the last syllable.

You stare at him for a second, baffled by his questions. He shifts his weight from foot to foot as you continue to stare.

“...yeah that’s fine,” you finally say. Looking for your phone to let Danika know you’re back, unthinkingly you add, “You already know your way around.” Facing away from him, you freeze, cursing yourself out mentally for the reminder of the last time he had entered your apartment. He clears his throat awkwardly.

“I’ll just be quick, yeah?”

Jason pads through your apartment quickly and surprisingly quietly for man his side as you unwind your scarf from around your shoulders and brush the half melted snow from your coat. Your sweater goes over the back of a chair to dry, leaving you standing in the kitchen in just your thin thermal undershirt. Jason chooses just that moment to walk back in.

“–should probably be fine, might want to change the lock on the fire escape window but– hey. C’mere.” He moves to hug you – he moves first! – and you fall into him, arms wrapping tight around his waist under his jacket. He freezes up at first as you nuzzle into him, the warmth of his chest cutting through the icy fingers that had grown around your spine at the sight of the dead girl that wasn’t quite you but could have been. Jason’s arms come around you, hold you tight to him like you’re actually something precious to him. A hand comes up to cradle the back of your skull and he sighs, body relaxing into yours.

“Probably just a bad coincidence, but I’ll look into it,” he whispers into the crown of his head. You can feel the zipper of his jacket pressing into you through the thin material of your thermal. “Don’t gotta worry about this at all, yeah?” His voice rumbles through your chest.

“You’re a good friend,” you mumble into his shirt. Slowly you lean back into his hand until you can look him in the eyes, nowhere for him to escape your searching gaze. He’s still tall, but there’s a half inch less of a difference between you without his boots on. Your hand slips from its python grip around his waist and tentatively winds itself around the nape of his neck. Finally, after what feels like months of yearning and waiting but had only been a few keenly felt weeks, Jason Todd looks you in the eyes.

There’s something unreadable there, some dark possessive emotion you can’t quite set your finger on. It’s too late. It’s everything you’d ever wanted from him. Makes the small part of yourself you’d tried so hard to bury over the last few weeks come clawing out of the shallow grave you’d dug for it. Vindication and bitterness go to war in your belly. Slowly you bring a hand up to trace over the sharp point of his cheekbone. His eyes close and he inhales sharply through his nose, full body shuddering as you move to tuck his hair behind his ear.

“S’all I want to be–” his eyes open wide, pupils rapidly eating up the blue of them “–your friend.”

“We are,” you reassure him. Tentatively you let the hand at his neck drift through his curls. Carefully note the way he relaxes into your grip. “Good friends.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and Jason tracks the movement with predatory hunger. His own lips part in response and you’re so close you can almost feel his breath on your skin. Tension spools out into the space between you, so thick you could almost reach out and grip the knotted mess of it with your bare hands. You hardly dare to breathe know that you’ve finally got Jason’s attention, a physical, tangible thing that traces the swell of your cheeks and the curve of your lower lip. He swallows and you press the full length of your body against him.

“We can stay good friends, can’t we?” you breath out. Inch by inch you draw yourself closer to him, attuned to him in case he draws back, before gently drawing the tip of your cold nose from the hinge of his jaw to the sharp jut of his chin. Inhale the warm scent of him under the lingering smell of the cold outdoors. “We understand each other,” you say, almost directly into his mouth. “So well, because we’re friends, right?” His hold on you tightens. “So well, that we don’t even have to talk about this part, right?” you plead, desperate for him to let you have this.

Jason’s lips crash onto yours and delirious laughter bubbles up into your chest. Easy, so easy. All you had to do was amputate your sense of dignity. His fingers tighten in your hair as he pulls back, breathing ragged and rough.

“We’re just– just friends,” he pants, and the sight of him so out of control makes you giddy. “But so long as we don’ talk about it we can have this too.” 

You answer him by kissing him again, the soft, sweet touch of your lips turned into something filthier as he invades your mouth. His hand slides down from your waist to palm your ass as he walks you back into the bedroom, still familiar from the last time he was there. Efficiently, both of your clothes come off, his jacket and belt hitting the floor with heavy thuds. He takes his time looking at you, and you drink up the sensation. It’s been so long since he’s truly, properly looked at you and you want to enjoy it while it lasts.

Because it won’t. He’ll retreat again or get tired of you, or both. It’s temporary, this complicated, burning thing between you, or at least it is on his part. You won’t ever have his heart, no that’s something so far beyond your grasp it’s laughable to even think about, but you can have this. His desire. His attention. His base need to fuck someone wet and willing. You can have just this much of him and no more.

There’s no air of urgency this time as he explores your body this time, palms smoothing over the length of your ribs. You shiver as he trails still cool fingers across your hips, across the fat and muscle cradling your womb. Hiss as he parts your slick folds with them, his fingers freezing against the burning heat of your core. Jason grins at your reaction before pressing a finger in in in, causing you to arch off the bed and clench down at the intrusion. He laughs as your thighs tremble at the stretch in your cunt when he adds another finger. Peppers kisses down your neck until he can bite and lave at the bud of your breast, working his fingers in and out of you the whole while.

Jason draws back and you moan at the loss, try and chase after him but he pushes you back down onto the bed.

“M’coming back, just need the condom outta my wallet. Need you to be patient, yeah?”

You nod but whine anyway when he pulls his fingers out of your tight heat, already bereft by the loss of him. He rolls the condom on and you want to hide from embarrassment when you see just how shiny with your slick his hands are. Carefully he adjusts your limbs to where he wants them, hooks your thighs over his hips and threads one hand through yours as he slowly starts to press in.

And it’s not– it’s not tender, but it’s kind, the way he slowly feeds every inch of his cock into you. Kisses you as you hiccup and squirm your way through accepting the fat weight of his dick in your guts, tensing and unclenching as he tears you in two only to stitch you back together. Finally, finally his hips hit yours and your eyes close as you sigh in relief at having taken him all. With a sticky hand Jason brushes the side of your face, places a kiss to where your furrowed brows meet. He waits until you relax under him, nod and let him know that you’re ready, before he starts to move, both of his hands tangled up in yours.

It’s such a relief to feel the heavy drag of him inside of you again, where he belongs your traitorous mind whispers. Immobilized, spread out, and pinned down beneath him like this you can do nothing but eagerly accept what he chooses to give you. He swallows the gasps and sighs of pleasure directly from the source as he plunders your mouth. Kisses down your jaw and nibbles at your throat. He bites down at the cords of your throat in a cruel mark of ownership you know he doesn’t mean just as he thrusts into the soft gummy part of your cunt that has you seeing stars.

You can’t help the whine of “Oh please, Jay,” as it is torn out of you, but you feel the exact moment his strong body stops rocking into yours and you realize your mistake. “M’sorry, m’sorry. Know you don’t like– didn’t mean to say it. M’sorry,” you babble, mortified by your error and wanting to bury your face in the pillows to disappear because he’d told you.

“Shhh shh shh,” he soothes, running the pad of his thumb across the outer corner of your eye, collecting the tears of frustration gathering there. You’re cursing yourself, terrified he’s going to take even this away from you because you couldn’t keep your big mouth shut and not let the name he hates slip from your tongue. “It’s okay, s’okay. You can call me Jay, okay, but only here. Just for you, just here, yeah?”

You nod, keening your agreement as he punctuates his words with a slow thrust back into you. His pace increases, no longer leisurely but controlled. Sharp thrusts in accompanied filthy, slow drags out. Your’s so full you can practically feel him at the base of your throat, carving out any claim to your body that isn’t his. Pleasure crawls up your veins, burns deep in your belly as Jason fucks you. The wet squelch of you around his cock makes your cunt flutter and he groans into the side of your throat at the sensation. Sweat beads at the base of your spine as the too much too good feeling winches you up higher, muscles curling tight. It only takes Jason growling into your skin, cock curving up at just the right angle, to shove you off that final ledge.

Sightless and weightless, stretched thin around him, you scrabble at his solid weight, desperate for something to anchor you to the present.

“ ‘ank you. Thank you. Please, god. Jay. JayJayJay,” you sob, words slurring together as he fucks your brains out, fucks you through it. He comes to the feel of you rippling around his cock and his name on your lips.

Jason’s still there in the morning, warm and whole in the bed next to you. Your heart isn’t so lucky.

[skrrts]

Home Is ✧ hongjoong version (oneshot)

✧ gn!reader x kim hongjoong ✧ genre: non-idol, slice of life, fluff, romance ✧ word count: 1,1k

You have found the love of your life, and now the two of you are ready for the next step in your relationship: moving together. Neither of you can wait to finally be able to spend every day together but it's out of the question ... the whole progress looks a lot more casual and aesthetical on social media than it actually is. Chaos. In the middle of the chaos that is moving in, Hongjoong wants you to enjoy this. Moving shouldn't only be an exhausting memory but something you enjoy. He makes you take a break & you make something for your new home together.

a/n: this wraps up my friday mini series for September. thanks a lot to everyone who has been reading along. i figured concluding it with hongjoong is a fun idea, he's definitely enjoying the progress and it takes all longer but is more fun.

The entire apartment was a mess. Unopened and half-emptied boxes were everywhere, items scattered over the floor, or just placed on top of stored furniture in between made-up couches and a mattress that served as a bed. When Hongjoong and you decided to move together, everything seemed perfect until it wasn't. The promised renovation took longer than scheduled and instead of having time to paint walls and slowly set up furniture, two apartments needed to be emptied for the new tenants within just a few days. Now bedroom and living room were shoved into the atelier so that you could slowly work on painting the walls.

Your mood had taken a toll and you admired your boyfriend, who still looked prettily cute and content while you had no idea where to start or finish for the day. You were thankful for his encouragement for you to go and pick up your dinner for the night, walks always calmed your mind. By the time you came back, you were already feeling better.

You were met by the familiar smell of fresh paintings. Honestly, back in high school you never expected to fall in love with a painter but here you were, in your first shared apartment that also included an atelier.

Hongjoong had moved a few of the boxes together, a plastic tablecloth on top with a large variety of colors prepared from bright to neon and pastels. There were cups of water, pencils and a small pile of canvases.

"This doesn't look like dinner," you teased, his smile growing instantly as he got up to kiss you. "I thought, since we ordered salad anyway, it could wait.- It was a stressful weekend and you deserve some relaxation and fun." Says the one having the time of his life painting the walls in the most stunning gradients by hand.

"Is that so?" you smiled, placing the food aside so he could tug you into a hug, foreheads resting together: "I also really wanted to do something special so we always would remember this first time together."

Hongjoong always was like this, excited and optimistic, trying to make the most out of anything and always looking out to cheer you up. One of the many qualities why you fell for him.

"That sounds perfect," you whispered, a final kiss was placed before he led you over and you sat down on one side of the table. "Now then, what should we paint?"

He was smiling his cute smile, the one that showed he was really excited about doing this with you, making a special memory together. "Anything! Well, I want to put it in the small spot in the living room. You know, the one where you noted we still haven't picked anything. And no, you aren't allowed to worry, just have fun. Pick any color you want! Those are my leftovers and I really need to finish them so we also do something good."

Hongjoong was very dedicated to his art, the joy of painting but also not to waste anything. He was very content to use every last drop of paint before buying a new one.

"Alright, let's do this," you chuckled. It felt a little surreal how you were sitting in such a mess but you tried to focus. The image that came to mind first was how your living room would look like when all was set up. There was a tiny balcony and you got a new couch, some messy curtains with a pattern Hongjoong chose, and bold pillows.

It was nice to imagine what the result would be, like recharging the stress of the past few days. Once you decided what to go for, the rest was easy. You were the type to get lost in whatever you were doing. Making a few rough sketches then trying colors on spare paper.

For a while, it seemed Hongjoong was doing the same but by the time you were half way done, the soft click of his camera made you look up, blushing.

"Hey!"

he chuckled sweetly, looking innocent as he rushed to place the phone back down on the table. "Couldn't resist, you are just so cute when you are all lost in progressing."

He was right but you were still pouting: "Sush! You should rather finish your painting." Hongjoong smirked, showing you his already completed free-style art, it was beautiful but you got shy because it was a version of you, here and now.

"Cheating," you mumbled, your cheeks just more red as you cleared your throat. "How about you help me then?" Hongjoong smiled brightly, it was one of the happiest looks you had seen him with and he stood up, sitting behind you, partly pulling you onto his lap.

"I can't wait, our home. Our own little happy place," he whispered, pressing a kiss on your cheek before taking a spare pencil and helping you finish your painting. By the time you finished, you couldn't deny how relaxed you felt.

Hongjoong's arms curled around your waist as you relaxed back against him, your eyes closed when he just held you like that. "This is nice," you admitted. I feel, living with you really won't ever be boring."

Your boyfriend chuckled: "Well, it surely will be a little chaotic but I am your favorite chaos after all."

So silly!

Hongjoong bit his lip, he looked at you and when your gazes met, there was no denying there were many more thoughts but those were kept for another day.

"Dating, moving together... don't care where exactly the journey will take us but meeting you, it has been my best adventure... And always will be my favorite."

You poked his cheek but smiled: "And now you are all sappy. Feel my heartbeat? Always all wild for you."

The man grinned as he finally slowly stood up, your eyes wandered over the mess that was just in every part of your new home. "Quite a bit of work to do," he sighed, pushing brown hair back: "But for today, I think we did enough. Let me put our artwork aside and clean up, then we can eat."

You gave him a quick nod, wiggling your hands covered in dried paint. "I will clean those."

Hongjoong nodded and started to carefully put the painting tool in a bowl to clean it, as you stopped in the door, you looked at him, adoring, loving.

You really were lucky, chaos or not. This home was your dream come true, always wishing to move together with whoever the love of your life would be and you did quite a good pull with this one, right?

"Joong, you know... after we ate, maybe we should properly test out our big new bathtub," you grinned. His cheeks flushed when he looked up, mumbling something.

This time you laughed: "Leave it to me, I will prepare it."

Hongjoong rolled his eyes as the two of you smiled at one another. Now, you were both home.

[thegirlfromblackwater]

PART 1: If the Van der Linde Gang lived in Modern Times (Modern Au)

Life gives you funny ideas...and I'm going to write them down

Arthur

Would live on a ranch in Montana or Wyoming as a rancher

Offers services like trail rides, lessons, and boarding

Has a herd of cattle

Spends every Sunday watching Rodeos on TV

Watches while sitting in his favorite worn-out armchair

Always has a cold beer and a snack or his dinner while watching

Has a pickup truck that's a bit filthy on the inside. Addresses his car as a "she."

Treats it like a horse: calls it a "good gurl."

Has a mounted Trout and some taxidermy on the walls

The Wifi at the ranch is spotty..doesnt understand why guests need it when they're surrounded by nature

Network Name: MorganRanch Password: Ynnel123

Tried to fix the router once but not exactly tech savvy. Ended up punching it

Texts Albert Mason sometimes

Dutch

Definitely lives in a city either Los Angeles or New York City

Lives in a Snazzy Penthouse in the clouds with a skyline

Works as a motivational speaker

Wears a lot of bling

Has a bar in at his place

Molly always tries to find a way in

Calls Hosea a lot

Has a weird fetish for black, red and white furniture.

Still loves reading books by Evelyn Miller despite that the writer is a nobody living in Idaho

John, Abigail & Jack

They probably live out west on a farm (very much like Beechers Hope)

John works on the ranch and also has side multiple side jobs (thanks to Abigail)

Jack spends his time in the school library

Abigail is obsessed with this one bakery

Molly

Lives in whatever city Dutch lives in

Tries to make herself at home in the penthouse

Famous on social media for her makeup tutorials

The neighbors can usually hear Molly & Dutch fighting

Dutch: "Not now Miss O'shea" Molly: "Pig!"

Bill

Lives somewhere in the Midwest

Works as a truck driver for Walmart

spends a lot of his life on the road

Has a bit of road rage

likes rest stops

when he's not working, he is a part of a biker gang

has a tattoo sleeve and wears a white wife beater

one of those bikers that wears a bandana with the American flag on it

Marybeth

Probably lives in a quaint town on the east coast

Works in a bookstore during the day and is a freelance writer in her free time

Lives in a cute townhouse with a small garden in the front full of flowers.

Her house is cozy

has a seating area with big windows that look out over the street

spends her time writing and reading there

likes to sit at cafes and drink coffee

Lenny

Is a full-time university student by day and bartender by night

Lives in Chicago or Atlanta

Probably double majoring in Business and literature (if that combination even exists)

Lives his single life to the fullest

Mostly an A student who goes full ham on the weekends when partying

Micah

Lives in Las Vegas

Sells illegal drugs

Has no money because he gambled too much

Stays in different hotels

Owns a pawn shop

Everything for sale there was smuggled across the border

Has dealings with the cartels & other shady characters

Hosea

Lives a quiet life out west

Goes to his lake house on the weekends to go fly fishing

Reads a lot of books

Also likes to go hunting

Is a part time English teacher who teaches children to read

Talks to Dutch by phone

Sometimes visits Arthur and stays at his Ranch

Uncle

Lives in a trailer park in Florida where the weather is always warm and the cold won't bother his illness

Sits on a folding chair outside his mobile home

Plays the Banjo

Drinks a beer

Is a complete mess inside

Doesn't own much furniture

Can't work because of the Lumbago

Sweats a lot

Naps and snores too loud

Lives next to a swamp

Javier

Lives in Arizona

Lives in the desert

Grows cactuses

Owns a Music shop

Travels around playing at local bars

Works part time as a music teacher at the local high school

Has a YouTube where he shows off his music

[theblue6ook]

"A Sick Day" PT 2

Bruce invites a sick Y/N to stay at his home.

B (24) & Y/N (22)

A/N: I'm back... (let's be honest this one is not my best work, but we have better coming up)

The worst part of her illness wasn’t the migraine pounding in the back of her eyes, her high fever, or even the soreness in her throat. No. It was having to face Alfred after he’d heard about the condition of her sickness.

“I don’t know what’s worse. That Bruce, for the first time in his life, insisted on leaving the house, and in a blizzard - or him leaving to find you, on the verge of death, walking in it!” he bellowed at her. “Out of all the irresponsible-”

Y/N had been quiet since Bruce forced her into the car heading toward Wayne Manor. Alfred had even delightedly greeted her, not expecting the visit... that was until Bruce explained the circumstances. Y/N felt like branding him a tattle tale. The minute they walk in and he’s going on to Alfred, guess who walked to Wayne Enterprises today? She could’ve killed him. 

So now, she sits in an armchair by the fireplace in the main living area. Alfred made sure to cozy her up with a blanket and a cup of something warm and delicious before digging into her about being "irresponsible," as he said. As he dug further, Y/N felt her eyes drooping. Her body began to tingle delightfully. Down her sides, into her fingertips, all the way down to her toes. It was like all the stress from her day-to-day life, her illness, her radiator, was slithering out of her. She sank deeper into the chair, and as Bruce brought her bags in, he looked toward her sleeping form.

"Alfred," he said quietly.

"I'll get to you later," he snipped toward Bruce.

"Alfred," he said firmly, moving his head toward Y/N, and the old man turned toward her.

Alfred sighed deeply and pulled her blanket closer to her chin, taking the drink out of her still hand. He spoke mostly to himself, "What am I going to do with you two?"

“I’ll take her upstairs.” Bruce started to walk toward her until Alfred stopped him. 

“We shouldn’t wake her,” Alfred whispered, but Bruce looked weary. “She needs to rest and I don’t want to risk her waking up again.”

So they left her, in no doubt a medicated sleep in the cozy arms of the recliner by the crackling fireplace.

-

It was dark the next time Y/N stirred. Slowly she opened and rubbed her crusted eyes, her sign of a deep, unbothered sleep. For no longer than a second, she had no idea where she was. That was until her eyes drifted to the large family portrait hanging on the wall.

Leaning upwards in her chair she noticed her drink had long gone cold, now sitting on the table next to her, and the recliner she had been resting in had been leaned back to lift her aching feet. The fire was out, but it was still so warm in the living room. That might have had something to do with the fact that she was swaddled in two blankets. What time was it? Had she slept all day?

Unwrapping herself from the burrito of blankets, she stood on shaking legs. With a crack of her back, she moved toward what she thought she remembered to be the kitchen.

Y/N pushed through a set of dark oat doors and felt her socks slide against the checkered tile. Widening her blurry eyes, she looked toward the microwave clock, and there was no mistaking the time glowing off the stainless steel.

3 a.m.

So, that has to be incorrect. There was just no fathomable way she had fallen asleep this morning, slept all day, and then some. This had to be some stupid joke played by Bruce. It had to be. Grabbing her phone out of her sweatshirt pocket, she lit the screen with a click.

3 a.m.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" She threw her hands against her face groaning. Snow or not, sick or not, she was not the type to skip out on work and though it was her boss's fault she couldn't help but feel the impending doom for when she did have to play catch up. Maybe I can just get a head start tonight? I slept all day anyway.

Looking around the kitchen, Y/N realized she didn't even know where her work bag was, let alone any of her things. She didn't have a chance of finding it in the manor, especially when she's not used to so much space. Honestly, the least Bruce could have done was wake her up to take her to an actual bedroom, or even show her around the manor so she wouldn't get lost... but if he did wake her, she would have surely started working anyway and Bruce knew this. Hence her current predicament.

But she wasn't alone for long. The heat had kicked on, which definitely masked a general nighttime sound, but there was something off about the silence. She swore she almost heard a metallic clicking, like a heavy door, and then shuffling behind her, but when she turned, there was nothing. Just the glow of the microwave clock shining in the darkness.

"What are you doing?"

"HOLY SHIT!"

Turning, she noticed that standing in front of her was a very shirtless, very sweaty Bruce Wayne. The kitchen glow shined off his damp chest, and she felt like she couldn't breathe. This is so inappropriate, she kept thinking, yet her eyes continued moving downward-

He cleared his throat, grinning.

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding in, "Don't you fucking scare me like that. What are you even doing up?"

"I was just at the gym."

Bewilderment struck her face, "It's 3 o'clock in the morning."

Bruce ignored her, opting to throw the back of his hand against her forehead with his brows furrowed. "Your fever is down, but you're still warm and a little flushed."

It wasn't the fever that warmed her cheeks. He was too close to her and too shirtless. She had never given too much thought to her boss's physique, but she's pretty sure spoiled billionaires aren't typically cut like he is. She stepped back quickly, looking toward the ceiling. 

"Okay, that's enough. I should probably get back to bed anyway.” Backing away toward the double doors, she paused, realizing she had no idea where ‘bed’ was. Bruce walked past her, his back was as impressive as his front.

With a grin, he opened the double doors and nodded his head in the direction of the living room. “Come on. I’ll show you where to go.”

@pank0w @moejoeflow @padsfirewhisky @maxinehufflepuffprincess @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t @mariadvorak @100520s @st0rmyt @stxrsberkshire

[hewinked]

im not that big on harry potter anymore but I could go on for hours about snape and how much he is not redeemable

like fr people want to milk some nuance out of harry potter so badly they refused to see how NOT misunderstood snape was

bro was petty as hell for living the rest of his life after that rejection as a big dramatic cunt

like sure man, I too if I had the chance might occasionally bully a child, in good fun, as a teacher

and sure, being dramatic? god given right to be dramatic when the time calls for it honestly

but man's lived every second of every day that way, being as heinous as he could be to literally everyone

man's was a horrible teacher too, you could argue he was a great potion maker or something because of the book he wrote as a teenager, but he didnt teach any of the stuff he wrote in that book, he taught from other peoples books, plus this man spent so much time insulting those kids abilities i think he forgot to actually do more then read out whatever book he picked

like the only kids who succeed in his class are people who do way too much extra work (hermoine) and the few Slytherin kids that he legitimately private tutors

also neville having snape as his worst fear before all the war stuff is crazy because genuinely how much did you harrass this kid

also id like to say that fact that he was bullied by the marauder's is iirrelevant, I too would bully a fellow student if they went around hate speeching half-blood kids when they themselves are a half-blood

and ik he did because not only is it implied by remus and sirius in prisonor of azkaban, but he calls lily a mudblood so casually and then only apologizes bcs he has a crush on her

also he had originally genuinely joined up with the death eaters without the intention to spy so i dont wanna hear that he isnt a wizard racist bcs he so was

even though there is that thing where jk rowling said he only joined bcs he thought it would impress lily, but genuinely i think she was just trying to feed the sympathizers to back up her own half assed redemption attempt because yeah, i dont like snape's personallity but he couldnt have been a complete idiot,

who is stupid enough they join a group known for, and based on the belief that muggles and mudbloods should all be killed off, because they want to impress a half-blood girl?

imagine joining the kkk and becoming like a high ranking member of it bcs you want to impress a black girl so she'll date you💀💀💀

anyways i realize i said i wasnt that into harry potter in the begginning of this and then wrote all this but genuinely people who sympathize with snape are dumb

also last bit

cunty snape edits as a joke > cunty snape edits bcs you simpathize

sad snape edits of him burned > sad snape edits bcs you simpathize

simping over Alan Rickman > simping over snape

[scoliosisgoblin]

doodles and some lore. I'm tired.

[arolesbianism]

Thinks oh so hard abt the spiraling upwards clan founders, especially the birchclan founders. Silly lil kitties who's pasts are drenched in blood with the primary regret of not drawing it sooner

[s4pphoiduser]

blind (2022) is driving me insane. im begging my friends to watch it but theyre either busy with exams or almost exclusively fluff/romance-watchers . i need to talk ab this w someone just hit me up or something GOD

[thats-a-lot-of-cortisol]

2 & 3 from section 1 for peri and 7 from whichever section has a more interesting #7 for diodore -moss

oooh these are fun ones!

2. Describe their tent set-up (outside and inside) (Peri)

I think Peri's tent is constructed similarly to Gale and Astarion's (boxy, fabric walls, little covered area outside). Deep blue fabric w/ golden astronomical embroidery, mostly the sort of thing you see on star maps. Little golden tassles around the edges of the tarp (?) and the doorframe. He'd have a small, circular, dark wood side table short enough that you can use it sitting on the ground, and a dark blue pillow next to it; there would be some parchment and a bronze miniature astrolabe on the table. The inside would be just. full to the brim with the gaudiest night-sky-themed pillows you've ever seen. No bedroll, no palette, just a nest that would put those cube pits in trampoline parks to shame. There would be two bird perches for his familiar Medani: one taller one next to his tent and one shorter one under the overhang. The shorter one would have a crow-sized bow-tie hanging from it. Rugs on rugs on the outside area ofc. 3. What would their character quest be titled? Why? (Peri)

This is a hard one! His tav ending involves taking over the Waterdeep arm of the Harpers, so I think his arc would have something to do with that. He'd be pretty bitter about being dropped into another near-apocalyptic mess when dealing with the last one a few years prior was supposed to be a one-time thing. Something-something ptsd in a world that doesn't have the words for that yet, something-something 'once a hero always a hero', something-something the weight of responsibility...he's a planeswalker so I think part of it would be whether he decides to stay on Toril long-term and directly help rebuild the Waterdeep Harpers or if he continues to run travel around afterwards, so maybe The Far Traveller/The Far Walker?

Harpson/Fae-son are also potential options. "Fae-son" nods to him being a changeling without it being super obvious (like Astarion's "The Pale Elf"). It would also mimic his backstory reveals from RoT ("oh he's not 'from here' so, like, the Feywild" -> "OH he's not from here"). 7. Describe their arc. How would a player help resolve it? What choices can be made? Can your Tav be turned down a dark path, or pulled to a lighter one? (Diodore)

Buckle up because we're in for a long one here. I've thought about Dora's story arc a lot because she's the first of my tavs that I truly made for the game while having full control over her backstory, etc. (versus Corentin, who had their arc baked into the story as a durge). Dora's a paladin of Corellon (oath of ancients) and her story arc as a companion would have to do with whether or not she should accept capital-r-Redemption, the process by which a drow can be truly "freed" from Lolth and rejoin the ranks of the rest of elven society. It involves all of the Redeemed drow's memories being erased and them being reincarnated as a surface elf. The implication seems to be that without that, regardless of a drow's actions, they'd be thrown back to Lolth when they die? Or at least that their eternal fate is unknown (which is the way I prefer to think of it for. personal reasons). Under normal circumstances, Dora would be a long way from Redemption being presented to her at all (she's not even 200 yet and has only been on the surface for a couple decades), but like with the other gods' Chosen among the companions, near-apocalyptic circumstances tend to speed up those sorts of things.

Of course, you'd have the themes of faith & relationship with deity when they're all unequivocally real and are also mostly all assholes; maintaining or breaking generational cycles; facing the unknown; morality when none of your choices are "good" (and how that interacts with morality vs self preservation); power vs freedom; identity outside of the people who made you; etc. The choice would first be presented to her sometime in late Act I/early Act II, likely the first long rest after the group resurfaces from the Underdark and you've probably gotten some of her backstory already. I have no idea how Larian would have characterized Corellon, but he's considered one of the more benevolent/open-minded deities iirc, which could be interesting to see contrasted with Mystra, Vlaa'kith, and Shar. How much that open-mindedness would extend to a drow, even one who has been a faithful follower even before she escaped to the Surface (and who inherited that faith from her father), is unclear. At the beginning of the game she would be leaning towards accepting Redemption, despite her own misgivings about whether or not she would still be her in that case.

Her final decision (at the ending pier scene) would depend on the relationship she has with the PC and the other companions. Her best ending, imo, would be her not accepting Redemption but continuing to be a force for good. If she has a good relationship with the PC, she would have something to lose. I think seeing the House of Mourning would affect her too. After all, the thing Corellon is offering to her as a way to find peace is the same thing the Sharrans are using as a way to manipulate and control others.

She's viscerally aware of how she was socialized and very actively chooses "good", so pushing her towards a darker path would be incredibly difficult but not impossible. If you side with the goblins she'll leave immediately, and turn on you if she's in your party when you attack the grove. But if you decide to try and control the cult in Act II, depending on your over-all actions before then and how you've interacted with her, you could disillusion her to the point of convincing her to break her oath. That path would entail convincing her that controlling the cult is actually the best idea. I'm sure there would be other times that her oath could break that wouldn't necessarily lock her into an "evil" path, especially with how Oathbreakers are handled in the game. Knocking out Minthara instead of killing her outright and letting Auntie Ethel go in Act I instead of killing her are two things that come to mind.

If she doesn't choose Redemption she would be at the epilogue party, of course. I'm a bit undecided on what would happen if she does choose Redemption. She may not be there at all, w/ Jaheira, Halsin, Minthara, and/or Astarion mentioning running into her in her new, reincarnated state. Or she would be there, confused, and mention how the PC seems familiar in a way she can't quite place. In that case, she would ask them how they know each other and mention something about feeling a twinge of grief looking at everyone, but that she doesn't know why she feels that way. It would be up to the PC how much they tell her (if they tell her anything at all).

[the-melancholic-human]

I am in love with the thought of simon riley being a grumpy snobby nobleman who marries a boorish reckless girl that’s just a ray of sunshine

Simon views marriage as a way to protect his legacy, a way to carry out his high esteem bloodline, he views marriage as a financial decision, after all he’s in his late thirties now and he’s not getting any younger, a few silver strands of hair that decorate his dirty-blonde hair prove that fact

As much as he hates the thought of tolerating a woman who will stick to him for the rest of his life like an unwanted disease, he knows that it’s for the best, he needs heirs to protect his fortune after his death

And so he needs to find a wife as soon as possible, he can not marry a woman from a noble family, from what he has seen so far, noble women are more demanding, they’re constantly in need for attention and because they are used to living lavish lives they tend to be careless with money, he knows that if he marries a noble woman her family would constantly ask to visit her and that means even more unnecessary social events simon must attend, and so he has to search elsewhere for a wife

But he has a plan, instead of going for a woman with high status, he’ll just marry one of the girls that live in the village, and wouldn’t you know it, one of his farmers was more than glad to marry off his daughter to the duke for some quick cash

And a week later, the girl is standing on the porch of his manor holding her suitcase, looking like a lost puppy, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt nervously as she’s waiting for someone to invite her into her new home

Instead of her husband opening the door to her, kissing her cheeks and giving her a warm hug, there’s the mean old lady that does the cooking for the riley manor, standing in front of her in the doorway

And as soon as the poor girl drops off her old ugly suitcase at her bedroom (and simon’s bedroom ofc) she’s running barefoot in the garden to catch a lizard

Now picture this, simon jumps off his stallion in the evening, waiting for his new “wife” to come greet him when he hears screams from the garden, so he runs to the garden to make sure everything is okay, and the scene before him is just unbelievably peculiar:

A young beautiful girl, running around the garden, her underskirt shoved into her belt, her feet covered in mud, and her hair an absolute mess, chasing the old maid with a lizard in her tiny soft hands

And when she runs up to simon, holding up the slimy creature to show it to her new husband, simon is just fucking in love.

Part 2 is here btw:

[gregrulzok]

This is something I love SO much about Kuro, and about Dunmeshi's portrayal of Bilingualism.

Like ... When we first meet Kuro it's so easy to assume he's a dummy. He's a big doofy-looking dog man that only talks about food, and his sentences are disjointed and broken, so you think oh, haha, token dumb character.

But then we swap to speaking Kobold and it hits you like a truck - Kuro is a person, and he has a full and complete train of thought that he can articulate. This is a grown ass man, and in his native language he speaks just as well as anybody - not only that, but here we see that Kabru, who is usually so good with words, speaks Kobold just as poorly as Kuro does common.

It's such an easy, obvious, and common trope to depict broken speech in a characters non-native language as a funny gag at the expense of their intelligence - not even just in fiction! Making fun of non-native English-speakers for their broken English is so fucking common and normalized - and here you have such a clear and simple portrayal that, no, in fact, Kuro isn't stupid.

And the thing is, common is common for a reason, right. In general high fantasy, "Common" means "Language that is effortless for everyone to speak". But in Dunmeshi, it's explicit that Kobolds can't fully learn Common - Common is designed for Humans, but Kobolds are demi-humans with different mouths and throats that don't allow them to enunciate in the same way.

And yet Kuro is doing his best to study it. He's going out of his way to master a skill most others don't even have to think about. Speaking of which ...

We get this exchange between him and Kabru, which I also wanted to focus on.

Because when we first see Kuro, then portrayed as a simple-minded dummy, it's easy to think that Mickbell is taking advantage of him and Kuro is unaware. Here, Kabru even assumes they can't truly be friends unless they speak the same language perfectly.

But that's not really the case - Mickbell isn't taking advantage of Kuro, not in the way we (and the rest of the party) assume - because Kuro isn't as stupid as we assume. He's thankful to Mickbell, he wants to repay him, and the food is a nice perk - but ultimately he cares about Mickbell enough to put this much effort into learning a whole language for him (while Mickbell cares about him in his own way, though since Mickbell grew up without a family or friends, it usually just manifest in over protectiveness and a fear of losing him. His goal in life is to buy a house for them to live in together. Cmon.)

I think generalising Kuro and Mickbell's relationship as unhealthy (whether you perceive it as romantic or not) is doing a massive disservice to Kuro's intelligence due to his speech - something Kui goes out of the way to disprove.

I love these idiots.

[yuujispinkhair]

Attending a formal family event with Sukuna

Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female). Fluff with some sexual implications. 1.3k words. Minors don't interact. Divider @/plutism

You didn't want to go to your great-aunt's 80th birthday party, where you only know about a third of the people, but they all seem to know you, and you are expected to do awkward small talk. But you couldn't back out, and now you are here in this fancy hotel, wearing a party dress and uncomfortable shoes with heels that make you feel wobbly on your feet.

But luckily, Sukuna is next to you, letting you hold onto his strong arm so you won't make a fool of yourself by falling in front of everyone. When you think about it, it was very easy to convince your boyfriend to accompany you. You even got the impression that he was happy that you wanted to bring him along to such a big family event, letting even the most distant family member know that Sukuna is the man in your life.

And surely, everyone knows by now. Sukuna has all eyes on him. He stands out with his imposing figure, the pink hair, and the face tattoos and various piercings. You can see the curious glances he gets, but Sukuna is someone who doesn't give a fuck, and instead even basks in the attention he gets, always grinning smugly at everyone who looks his way. And he never lets go of you, making sure everyone knows who he is here with.

It makes you feel strangely proud, too. You won't say it so as not to feed your boyfriend's arrogance even more, but you are beginning to enjoy the looks Sukuna receives. It feels good to show him off as your boyfriend. He looks sinfully good in his black pants and the black dress shirt that sits so snugly on his athletic figure, accentuating his broad shoulders and all the firm muscles.

But it's not just that Sukuna is sexy eye candy on your arm. You are grateful he is by your side because you feel much more at ease with him keeping you company. As boring and awkward as events like these can be, Sukuna is making it better, just like he always makes everything better.

He stands behind you close enough so you feel his tall, firm body brush against you, giving you comfort and security. And providing constant entertainment.

Sukuna leans down to rest his chin on top of your head, hugging you loosely and watching the crowd with his cat-like eyes, analyzing everyone in this room and sharing his deductions with you in his sexy, low voice the whole time.

You laugh and sometimes exclaim in mock outrage, but you find Sukuna's comments very fitting and funny. Your boyfriend is always a first-class shit-talker, and at least the hours pass faster when he is here to make you laugh with his surprisingly accurate character studies of each and every family member.

You catch yourself leaning against Sukuna, resting more of your weight on him, knowing he can easily take it. And he hums approvingly.

One strong arm is wrapped around your waist, Sukuna's large hand sprawling casually and yet possessively over your stomach, high enough so he can feel your heart beating under his fingers. A heart that is currently picking up speed because you can feel Sukuna's firm muscles press against your back, and his breath is ghosting over your neck before he places a soft kiss right under your earlobe.

The band starts to play, and all the older couples gather on the dance floor and wave at you to join them. You shake your head apologetically, but Sukuna takes your hand firmly in his and tugs you along, making you complain all the way to the dancefloor, telling Sukuna that you can't dance, but he just laughs and grins that boyish grin at you,

"Doesn't matter what you can or can't do, princess. I'll take the lead, so don't worry."

Sukuna spins you around the dance floor amidst the elderly couples as if he is doing this for a living. You stare at him with big eyes, while Sukuna smirks smugly and informs you that his grandpa taught him and Yuuji how to dance because he said a man needs to know how to take his girl dancing.

You realize you have already relaxed in Sukuna's arms, letting him take control and trusting him blindly to keep you upright. You see several nods of approval from the couples around you as you dance past them - or rather, your boyfriend steers you past them.

"I think you are winning their hearts, baby."

"Of course I am."

After a few more songs, Sukuna leads you back to your table, and you lean into his side and whisper a thank you to him, not even knowing what you tank him for right now. For dancing with you, or for making an effort to get your family to like him, or just for being here with you.

Sukuna answers it with one of his rare dazzling smiles and a whispered, "I love you," which you return with an equally whispered, "I love you, too," and a soft smile.

Your great-aunt pulls you to the side later and tells you that your boyfriend is such a handsome young man. She doesn't really like the face tattoos, but oh, it doesn't matter, right? If that is what young people do nowadays, and he looks good with them and is so handsome and so tall! Such a charming young man!

"Does he make you happy?"

You nod and beam at your great-aunt, unable to stop smiling from ear to ear,

"Yes, he does. He makes me very happy."

And she gets that cheeky expression on her face and nods knowingly,

"Oh, I bet that goes for every aspect of your relationship, huh?"

She winks at you, leaving no doubt about what she is implying. And you feel your face heat up, stuttering nervously and trying to laugh it off while your great-aunt pats your arm and tells you,

"Make sure to keep him, honey. A handsome, tall man who makes you happy and looks like he can protect you is always a good choice!"

You walk back to Sukuna, who is leaning casually against the wall with his hands shoved into the pocket of his suit pants. There's a shit-eating grin on his beautiful face, and you roll your eyes as you stop in front of him and tilt your head to look up at your boyfriend's face.

"What did your aunt say about me, princess?"

"Basically that you are very handsome and that she thinks you are good in bed."

The smug smirk on Sukuna's face grows even bigger, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to him, making you sway a bit on your heels, so you stumble against him and end up bracing yourself with both hands on Sukuna's chest. He sounds far too conceited when he says,

"Well, she is right. Wouldn't you agree?"

Sukuna cocks his head, waiting for your confirmation, and you laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, getting on your tiptoes with a matching teasing grin on your face. You slowly lean closer to Sukuna's tattooed face, pressing a little kiss on his cheek before you look deeply into his amused maroon eyes,

"I don't know, baby. Maybe I need a little reminder."

And Sukuna laughs softly,

"Oh, don't worry. I'll refresh your memory all night. And I promise to be very thorough."

His tongue flicks out to lick over your lips teasingly before it pushes into your mouth, and Sukuna kisses you deeply while his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you even closer to his tall, muscular body.

Maybe that 80th birthday party wasn't so bad after all.

I AM SIGHING SO LOUD 😭😭💗💗 I have no idea why I thought of this scenario, but it wouldn't leave my mind anymore, so I HAD to write it. The thought of bad boy Sukuna being able to charm your family into liking him makes me very soft for him :((

I hope you enjoyed it!! Thank you so much for reading! Reblogs and comments would be very sweet 💗

[javiscigarette]

Teacher's Pet

Joel Miller x virgin f!reader

Summary: 25 years old, anxiety-ridden, and still a virgin, you ask your friend Joel for advice on your upcoming date. But you're more of a...hands-on learner. And he's more than happy to help. 

Warnings: PWP, unbalanced power dynamics, virgin!reader, neighbor/bff/more experienced! Joel, age gap, first kiss, virginity loss, fingering, oral (f receiving), frequent check-ins, soo much banter and Joel is a menace also so soft and sweet :')....(ends on a cliffhanger but there will be a part two I swear).

w/c: 7.7k idk what happened

a/n: I am resurfacing for your monthly reminder that I do in fact still write!! Inspiration for this came out of literally nowhere but I took it and RAN with it and I think I like it?? As always, thank you to my baby love @undrthelights for helping me with this and always listening to my rambling and for being my biggest enabler Ilysm

Part Two

my masterlist

"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever." Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck pound in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed. "A what?" "Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head.  "No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?” 

"Seriously, Joel. Fuck off" you snap but with no bite or heat behind it. You bring the sweating bottle of beer to your lips and finish the rest of the now lukewarm liquid off in one gulp. 

"What? I just find it hard to believe that you've never even had a kiss. Didn't you go to high school? Didn't you ever get invited to a party? Didn't you go to college? College kids do the do like all the time” 

"Clearly not all the time" you mutter, a tad bitterly.

Joel raises his hands defensively and takes a sip of his own beer. "Just seems crazy is all. There's gotta be some chick or dude out there willing to take pity on you and pop your cherry."

You audibly gag at his choice of words. "I don't need a pity fuck, thanks." You stand from the couch and head over to the fridge. The bottles of cold alcohol inside are calling your name and you want something that will help soothe your nerves. You're not a big drinker, but when Joel is prying into your love life like he is now, you wish you were.

"Okay,” he starts from the living room. “Maybe I worded that wrong. What I meant to say was, there's gotta be someone out there who would be more than willing to show you a good time."

You groan and let your forehead fall against the fridge door. "That's the whole point! I came here to get advice for my date, someone who might actually be interested in me, and all you've done is make fun of me for not having fucked anyone yet. So thanks, Joel. You're a real pal."

You push away from the fridge and slam the door shut, a second beer in hand.

"Alright, alright, calm down." He says, hands in the air as if you were holding him at gunpoint as you head back to the couch. "Look, if this guy really likes you then he's not gonna care. Probably won't even be able to tell if you are or aren't."

"You think so?" You ask hopefully.

"Well, I mean, unless you're like... super bad."

Your heart drops into your stomach and you glare at him, "Joel."

"Oh come on, I'm kidding. You're not gonna be bad, okay? Just, go into it with an open mind and just relax. If he tries something you're not comfortable with or makes you feel weird, tell him. And if he gets pissy, dump his ass."

"That simple, huh?" You scoff.

"Well, yeah. You're the one who made it complicated by thinking it was a big deal."

"It is a big deal, Joel! I know nothing!

"Nothing? You ain’t ever watched porn? Jesus, I had no idea you were such a prude."

You can't stop yourself from rolling your eyes and slapping the back of your hand against his arm. He yelps and laughs, rubbing his arm.

"I've watched porn before" you retort. 

"What kind?" he asks with a wiggle of his brows.

"None of your fucking business" you respond, feeling your face heat up.

Joel's lips quirk into a shit-eating grin and you're quick to smack him again.

"Okay okay, sorry!" he says through his laughter. "So what exactly are you afraid of?"

You're not really sure how to answer. It's a combination of so many things, most of which are irrational fears and insecurities. Sure you've seen it all done before, but you're well aware that none of it is realistic. At least, not completely. And just the fact that you're freshly 25 years old without a single notch in your bedpost makes you dizzy with anxiety. It's not like you're saving yourself or anything, it's just that hook up culture has never agreed with you and there's never been an opportunity that made you feel like it was the right one. That is until now, with your cute coworker who you thought was miles out of your league asking you out on a third date. And now, the prospect of being in bed with him is looming over you like a dark cloud and the last thing you want to do is mess it up.

"I guess, I'm just afraid that he's gonna be disappointed, or I'm gonna weird him out, or I'm gonna do something wrong and embarrass myself.” Joel nods along and listens. "And if it is bad then we still have to work with each other and then what if it's awkward and everyone knows about it and then he hates me and--"

"Okay, whoa slow down there, buddy" Joel says, putting a hand on your shoulder. "One, you're overthinking this. You're literally thinking like, five steps ahead of what's actually going on. It's a date. And even if it does end up in the bedroom, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. No one's forcing you, okay? He can't. No one can."

"I know, but I want to," you reply quietly.

"Alright. Then do."

"I don't know howwww!! " you whine, flopping backwards into the couch.

Joel groans and sits up a little straighter, scrubbing a hand down his face. 

"Well, there's no magic trick, I don't have a secret sex manual I'm holding out on ya."

You sigh, shoulders sagging as you look over at him. The idea comes out of nowhere, well, not exactly from nowhere, but it pops in your head so fast that you then have to bite your tongue before the words bubbling up from your throat come tumbling out. 

It's not a bad idea, not necessarily. 

You've been good friends with Joel ever since you moved in next door last year. An unlikely pairing, a 40 year old contractor and an almost 25 year old office worker. But after offering him a six pack as part of introducing yourself to the neighbors, you'd gotten along fabulously. He fixes things around your house and you send him home with hot dinners and warm, gooey cookies and you watch movies together almost every Friday night.

 It's an easy friendship, open and honest and supportive, and Joel has never given you reason not to trust him. He's a good guy, if not a little brash, but you know deep down he means well. And it doesn't hurt that he's objectively attractive, with his tall and sturdy frame, strong, calloused hands, dark messy curls....It's not a bad idea.

It's an absolutely insane idea. 

You continue to stare at him, clenching your teeth together to hold back the question sitting on the tip of your tongue.

"What?" he says, looking back at you.

"Nothing" you mutter, eyes flicking away.

"You've got that face you make when you're about to say something really stupid, so just get it out."

You glare at him again, not enjoying the way he can read you so well.

"I wasn't gonna say anything."

"Well now you're lying."

"I'm not."

"You're doing it again!"

"Doing what?!"

"That face!"

"I'm not making a face!"

"Yes you are! Just spit it out!"

You groan and hide your face in your hands. You blame it on the one beer even though you know you’re not anywhere close to being drunk because how else would you justify what you’re about to say? You wait a moment, thinking about the weight of it but your mouth opens before you can stop yourself. 

"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever."

Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck and hear it in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed.

"A what?"

"Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head. 

"No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?” 

His eyes are wide, and he looks incredulous. You can't blame him, because the more time that passes between your suggestion and now, the more ridiculous the idea seems.

"I’m sorry, that was…It was stupid. Pretend I didn't say anything. Let's just watch a movie." You move to grab the remote, but Joel's hand covers yours, stopping you.

"Is that what you want?"

You look at him, searching his expression for any sign of disgust or apprehension. But all you can see is the same Joel you've known for months, patient, warm, and understanding.

"I know. I know it's stupid. But I can't get this date out of my head, Joel. It's all I can think about and the more I do, the more worried I get and I just don't want to fuck it up. And I know we're friends and this is weird and gross, but I just thought that... maybe, I could have some practice, so to speak."

He doesn't say anything. Just keeps looking at you, the panic rising in your chest the longer the silence stretches. You start to fidget, wringing your hands together in your lap.

"I'm sorry, that was way out of line" you say, moving to stand up, your skin sweaty and hot with embarrassment and your feet ready to run out the door and never come back. 

But Joel catches your wrist, gently pulling you back down to sit next to him.

"Joel" you whine, not wanting him to humiliate you any further.

"It's okay, come here."

His voice is softer than before, and his eyes are kind. You let him pull you closer, the two of you sitting knee to knee. You can't bring yourself to look him in the eyes, not with your cheeks and the tips of your ears burning like they are, but Joel doesn't push. He simply moves his hand from your wrist, sliding it into yours. His palms are rough and warm, and the simple touch alone is comforting.

"You really wanna do this?” he asks softly. You can feel his eyes boring into you. “I mean, I'm not exactly a prize winning catch. And it's not like there's a shortage of willing men out there."

You shrug and chew the inside of your lip.

"Yeah, but you're my friend and I...I trust you."

There's another pause, and you wish that you could just disappear into the couch and erase this moment from your memory.

"How drunk are you?" he asks, glancing at the beer bottle on the coffee table.

"You saw me finish one bottle. And half of another. I’m barely tipsy."

"Not drunk?”

"Nope."

"You're gonna remember this tomorrow."

"Uh huh."

"And you still want to?"

You groan for the millionth time and squeeze his hand.

"Yes I want to! Look, if you don't want to then that's fine. It was just a dumb suggestion and we can just forget this ever happened."

He hums, considering your words. His hand slips out of yours, and you think that's it, you've scared him off and washed the friendship down the drain. That you'll have to hide from him from now on, that you'll have to pack your things up and move because the mortification would be too much, and that he'll hate you, and—

His two fingers sliding under chin surprise you, and he tilts your head up. He's looking down at you with that same even expression, eyes big, soft, and warm as he slides his hand over to cup your jaw in his palm. 

"If you want to stop at any point, just say so, okay? I won't be upset and we can go back to the way things were before. Got it?"

You nod, your throat suddenly too tight to speak. His thumb sweeps over your cheekbone, the tender touch is enough to make your heart skip a beat. There’s no way this is actually happening. That your first kiss is going to be with your 40 year old menace of a neighbor. That you’re going to, how did you put it, get a sex lesson from him. His gaze flicks down to your lips and back up to your eyes and you’re positive you’re no longer able to breathe. 

"Can I kiss you?" he asks softly. You nod. 

You're sure he can hear the thumping of your heart in his own ears as he leans down. His other hand comes to rest on your hip and when his lips touch yours, a soft, tentative pressure, you're not prepared for the electricity that shoots through you.

He's barely done anything and already you feel like you're floating. Your own hands reach out to clutch his shirt, keeping him close, afraid he'll pull away and leave you cold and wanting if you don't. But he stays put, pressing himself against you, his lips working gently against yours. You follow his lead, kissing him back while trying not to overthink it.

It's nothing like the kisses in the movies or the books, where fireworks explode behind your eyelids or where your foot pops up in the air. It's far more subdued, more quiet and subtle. But the warmth that pools low in your belly and the goosebumps that erupt on your skin when his tongue slides against the seam of your lips, light and quick, makes you absolutely melt. 

He pulls back before you can really react, and you're left with a dizzying rush of both blistering desire and excruciating anxiety. You want to pull him back in and never let him go. But your heart is beating so fast you can hardly breathe, your nerves are buzzing, and the urge to run and hide is nearly paralyzing. 

"Was it bad?" you ask tentatively, cheeks heated.

"No" he replies, giving your hip a squeeze as a smirk plays on his lips. "It was fucking awful. Worst kiss of my life"

"Shut up!" you hiss, pushing him away with a hand on his chest. He laughs, the sound easing some of the tension in your body. 

"I'm just teasing" he says, voice dropping lower. "C'mere, we can work on it."

His lips find yours again, and you try not to smile into the kiss but it's hard when you can feel the way his lips are quirked up as well. It doesn’t take much else to get you to relax and let yourself fall into the moment, into the gentle press of his mouth and the warm hands on your hip and your cheek. He swipes his tongue against your lips again, his fingers pressing lightly into the hinge of your jaw to tilt your head back and coax your lips apart.

You let him, sighing as his tongue glides across yours, hot and smooth and sweet. Your hands slide up his chest, finding purchase around his shoulders, and when you move forward, pushing yourself against him, he grunts softly but lets you. He kisses you until the both of you are gasping for air, and when he pulls back, his lips are wet and red and you're certain yours must be as well.

"Better?" you ask, a bit breathless.

"Getting there" he answers with, his breath warm where it fans across your cheek. 

"You're such a liar" you say with a goofy smile.

"Yeah, I know. Now try again, practice makes perfect.” 

You roll your eyes but lean back in nonetheless. It's a bit more heated this time, the feeling of his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip making you squirm. His hand rounds over your hip, palm smoothing to the small of your back to pull you closer, the heat of his body radiating through your clothes and warming your skin. Your hands move on their own accord, no thought behind the action as they slide up to his shoulders and then his neck, your fingers finding home in the curls at the base of his skull. When you give them a slight tug, you're rewarded with a muffled grunt from Joel. Emboldened, you pull back, lips swollen and tingling.

"You’re a good kisser,” you pant. "Is that something people usually say?"

"When it’s true" he says, grinning at you. "And since I know you're gonna ask, I'd say that was a C+, maybe a B-."

You scoff but blush furiously at the smile he flashes, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

"Well then, tell me what to do next. What do I need to know?"

Joel hums as he thinks for a moment. 

"What do you want to do?"

You stare at him for a second, blinking.

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you" you say, shaking your head a bit.

"Well, how far do you want to take this?"

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very shy. You can’t deny that when the idea popped in your head it was accompanied by the mental image of you naked, spread out on his bed, but the actual act of asking him, or better yet, actually doing it is... intimidating to say the least. Are you really about to let him go all the way, to see you bare and vulnerable, let him pop your cherry as he would disgustingly put it? All just to “prepare” for a date with a guy who might not even like you that way?

Yeah, probably.

"All the way" you answer. “I want to go all the way” 

He doesn’t pounce on you like you expected, doesn’t press his lips against yours in a frenzied kiss that you had half hoped for. Instead, he simply looks at you, his brown eyes boring into yours, searching.

"Are you sure? You can always say no and you're not gonna lose me as a friend if this isn’t what you actually want. I don’t want you thinking that."

You can't help the laugh that bubbles up and slips out, because of course Joel, your kind, thoughtful Joel, would say that. He's a good man. A great one, even.

"Yes, I'm sure. But if you don't want to, I get it, I can just leave and-"

Joel laughs, the sound traveling up from deep in his chest, the rumble vibrating against you.

"Sweetheart, I wouldn't be doin’ this if I didn't want to. Just makin’ sure this is what you really want."

"I want it.” 

He squeezes your hip and swipes a thumb over your cheekbone once again. 

“Alright then.” He nods, firm and resolute, and then looks around the room. “ We’re not doing it here, though. If you're getting the full Joel Miller experience, we're gonna do it right.” 

Your eyes roll reflexively, but your heart picks up its pace regardless.

"I’m not gonna do anything if you call it that ever again."

"Fine, fine,” he relents. “Let me show you what a good, thorough fucking feels like. Better?"

Your jaw drops, and he's laughing at you, his body shaking with amusement.

"Fuck you" you grumble, shoving him away while trying to hide your coy smile. 

"Yeah, that's what I'm hoping for," he says with a wide, self-assured grin.

"I'm leaving" you declare with a false sense of offense as you rise to your feet. Joel is quick to do the same and before you can take a single step away, he slips a finger through the belt loop of your jeans and tugs you back into him, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"I’ll stop, I’ll stop. I'm sorry" he says, not sounding it one bit.

You huff, but let him pull you closer until you’re pressed against his chest and you have to tilt your head back to look at him.

"I’ll be good. I promise."

"Liar"

"Well, yeah. But I can promise that I'll make you feel good."

You can't help the giggle that spills out and he kisses it away, his lips warm and plush and sweet against yours. The hand not resting on your lower back comes up, curling around the nape of your neck and keeping you close. You sink into him, and the fog creeps in again, dulling the rest of the world, making it seem fuzzy and distant, like the memory of a dream. All you can focus on is him, the warm solid weight of him against you, the strong arms holding you, the way his mouth moves against yours. And then he’s pulling back all too soon and you have to stifle a whine.

"Come on" he says, tugging at your hand.

His bedroom is dim, the little lamp on his nightstand and the faint glow of the moon through the curtains providing the only light. You swallow and take a deep breath as you step inside, your bare toes digging into the plush carpet, his hand warm and large where it grips yours.

He holds onto you as he sits on the edge of the bed. You step forward, letting him pull you between his knees. His hands settle on your hips, and you can feel their heat through the fabric of your shirt.

He doesn’t ask if you're sure again and you’re grateful because you’re not sure if you could form any kind of response right now. Instead, he slides his hands up and under your shirt, fingers dancing across your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps. Your breath hitches as his hands smooth over your ribs and around to your back, the tips of his fingers mapping out the curve of your spine, skimming over each notch and bump. They climb higher, the fabric of your shirt bunching around his wrists. 

“Can I take this off, baby?”

Your heart jumps to your throat but you nod anyway. He grabs the hem and tugs your shirt up and and you lift your arms so he can slip it off over your head. He tosses it aside, the fabric falling to the floor beside the bed. You’re left exposed, vulnerable and bare, save for the worn out bra you wear, a few too many washes and a few years past its prime.

Your hands itch where they hang by your side with the instinct to cover yourself, hide the imperfections that you know so well, the stretch marks, the softness of your stomach, the way the cups of your bra are just a bit too small and spill over the tops.

But then he’s pressing his lips to the space just above your navel, his scruff tickling your skin and making the muscles in your abdomen jump and twitch. His hands find your waist again, and when his lips continue their path upwards, his palms follow, skimming up your sides, thumbs tracing the outline of your ribs before stopping at the band of your bra.

"This too?" he asks, voice quiet and husky.

"Yeah" you answer with a squeak, and he grins like a kid in a candy store.

His fingers undo the clasp deftness that makes your knees go weak, the straps slipping from your shoulders and the whole thing sliding down your arms, landing somewhere near your shirt. 

"God, baby, look at you" he murmurs, his hands cupping the underside of your breasts, his thumbs sweeping over the tops and then down the slope and around your nipple. Your breath hitches, the gentle touch sending a shiver up your spine. "You're fucking perfect."

The praise is unexpected and it sends a jolt of heat through your core. You whimper quietly and his hands are on you again, the calloused palms rough on the soft skin of your breasts. He kneads the flesh, squeezing gently before rolling your nipples between his fingers, pulling and pinching and teasing. 

He pulls you closer and ducks his head, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes dark and hooded, and his pupils blown wide with desire.

"Can I?" he asks.

"Please."

He leans in and wraps his lips around a peaked nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, the gentle heat of his mouth on your skin making your knees weak.

His mouth works on one breast, tongue flicking and teasing while his free hand continues its work on the other. Pleasure builds and coils deep inside, the sensation unfamiliar but certainly not unwelcome. You whimper and he pulls away, releasing your nipple with a wet pop before giving it a sweet parting kiss.

He turns his attention to the other, his teeth grazing over the stiff peak and drawing a whine from your lips. He sighs when your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling at the strands until he groans softly against you. He sucks your other nipple into his mouth, the flat of his tongue pressing against it and dragging up and around, swirling and flicking. You’re already breathless, panting, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your forehead.

"Feels good, Joel," you whisper shyly. 

"I know, honey" he says, a soft smile pulling at his lips when he pulls away. "Feel good anywhere else?"

He doesn't wait for a response, simply slips a hand between your thighs, cupping you through the denim, the simple action making you squeak.

"Here, huh?" he says, the heel of his palm pressing against you.

You gasp softly and nod, biting your lip, too shy to say anything.

"Get on the bed, baby."

You comply, crawling onto the mattress and scooting backwards towards the pillows, sitting at the head of the bed as you watch him. His eyes never leave you as he pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor. Your heart thumps as you stare at his bare chest, his tanned skin dotted with a light dusting of salt and pepper hair. He's broad, his shoulders thick and chest solid. Your fingers burn with the urge to reach out and touch him, so you do, extending a tentative, slightly shaky hand.

He watches you closely, eyes flitting down to the palm pressed against his chest before meeting yours again, his mouth curling into a smile.

"You can touch" he says, reaching down to curl a hand around your wrist and bringing it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the center of your palm before guiding your hand back down to his chest. "I think most people would enjoy that."

"You're having entirely too much fun with this,” you mumble while your fingers spread out across his pec.  

"It is fun" he counters, his own hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, thumb pressing against the seam of your jeans and rubbing up and down. "But it'll be more fun once these come off"

Your lips part, a puff of air rushing out.

"You gonna take them off?" you ask, the words slipping out, bold and unbidden.

He grins, his brow quirking up.

"Look at you, being all bossy"

"You like it" you say, finally feeling some of the anxiety slipping away, the familiar and comfortable banter between the two of you slipping into place in a new, unfamiliar situation.

His smile takes up nearly his whole face as moves closer. 

“I sure do.” 

He looms over you, bracing himself on an elbow next to your head before ducking down to kiss you, his tongue easily slipping into your mouth, warm and insistent. You sigh into it, your hands finding the warm, bare skin of his back, muscles gliding beneath your palms as you slide them up and around, fingertips digging into his shoulders. He's so warm and solid and you can't help the little noise that slips out, a soft, needy moan. You're about to break the kiss and beg him to touch you, give you something, anything, but he pulls back before you can. 

"Impatient. I like that too" he says, voice barely above a whisper.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin. He continues his path, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across your collarbones and down the valley between your breasts, his beard tickling your sternum.

His palm presses into the top of your thigh, and you instinctively open your legs for him, his hand immediately moving to cup you through the denim, thick fingers pressing against the seam and the bundle of nerves just below. Your hips rock up, seeking more pressure and he grins, entirely too pleased with himself right now.

You huff, and he laughs, the sound rumbling in his chest, but he relents, undoing the button and zipper of your jeans and tugging the fabric down, revealing the pair of pink panties underneath. 

Joel sits up, pulling your jeans down your legs and letting them drop off the side of the bed, the sound of the denim hitting the floor indicating that you've officially crossed a line that neither of you can come back from. But if the hungry, desperate look on his face and the way you're practically vibrating underneath him are any indication, neither of you want to.

"I'll start with just my fingers, yeah?" he says, his hands running up the insides of your thighs, touch light and teasing, the tips of his fingers brushing the edge of your panties. You nod dumbly, at a complete loss for words right now.

He ducks his head, his lips landing on the smooth skin stretched over your hip bone. You squirm, ticklish, and he grins. His mouth is a great distraction from his hand, which has found its way back in between your legs, his fingers now pressing against damp fabric.

"Shit" he curses, his touch firm. "Fuckin' soaked already. Am I just that good?" he quips with a smirk.

"Jesus do you ever shut up" you gripe, but the effect is ruined by the whimper that escapes you when his thumb sweeps up, pressing hard against your clit. 

"Oh, that's a pretty sound" he murmurs, repeating the motion to pull out another one, your hips bucking against his hand.

"Now," he starts, his tone shifting to the same one he uses when he's about to impart some life lesson. "This guy you're gonna see, or any man for that matter, should always take care of you before himself. That's just common fuckin' sense. And if he doesn't, you send him on his way" he continues. "Because a man that don't wanna see a woman get off is no fuckin' man at all"

You're about to interrupt, tell him he's an idiot and ask him to please, please, get on with it, but his fingers sliding under the elastic of your panties, swiftly pulling them down your legs steals the breath from your lungs. Your pulse sky rockets and you shift underneath him, crossing your thighs in instinctual effort to hide yourself from him. 

"M'sorry I didn't shave or anything" you blurt out, your throat tight with anxiety and embarrassment once again 

Joel just shakes his head as he pries your legs apart.

"Baby, I could not give less of a shit about that."

"But-"

"No" he says, the word firm, an edge of command to his tone. "You’re not apologizin’ for that. And if a man gives a shit, he's a fuckin' child who doesn't deserve the honor of bein' between these thighs" he says, pushing your knees further apart.

You nod and bite your lip, the words that are just so very Joel, settling in your chest and easing the tension in your body. You let out a long, slow breath and relax, trying to ease the nervousness.

"There ya go" he says, his fingers dancing along your slit, gathering the slick pooling there. You shudder at the gentle touch, your hips rolling up just a bit before you force them back down into the mattress, trying to keep yourself still.

"Nuh-uh. None of that" he says, immediately noticing the movement. He slides his free hand under you, his palm pushing into the small of your back and encouraging you to move again, to lean into your pleasure. "You take what you want, baby. Show me how good it feels. That's all I wanna see."

You squirm and whimper, the simple, almost lazy touch driving you insane. You've touched yourself before, brought yourself over the edge while imagining what it would be like to have the things you read about and watch in videos happen to you. But you've never managed to make yourself feel this good, never felt pleasure so intense, never felt a burning pressure in your abdomen so demanding that it radiates all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes.

And he's barely touched you.

"How's that feel?"

You can't even form the words, so you just nod and hum, the sound a mix of a whimper and a moan, your hips rolling up against his palm. He chuckles, and then the pressure increases, the friction building, his fingers slipping down, collecting more of your wetness to ease the drag against your skin.

He moves his fingers down, down, down, the tip of one circling your entrance, gathering the wetness pooling there. You whine loudly, any shame and modesty you once had replaced entirely with desperate need and pure desire.

"Please, Joel" you whisper, voice shaky.

"I gotcha" he says, dipping his fingertip in, just barely, and pulling a moan from deep in your chest. "Gonna give you what you need"

You groan, a long, low sound as he slowly sinks his finger into you. It's nothing like your own, so perfectly thick and long/ And you found the spot before, the spot that he curls his finger up into, but never at this angle, never with the perfect amount of pressure that he's applying right now. 

"Mmm, look at that" he coos as you clench tightly around his finger.

"Joel, god, feels so good" you whimper pathetically. 

"I know, honey, I know."

You clench again, the cockiness and self-assured attitude that usually gets under your skin now ignites your whole body in an entirely different way. He keeps his eyes on your face, watching as your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth drops open, your head tipping back as the pleasure builds.

"Another" you beg, the fullness not nearly enough.

"Greedy girl" he chides, but he pulls his finger out, and slides two back in. You swear that you could come from this alone, but he doesn't let you, the hand that was supporting your lower back disappearing, only to reappear between your thighs, his thumb circling your clit with firm, steady strokes.

White hot pleasure wraps around the base of your spine, the dual sensations of his fingers and his thumb sending you spiraling. The sounds falling from your lips are unrecognizable, high and desperate as your mind goes blissfully blank, your entire focus on the heat coiling in your abdomen. Your eyebrows pinch together and you bury your face in the pillow next to your head, trying to hide the ridiculous expression you're surely making, but you inhale the traces of his shampoo and cologne that cling to the fabric, the scent pushing you even closer to the edge. 

You try to hold back. Surely you're not supposed to come this quickly, not just from two fingers and a thumb. Surely that's a sign that you're an easy lay, or too inexperienced, or-

"Just let it happen, baby. I can feel it, Just let go" Joel says, his voice cutting through the thoughts racing through your mind, his fingers crooking inside you and dragging across the spot that makes your hips stutter and a cry fall from your lips.

You can't hold back any longer, the pleasure cresting and crashing down around you. You squeeze his fingers, your back arching, the heels of your feet digging into the mattress as you roll your hips up into his touch, seeking more and more and more. And he gives and gives and gives, working you through it and drawing it out for as long as he can before you melt into the mattress, bones and muscles liquid and warm and satisfied.

He pulls his fingers out, and the sudden emptiness draws a disappointed whine from you, his answering chuckle making you smile.

"That was- fuck" you sigh, not quite capable of coherent thought.

"Absolutely mind-blowing? Yeah I know" he teases. You roll your eyes but don't say anything because it's true, and his cocky grin fades into a soft smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches you return to Earth. 

"Can I- can I return the favor?" you ask, your gaze flicking down to the noticeable bulge in his jeans.

He grunts and shakes his head.

"Not yet. Got somethin' else in mind."

You frown and push yourself up onto your elbows, watching as he shifts from his position. You're about to ask what he's going to do until he's settling himself on his stomach between your thighs. You suck in a sharp breath as you realize exactly what he's got planned and your heart jumps, anxiety clouding your mind once again. 

He rests his cheek on your thigh, his eyes meeting yours.

"Alright?"

You swallow and nod, licking your lips.

"Yeah. Just... no one's ever-"

"Yeah, I got that much, that's why we're here" he says, smiling smugly when you glare at him. 

"But what if it's not good? Or I don't taste good? Or-"

"Stop" he says, the single word halting your runaway train of thought. "You need lessons in relaxing, not sex. You're so fucking tense all the time"

"Sorry" you say, immediately cringing.

He sighs, his breath ghosting over the skin of your inner thigh, making you shiver. "What did I say about apologizin'?" he says, his tone slightly sharp.

"I know. Sorry- shit, sorry! Fuck!"

He barks out a laugh and you huff, bringing up both hands to scrub over your face.

"See what I mean?"

"Yes, yes, you're very smart and know everything"

He hums and nips at your thigh.

"Damn right I do."

You want to snark back, but his mouth is moving, his lips trailing down the inside of your thigh and towards where you're aching for him, slick and wet and throbbing. He takes his time, laying kisses on your thighs, hips, and stomach, his scruff scraping the sensitive skin, huffing out a laugh when you start to squirm, your patience wearing thin.

His hands smooth over the soft flesh of your inner thighs, urging you to spread them wider before spreading you open with his thumbs, exposing you completely. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and the urge to close your legs and hide yourself from his gaze is overwhelming, the embarrassment making your skin burn. But before you can even think about closing them, his tongue is on you, sliding up the length of you and circling your clit. The moan that escapes you is embarrassingly loud and high pitched, but the mortification is easily swallowed up by the pleasure.

He hums against you, the sound and the feeling sending a shudder through your body. Your hands grip the pillow behind your head and you try not to buck up into his mouth, but your attempts are futile. He doesn't seem to mind though, in fact you think it spurs him on, his tongue flattening against you and lapping at you messily, the wetness he's coaxed from you smearing across his mouth and chin.

The sound is lewd and obscene, the sloppy, slick noises and the soft grunts and groans that rumble in his chest as he works you up. He pulls back, his breath coming out in pants, his chest heaving as he looks up at you, his eyes dark and hooded.

"Don't know what you were worried about" he says, his voice low and raspy. "You taste fuckin' divine"

His beard is shiny and damp, his lips glistening, hair messy from where your fingers were tangled in it. The sight of him looking so completely disheveled and filthy has you clenching around nothing, the ache almost too much to bear.

He doesn't say anything else, just ducks his head and gets back to work, his mouth moving with a renewed urgency, his hands gripping your thighs and pushing them further apart, allowing him better access.

Your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open, a constant stream of moans and whines and babbling pleas and praises falling from your lips, but you're not really sure what you're saying, not really sure of anything except the intoxicating pleasure coursing through your veins.

You hear him moan, can feel the vibration against your skin, and you glance down at him, and that's a mistake. The sight of him, his eyes closed and brows drawn together in concentration, his cheeks hollowed out as he sucks and nips and laps at you and– is he fucking grinding his hips into the mattress?

You're fucked.

A throaty moan tumbles past your lips as your hips start to rock, a rhythm forming as you chase your orgasm. His hands leave your thighs and he slides one arm up, the weight of it resting against your abdomen to keep you still while his other hand snakes down, fingers dipping inside again, finding the spot that makes you see stars.

"Fuck, Joel, please, oh my god, I'm so- please"

He groans in response, the hand on your stomach pressing down harder to meet the two fingers curling and stroking inside of you. You cry out at the increased pressure right as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around the bud, his fingers moving faster and faster. Flames lick up your spine and spread throughout your body, threatening to burn you alive. 

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, knocking the wind out of you and turning your limbs to jello. Wave after wave of blinding euphoria crashes over you and all you can do is cling to the pillow and arch your back, your toes curling as he continues to work his fingers and tongue, happily letting you ride his face and grind into his mouth.

He doesn't let up, not until you're a whimpering, trembling mess, physically pushing his head away when it becomes too much. He pulls back reluctantly, a wicked grin plastered to his face, his chin and mouth absolutely soaked. You're panting, struggling to catch your breath as the aftershocks make you shiver despite the content warmth spreading throughout your entire body.You feel sated and sleepy, a bone deep satisfaction making you feel boneless. 

But as you come down from your high, rational thoughts start to filter in and you suddenly remember the reason this all started in the first place.

You're here to learn, he should be teaching you how to please a man.

How to please him. 

You watch as he gets off the bed and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. Your eyes shamelessly rake over him, the dusty pink flush that decorates his neck and chest, the curve of his belly down to the impressive bulge in his jeans. 

You push yourself up, ignoring the way your arms tremble with the effort. He looks at you, his eyes scanning your face no doubt looking for signs of distress.

"You ok?" he asks, eyebrows pinched together in his typical concerned Joel fashion.

"Yeah" you say, a little breathlessly. "But I still want to..."

Your voice trails off and you glance down at his crotch, hoping he gets the message.

"That's alright, baby. It's a lot, we don't-"

"No" you interrupt, a hint of desperation in your voice. "You said you would teach me. Please, Joel. I-I wanna learn" You hope it's a good enough cover to the fact that you really just want him, your original goal forgotten. "I just don't want to embarrass myself" you add, pouting slightly for good measure, praying to god that he can’t detect the underlying want for him and him only.

He watches you for a moment, seemingly contemplating his decision. And then his eyes narrow, because of course he knows. There's never been an instance where you succeeded in lying to this man. He always, always knows when something is off.

"Alright" he says, a slow smile spreading across his face, something mischievous sparkling in his eyes. "Dick sucking class is now in session"

You groan, your face twisting with visible disgust.

"Oh my god, that was terrible."

"What? It's true" he says with a shrug.

"That is- no, no way. Never say those words ever again. Ever." you say, pointing a finger at him accusingly.

"Or what?" he challenges, taking a step towards the bed.

You gulp and lick your lips.

"Or..."

He waits expectantly for a response. You have none, so you just shake your head and look away.

"Yeah, that's what I thought"

You glare at him and then sigh.

"You're a bully"

"Am I?” He asks, taking a step back to give you more room. “ 'Cause you're the one that asked me to teach ya. On your knees, kid. Let's see whatcha got."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress a grin. You don't know how he does it, but his ability to make a joke or a quip out of anything always has a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, even when the jokes are awful and the puns are terrible. Even when the joke is about you getting ready to suck his dick. 

"You're a bully and a pervert" you say, sliding off the bed and sliding to your knees, the plush carpet doing a decent job at protecting your joints.

"And proud of it.”

"Pride is a sin."

"So is premarital sex, so I'll see you in hell, honey"

You snort and look up at him from your place on the floor, grinning widely.

"You're ridiculous"

"You love it"

And that's the thing, isn't it?

Because you do. You love his innate ability to make you laugh, to make you smile even when he's about to take your fucking virginity. He knows how to comfort you, how to put you at ease, when to push you with his teasing and when to pull back and let you take control. You've never met a person who has so effortlessly made their way into your heart.

And here you are, on your knees for him under the false pretense of practicing for a man who's name you can't even remember right now.

You shake your head, the motion clearing the thoughts and the emotions that were swirling in your head, the ones that make you want to stand up and kiss him, kiss him until your lips are numb and you're left gasping for air.

"Joel?" you say his name softly.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Teach me."

Part 2 is already in the works I promise hehehe thank you for reading I hope u all enjoy!!