#it just seems like more trouble than it’s worth

[sanjisleggy]

take care of you (trafalgar law x reader)

summary: Trafalgar Law discovers you’ve been hiding a severe injury from him

a/n: another req from the end of dec last year! back then i still wasn’t very confident with Law’s character but i think i should be good enough with it now :3c

contents: pre-relationship, descriptions of bodily wounds, infection, angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, very soft!Law

wc. 1.5k

wanna be on my taglist?

the first thought that comes to mind when you wake up in the infirmary feeling super groggy and sore is: “fuck.” pulling aside the blanket draped over you reveals an impeccably clean, fresh bandage wrapped firmly around your torso where, the last you remember, underneath it lays a gunshot wound you hoped the others would never find out about 

you can barely recall the lightheadedness and nausea you felt before you passed out. it turns out re-stitching and re-dressing your own infected wound is a lot harder than doing it for someone else, especially when you have to muffle your groans of pain during the process

you’d gotten the injury during a battle against enemy pirates and you’d decided that since the bullet made a clean exit, you needn’t bother your captain for medical assistance–especially since, at the time, he was busy helping the Straw Hat’s doctor with the more severely-wounded allies. having some experience doing first aid, you foolishly assumed you’d be able to handle it all on your own, that it was a small matter not worth adding to your captain’s already-overflowing plate

on top of the bedside table sits a jug and two plastic cups, one of which looked like it’s been used. there’re also numerous boxes of different medication and a handwritten note that says “do NOT leave this room until you’ve finished your entire course of medication” in Law’s familiar handwriting

knowing that he’s aware of your state–and most likely the person who treated you to begin with–eases your anxiety a little. at least now you don’t have to stress over hiding it from him and your other crewmates 

what doesn’t help with your nerves is how for the following week you spend recovering, you don’t see Law at all. everyone else has taken turns coming in to spend time with you: Bepo takes naps with you, Shachi brings you comics to read together and Penguin sneaks you little snacks but not once has your captain shown up at all. your crewmates don’t seem too keen on talking about him when they’re with you, too, which only means one thing: he’s super pissed

you begin to worry and overthink as you near the end of your mandatory bedrest, dreading the inevitable moment Law finally shows up and you have to face the consequences of causing even more trouble for him than if you’d just asked for help right after the battle a week ago

it gets worse when you’re alone with no one to distract you from any intrusive thoughts. what if he thinks i don’t trust him to be my captain? what if this ruins his view of me as his crew member permanently? what if he kicks me out of the crew entirely?

you end up lamely falling asleep with tears staining your face and end up in such deep sleep that–like every night before–you don’t stir at all when Law enters the room and takes a seat by your bedside. he sighs deeply and rubs his face, eyes burning from sleep deprivation, as he leans back in the chair and readies himself for yet another whole night to watching over you and leaving right before the sun rises

Law notices your tears and feels a pang in his chest as he recalls a conversation he had earlier with Penguin; the latter had asked him to come see you while you’re awake since it’s obvious to everyone you’re worried he’s mad at you

“i’m just saying, Captain, it might be better to clear the air sooner or later,” Penguin said as he scratched the back of his neck. “(Y/N)’s been looking more miserable by the day.”

“good. she should be.” Law’s response comes out a lot colder than he wanted it to but Penguin knew him well enough to understand that. “what was she thinking hiding an injury like that? had she hidden it any longer or if Bepo hadn’t found her passed out in her room that day, a near-fatal fever would’ve kicked in at any moment!”

he stopped himself before he could get even more riled up, knowing it wasn’t Penguin’s fault so he shouldn’t be suffering the brunt of his captain’s fury.

as he sits in the darkness of the infirmary, the room only barely illuminated by the moonlight shining in through the open window, Law thinks about what he held back from saying aloud: how learning that you’d fallen unconscious with a badly infected wound made him question everything he thought he knew about his capabilities as a captain

he knows he doesn’t need to sit by your side every night–and deprive himself of much-needed sleep–but he’s deadly paranoid. just a week ago he’d ignorantly assumed his crew members were fine and directed all his attention to Luffy’s crew, only to find out days later you’d been walking around with a bullet hole through your body this entire time 

what if i’m missing something else? he wonders, eyebrows furrowing as he rapidly blinks away the sleepiness in his eyes. what if her condition worsens if i leave? 

giving in to temptation, he picks up your hand and holds it carefully, before idly running his thumb over your knuckles and the individual joints of your fingers. it’s something you do to him often, especially during the nights when he shows up to your room unannounced, silently pleading for company

you aren’t dating. not yet, at least. though it’s obvious to the two of you–as well as everyone else–that your relationship doesn’t quite fall under the category of ‘friends’, either. for a while now, you’ve been something in between for him; someone whose opinion of him he’s more sensitive about and whose company he yearns for any time you’re not within his sight. he knows you feel the same way, too, from how you spend all of your free time ‘bothering him’ endlessly to how willingly you let him crawl into bed beside you when he needs your warmth and companionship to keep away the nightmares

Law’s pulled out of his own thoughts when he catches a glimpse of the tears still clinging to your face, the moonlight having reflected off the wet surface in a way that caught his attention. without thinking, he reaches out to dry them only for your eyes to flutter open once his fingers make contact with your cheeks

“Law?” you croak and almost instantly he begins pouring a cup of water for you before bringing it to your lips. wordlessly, you drink as he tilts the cup gently, careful not to spill anything. there’s an odd pause between the both of you when he places the cup back on the bedside table and then turns back to looking at you without saying a thing. 

he catches the way you fiddle anxiously with a corner of your blanket and a single word fumbles clumsily out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

“sorry.”

you look at him, confused. he swallows thickly.

“i’m sorry i haven’t come to see you. i heard from the others you think i’m mad at you.”

“are you, though?” you reply, biting your lip. “mad at me?”

Law sighs and rubs his face again. “no,” he answers honestly. “i’m mad at myself for not noticing sooner.”

“i’m so sorry,” you gasp suddenly before fresh tears begin pouring down your face. he panics internally and  reaches out towards you almost as if to grab your shoulders but he pauses before any contact is made, his hands hovering over you. “i’m sorry i hid it from you and the others, i just didn’t want to cause you any trouble but i just ended up making things even worse.” you wipe frantically at your face, almost embarrassed to be crying about such a thing in front of your captain.

“no, no, (Y/N),” Law shushes, finally finding the courage to touch you, resting his large hands on your shoulders before squeezing gently in an attempt to ground you. “don’t cry. i forgive you, okay? just don’t hide such a thing again. it’s my duty to take care of you. it’ll never feel like trouble, no matter how busy i am.”

you nod as you sniffle and smile wobbly at him and the sight sends an arrow straight through his chest. his heart begins to race when you reach out as if asking for a hug.

“sleep with me tonight? and maybe tomorrow night, too?” you ask softly in such an innocent manner it knocks the wind right out of his lungs. not trusting himself to speak without fumbling like an idiot, Law simply responds with a smile and a nod before crawling into bed beside you.

the infirmary bed is much smaller than your personal one–seeing as it’s made for only one adult–but neither of you have an issue with the proximity forced upon you two due to the lack of space. if anything, you welcome it happily, humming with content when you feel him wrap his arms firmly around you, holding you pressed to his firm chest. Law buries his face in your hair as he feels you nuzzle into the junction of his neck while he falls into some much needed sleep. 

gen taglist: @irethepotato @i-reblog-fics-i-like @grierpilots @appalost @hyper-fic-ation @dressycobra7 @38lyra38 @chaseyui @paraparakiss @krooschl @teewon @olliesoxenfree @misstraffy @riftmage27 @aletch @somatchajade @kitsunechan707 @thesmolestsage @lunaizhere @saint-atlas @goldenpanda16 @Jordan03400 @rebeccawinters @glorywielder101 @slytherinambitious @the0twst0shrimp0mc

[namgyu-nurture]

request!!!

ok so i get if your not comfortable with writing about this but can you write a fic about where the female reader is at a bridge ready to fall and somebody sees and calls the police and jun ho is the officer to respond, that’s all i really thought of but you got to off make them fall in love because the reader is stunning 🤩

Last minute love - Hwang Jun-ho x fem!reader

Warnings: a lot of suicidal thoughts!! Self harm, depression, mentions of bullying, fluff

A/N: im sorry if this is short or didnt get the exact thing you were looking for, but I was really happy to get a junho request actually hes so fine I love that guy 💪💪 tysm for this this was so fun to write

Life was hard. You were always bullied in school. Teased, harassed, humiliated, kids thought it was funny to make you cry. You were nothing but nice. Eating lunch alone in the school bathrooms, standing alone at break. You were pushed, shoved, kicked when going anywhere, you had tried to consult a councillor but they seemed to like your bullies more, ignoring your claims since you didn’t have proof.

You never understood why kids hated you so much. You weren’t exactly ugly, you had a glimmer of self confidence, looks wise at least. Maybe the way you acted? But you barely spoke. This is what riled you up. People despised you.. and for what reason?

Even as an adult, you were unlucky. No man ever looked your way, you always seemed to come second in hiring. Being broke and lonely you hated life, you always tried in school but your grades weren’t enough, you were a failure.

So here you are. Sat on the edge of the bridge, the busy highway flooded with cars moving by, the motion was a blur. You sat contemplating. ‘I should just jump. Get it over with’ you thought to yourself. You were so drained, afraid of dying but life wasn’t much better than dying anyway.

You sat for a while, just dangling your legs, hyping yourself up enough to jump. ‘Fucking wimp.’ You thought, looking at your hands that were cowering at the thought of jumping, your heart was pounding.

Unbeknownst to you, a man who had driven by noticed this situation, not fully sure if it was going to escalate but to be safe he rang the police. Alerting them.

You sat looking down. ‘Would the fall even kill you?’ You thought. It looked like it would, but the thought of it not killing you on impact made you hesitate, what if you didn’t die, but survived, the pain from the impact making your stomach churn.

Through the midsts of white/yellowy lights from headlights on the bridge and the musky orange light from the lampposts, you saw a flicker of red and blue lights approaching.

Panicking, when the car pulled over and a police officer came out, you gained composure and stood up. Shaking slightly as the heights of the situation increased.

“Excuse me miss.” A calm voice rang out, over the noise of the passing by cars. You turned to look at him, still stood on the edge of the bridge.

He was youngish, maybe in his 30s realistically but he looked younger. He was handsome, his dark hair parted neatly, his uniform was tidy and his eyes looked into yours from the distance he was stood.

“Can you step down from there?” He called out again, his tone was calm, well spoken and polite.

“..no.” You replied quietly. “No, I won’t.. leave..go away” your voice spiking in panic.

“Miss, please step down, you’re not in trouble. I just want to have a word with you.” He said kindly. Stepping forward and offering you a hand to step down.

He felt a twinge of anger that someone like you would be here, on the edge of the bridge, an urge of protection for you, he wasn’t sure why, he thought you were gorgeous. He didn’t know you, but he’d hate to see you go.

“W-why should I? Huh?” You responded angrily, “s’ not like life’s gonna be worth living anytime soon. I should just get it over with right? No one likes me anyway. I don’t know what the fuck I did but they all hate me.” Your voice cracked in upset as you ranted. You had a smile, a clearly forced one, as if amused by what you must’ve done to be here now.

Your eyes told a different story, the man noticed the hurt, the held back anguish. “You should step down because nothings going to resolve your problems if you die. Your mother would be heartbroken. If you want things to get better you need to resolve them.. be strong. Come on.” He spoke clearly, with a soft tone, he insisted his hand. And she looked at him. “Please.” He insisted once again.

She thought about his words and hesitantly took his hand. She stepped down, her sleeve riding up when she held his hand. Years of scars and burns littered her wrist, it shattered his heart to look at. Someone so beautiful being so.. hurt.

She noticed him looking and yanked her hand away, pulling her sleeve down. “Got a good look yeah?” She said spitefully.

“Im sorry.” He spoke, aware he was wrong for looking so long. “Would you like to talk? speak about whats on your mind?” He offered to which she shook her head.

A moment of silence passed.

“Could.. could I have a hug..?” She asked quietly, and he opened his arms. She wrapped her arms loosely around his midsection. One of his hands rested on her head, the other on her back.

“It’s going to be okay.” He said soothingly.

“Will it?” Your voice broke softly as you looked up at him.

“I’ll make sure of it.” He said softly to her making eye contact

“Promise?” She asked quietly.

“I promise.” He responded promisingly.

[burningembers91]

Seeking Attention - Hong Woo-Jin x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Hong Woo-Jin has a thing for the new Pilates instructor at the gym. But as someone who’s been left broken hearted one too many times, you’re going to make the cocky boxer work for your attention.

Hong Woo-Jin had always been a cocky bastard. He’d always been confident, and loud, the life and soul of the party. He constantly went out of his way to make people laugh, and it was forever getting him in trouble. Throughout school he’d been in detention more times than he could count, and as an adult his brash attitude had gotten him into hot water many times. But Woo-Jin couldn’t help it; he felt like he needed to be loud; being loud was better than being quiet and alone with his thoughts.

He’d always struggled with self-worth, never quite feeling good enough for the people around him. No matter what he did, he was a constant source of disappointment to his father. Growing up, he’d started to act out as a way of getting attention from the man he looked up to most. He knew it wasn’t clever, knew the plan was doomed to fail, but he was so desperate for acknowledgment from his father, no matter how much trouble he had to get in to receive it. The loudmouth troublemaker persona had stuck with him, and Woo-Jin didn’t know how to snap out of it. Every time he felt himself falter, every time he felt his self-worth slip, he’d crack a joke and pull some crazy stunt to convince himself he was doing just fine.

But sometimes the only thing that could halt the voice in his head was boxing. He’d started boxing as a child, another way he desperately sought the affection of his father. He had a natural talent, and although it still wasn’t enough to please the man who had raised him, Woo-Jin was hooked. Every spare second he had was spent at the gym, honing and crafting his skills. He won every fight, had medals and trophies adoring his walls and shelving, but it still wasn’t enough for his dad. He craved love and affection, but had never quite managed to find it.

He’d never had a problem with women, always able to get a date, but never quite able to get them to stick around. Woo-Jin told himself he was happy to live life as a bachelor, but his nights were so lonely.

When you joined as instructor at the Pilates studio across the hall from his boxing gym, Woo-Jin was determined to win you over. But you were unlike anyone he’d met before. You didn’t fall for his cheesy chat up lines, didn’t giggle at his jokes. You’d roll your eyes and sigh, and try your best to hide your smile.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Woo-Jin, but you’d been burned one too many times, and you didn’t want to open yourself up to the inevitable heartbreak you knew would come.

Your classes coincided with his training, and the two of you interacted most days. You were funny, smart, witty and beautiful, and Woo-Jin so badly wanted the chance to make you happy. But you were a tough nut to crack, the one woman who seemed able to resist his charm. He wondered if he was losing his touch.

“What do you reckons tougher?” He asked one day, in a last ditch attempt to impress you. “Boxing, or Pilates?”

You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly what he was doing. “Pilates. Definitely Pilates.”

“Oh yeah?” Woo-Jin took a swig of his water bottle, his bare chest and torso glistening with sweat. You purposely avoided looking, not willing to admit to yourself how good he looked.

“Do you think I’d be any good?” He smiled, flexing his biceps.

“Well, if you sign up for my class and pay the entry fee, we’ll see,” you winked, before heading outside to your car.

You came in the next day to find Woo-Jin’s name on your next class sign up sheet, the entry fee pushed under the studio door. This man was unrelenting, but you felt your stomach flip.

If Woo-Jin was so desperate to impress you, you’d make him work for it.

[messyloverr]

"Underneath the Scowl"

Katsuki Bakugou x GN!Reader

Summary: You're an exchange student striving to become one of the best hero's in the world. As you're there you meet Katsuki Bakugou, and make it one of your goals to prove yourself to him despite his harsh attitude. Through intense training and perseverance, Bakugou begins to respect you, and what seemed like an unlikely friendship eventually blossoms into love.

Author's note: This is probably gonna turn into a series if anybody acc likes it. Also I haven't written a story in forever so im sorry to whoevers reading if this is shitty ! i wrote this for myself but decided to publish incase somebody else likes this super simple idea ;p

Katsuki Bakugou was a man of certainty—he almost never had any doubts about anything in his life. That was, of course, until you came along. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, he knew you'd be trouble.

You arrived as an exchange student alongside Pony Tsunotori, a good friend of yours. She was placed in class 1-B, which meant you'd be transferred into class 1-A. You weren't thrilled about being split up, but you knew that this way, you'd have a better shot at becoming a pro-hero.

The first day was rough—well, mostly for you. The rest of the students were welcoming, greeting you with smiles, showing you around, and offering you a seat next to them during class and lunch. But one person stood out: a blonde, crimson-eyed man who caught your attention.

You tried approaching him, noticing a small group of students surrounding him, which made you think he was just shy—much like Kyoka Jirou or Koji Koda, who had only introduced themselves after the pressure of their peers.

To your surprise, he made it clear that he had no interest in being friendly. So, you turned to Kirishima, who you'd spoken to briefly before.

"Hey, Kirishima!" you smiled as you walked up to him. "I hope it's not a problem, but do you think you could help introduce me to the others? I'm not sure if I've met everyone yet." You whispered the last part subtly, making sure it was clear you were talking about the spiky-haired man a few inches away.

Kirishima glanced between you and the man standing just inches away. He made an attempt to introduce you, but Bakugo quickly dismissed the gesture by ignoring the both of you entirely. "Don't mind him, Y/N," Kirishima said with a nervous chuckle. "Bakugou's just...well, bakugou." He offered a warm smile, hoping to ease the awkward tension. "He'll come around. You're brave for trying to talk to him, though. I mean, people usually avoid him at first..." He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a light laugh.

"He can be a little intimidating at first, but once you get to know him, he's actually a great guy!" Kirishima continued, his voice carrying a sense of optimism.

You paused for a moment, wondering if it was worth the effort to keep trying. You quickly snapped out of it, reminding yourself of your purpose here: to become a hero. The first step? Bakugou. You had seen him in action during the sports festival and were eager on seeing him and his quirk up close.

The following days were the hardest . You tried your best to fit in with your classmates, but you couldn't shake off the feeling that Bakugou's fiery glares and constant scowls were tracking your every move. Everyone else seemed fine with your presence, he was the only person who didn't. He remained an impenetrable wall of hostility, and the more he avoided you, the stronger your curiosity grew.

He certainly didn't make it easy. Every time you tried to strike a conversation, he simply shut you down cold.

"Tch, I'm not here for this." or, "Why don't you go and bother someone else?"

Despite his words, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to him than his tough exterior led to believe. Beneath his aggressive attitude, you'd sensed a burning determination—the relentless drive to become a true hero, no matter who or what stood in his way,

One afternoon, after class, you found yourself sitting on the steps of the U.A. dorms. You needed a moment to let the weight of everything settle and to clear your head. As you gazed up at the sky, an uneasiness tugged at your chest, as though you didn't truly belong here.

Suddenly, you heard a familiar voice.

"Tch, you really gonna sit out here like some lost puppy?"

You turned in surprise, finding Bakugou standing with his arms crossed, gazing at you like usual, but with an odd softness in his eyes.

You let out a light chuckle, trying to keep things light-hearted. "I'm not some lost puppy, just thinking... It's been a lot, you know?"

"Yeah, I get it" He muttered, his tone softer than you'd ever heard it. "Things here are tough. But don't act like you're all alone."

For a moment, you stared at him in disbelief. You never expected him to be the one to offer comfort. Much less stand there talking to you. And for a second, you swore you saw a flicker in his eyes, of something beneath his fiery exterior. His true self? Maybe.

Before you could respond, he turned away, his usual edge creeping back into his voice. "Don't get any ideas, you just pissed me off less than usual today. I've got one goal: becoming the number one hero. And I'm not gonna let some extra get in my way." He muttered.

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips as he walked away. Despite his harsh words, you counted this as a small victory. You had shared a real conversation, and that alone felt like progress.

As the days passed, you noticed something had shifted. Bakugou's gaze was different—It wasn't his usual cold, hostile glare you'd grown used to. This time, there was something subtle about it, something you couldn't quite put your finger on.

Sometimes, his eyes occasionally lingered on you, and he wouldn't look away. It was as if he didn't like the connection but couldn't help himself. In fact, his whole demeanor had changed subtly. Surprisingly, when no one was looking, he would give you the briefest nod of acknowledgement as you passed by in the halls. It wasn't much, but it was a small sign that something had changed.

The real turning point came during a training exercise. Your class was split into teams for a mock battle, the goal being to teach everyone how to cooperate with other unexpected hero's in high-pressure circumstances . The moment you saw your teammate, your heart sank—Bakugou.

[holy3cake]

Hello, Trouble

Chapters: 2/2

Fandom: Boarders

Rating: Explicit (only part 2)

Pairing: Rupert x Male Reader

Summary: After attending St Gilbert's on a scholarship, you start to reminisce on your time away from home. It's the Spring Ball, and Carol has just given you your final marching orders. Is it too late to admit that you have a massive crush on the dumbest boy in school? Is your deviant roommate going to even care that you're being expelled? Perhaps Rupert cares about you more than you think, but there's only one way to find out.

"Sure, Rupert was possibly the worst roommate you’d ever had, but you would miss the chase. It was thrilling, not knowing whether the arrogant Aphrodite would ruin your life or fall into a soft caress."

Chapter 1: Repression

As the ugly coach pulled up, you tried not to roll your eyes at the students milling about at your side. Most of them had leafy-green faces, matching the hideous lining of the so-called school bus. It was due to binge drinking of course, which despite your course leader constantly lecturing on the subject, was falling on deaf ears. Even though you never really liked the taste of cheap cider or stupidly expensive whisky, you always joined in. It was a ritual of sorts, and you knew better than to dob Abby in if she popped the pills out again. Of course, the distraction never worked for you. Not even as you boarded the bus and bumped into the class harlot, flicking her unsightly fair hair from her face. Florence was poison, but you’d never tell her why you hated her so much. You’d laugh, and pretend every word out of her whorish mouth was hilarious. Which is what you chose to do at that moment, chugging down a swig of your luxurious yet foul Scotch. 

“Oh, Florence! Gorgeous heels, darling.” You drawled, knowing full well that she was wearing last season Prada. She simpered, blowing an egregious kiss full of Tiffany and stark perfume back in your direction. 

“Thank you! It’s our Spring ball, have to make an effort you know?” Florence looked you up and down, as if she was sneering at your outfit choice. Possibly as she wasn’t used to seeing such bare skin in public, or she had no taste whatsoever. You knew it was the latter, when her tongue was so far down Jahiem’s throat. With a forced smile you giggled back, straightening your striped jacket. 

“I completely agree. Enjoy your night, Flo.” It was difficult to stay civil with her, but you forced down your disdain to move further along the bus. Florence wasn’t worth a minute of your time, and you didn’t want to look at her powered face any longer. You swore that she scoffed behind your back, but again, it wasn’t worth a sneeze let alone an acknowledgement. Instead you decided to locate your friends, a genuine smile spreading across your face when you discovered Toby and Abby canoodling at the back of the bus. They leapt apart at your arrival, blushing madly as though nothing had ever happened. Toby patted the space beside them, and you clinked his bottle of vodka with your own glass as you plonked down. 

“‘Sup rude boy? You got beef with Flo again?” Toby grinned, throwing his arm around his sweet girlfriend. Unlike Florence, you’d been friends with Abby for years, and you knew she wasn’t the enemy. Even if she would report back to the blonde witch, you didn’t exactly hide your feelings regarding said cow. 

“She’s playing J. You know that.” You jogged your knee, hoping Toby would be pacified with that response. 

“Nah, bro. Ain't our business, is it? You sure it’s not because she dissed your man?” Toby smirked, sensing the oncoming jab that you delivered to his ribs. 

“He’s not my man, he’s a fucked-up mummy’s boy that thinks he’s God’s gift. Just because he’s my roommate, I don’t have to give a shit about him, Tobes.” At the mention of the deviant living in your shared dorm, your anger flared. Toby seemed to have some delusional idea that you cared about him, even though you despised him more than Florence. But as you stewed, you didn’t realize Abby and Toby quietly cackling at your outrage. 

“Oh, you’ve got it bad, baby. So what if you have a thing for him? It’s not like anyone else does.” Abby shrugged, kicking her feet up. 

“How about the fact that he’d beat the shit out of me? I don’t need that drama.” You didn’t resist the urge to roll your eyes this time, gulping down throatfuls of heated alcohol to match the fury on the outside. 

Rupert Watlington-Geese was a menace to society. You’d seen the videos of him pouring champagne on homeless people before you’d even joined the school, and the real man was worse than the internet fiend. On your first meeting he’d hidden your boxers and claimed it was an initiation ritual, forcing you to go commando against itchy school trousers in the first period. Childish pranks would’ve been fine, but his behaviour had started to get rowdy from your second glance. From the rumours that the little shit had spread, you’d had more sexual experience than most B-list celebrities. You didn’t hide the fact that you were gay, but somehow you’d had a threesome with two teachers and sucked off four boys behind the bike sheds. But you knew Rupert’s game, and somehow had grown used to the inane stunts that he’d pull in an attempt for attention. 

In other instances, you would’ve grown tired and ignored him from the get go. However, if you had, you wouldn’t have seen when Rupert’s mischievous eyes grew sad, and he’d cried dismally into his pillow. You’d never tell Abby or Toby in a million years, but you knew how warm Rupert felt when he’d melted against you in a depressive episode. If his dad had promised to visit but stood him at the last minute, Rupert would always come to you for comfort. Florence was useless in those moments, she’d never understand how fragile Rupert was under all the ego and false cockiness. So perhaps you were a little more susceptible to Rupert’s fragility than you thought, but he didn’t make it easy on you. One day he’d be flashing you his trademark smirk, pretending that he enjoyed his empty existence of pranks and hurting people. On another day, he’d be breaking down in your arms and blinking back tears through those beautiful chestnut eyes. That was another thing that irritated you. Rupert was fucking gorgeous, and a combination that you’d never encountered before. He was ethereal, pale skin glowing in the darkness like some mystical creature. His hazel eyes were always looking at you, whether they were earnest or scheming. And those curls. God, you wanted to tug those magical curls until he cried. Okay, maybe you were lying a little to yourself. There was a definite attraction there, but you were 90% certain that he’d smash your face in if you told him. 

As you were daydreaming, it was as though your thoughts could summon fiction into reality. The man in question bounded up the bus steps, and Abby took the opportunity to torture you further. She sent you a cheeky smile before making her intentions clear, and you turned in horror to the spare seat beside you. 

“Rupert! Join us!” Abby’s voice perforated your ears like a megaphone, and you knew you had to move quickly. But to your dismay, the coach had filled up in record time, and you couldn’t move without leaving the bus entirely. Instead, you downed the remains of your Dalmore single malt and smiled with too much teeth as Rupert sat beside you. His outfit could’ve given you a cardiac arrest, but you remained calm. His rumpled curls were slicked back behind his ears, exposing far too much of his neck. Rupert’s black silk shirt (if you could call it that) cut down into a sharp v-shape, exposing a little bit of his chest. The scent of Lynx Africa infiltrated the bus, and you wanted to gag, or gag him. He looked like a ridiculous rich boy that had been dressed by Carol, yet your jeans grew tighter at his appearance. You wanted to strip him bare, to rip away whatever hideous designer clothes that his mum had chosen for him and pin him against the faded bus seats. The Scotch was making you reckless, and you had to relax, lest actually find out what Rupert’s tongue tasted like. 

“Hi, dickhead.” Rupert greeted you, which didn’t help in the slightest. Today he was wearing his snarkiest grin, which made you want to bite the arrogance away. But then you felt the pang of empathy, causing you to look away and grip your arm. Honestly, you knew why you were feeling such a whirlwind of emotions. Carol had delivered the final blow to your confidence earlier that day, and you had to tell Rupert the truth. 

What was the truth? That you’d lost your scholarship, of course. That’s why you were scrambling to answer a sarcastic salutation from your nemesis, because you had to tell him that you’d never see him again. You wondered if he’d even blink at your news, or if he’d just tell you it was a valiant effort and you didn’t belong there. Sure, Rupert was possibly the worst roommate you’d ever had, but you would miss the chase. It was thrilling, not knowing whether the arrogant aphrodite would ruin your life or fall into a soft caress. Yes, you had stroked his wet cheeks before. But as Abby had declared weeks ago, the Spring ball was certainly the time to tie up loose ends and live the night like it was your last. So, what was on your agenda as the bus pulled away from the school and headed to one of the rascal’s ridiculously large estates? You turned to Rupert, flicking your fringe from your eyes as you beamed at him. 

“Hello, Trouble.” You beamed, eyes sparkling as you gazed into those cat-like eyes. 

Tonight, you were going to break a preposterously ugly bed, donated by the National Trust. Or two. And a thousand year-old table, when Rupert suggested it. 

Chapter 2: Liberty (NSFW WARNING HERE)

It was hard to remember how you ended up in this situation, with Rupert’s hands down your pants and your dick ready to burst with his rough onslaught. But you definitely weren’t complaining, you just wished you had a clearer head when your tip started to throb. Rupert’s hot breath was on your neck, and with one hand kneading your balls and one expertly caressing your cock, you tried to withhold the gasps escaping your throat. It wasn’t until you gripped the rich boy’s shoulders that you halted him, cursing yourself for delaying such a strong orgasm. 

“Rupert! Wait, wait. My head is spinning.” The Scotch had been brutal on you, and you definitely didn’t want to ruin the mood by passing out or throwing up. Rupert raised one eyebrow elegantly, but obediently pulled his hands away. What you didn’t expect was for him to hold your hand, steering you to sit on the creaky bed in whichever bedroom you’d decided to argue in. He left for a moment, returning with a glass of water that he’d seemingly produced from nowhere. As you took the glass, your hands met again and you tried not to let the soft feeling linger. It was so out of character for him to be kind to you, but you drank the cool water regardless. He sat almost tentatively beside you, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Beatrix wasn’t trying to hurt you, you know. She was trying to stop a fight.” Rupert suddenly announced, staring up at the four-poster bed. 

“What?” You sat up, finishing the water. 

“You called her a nosy cow. You called Florence a lot worse but…” Rupert shrugged, trying to hide the grin on his face. 

Hearing the word cow suddenly brought a drunken flashback into perspective. You’d arrived at the party in good spirits, clinging to Toby and Abby like a third arm. But the underlying tension was still gnawing at you, and you tried to dance as though nothing was wrong. You’d danced with Jahiem and Femi, which didn’t cause any problems, not until Jahiem had sought out Florence on the dancefloor. Pretending as though you were on top of the world, you’d gritted your teeth again and offered to spin Florence around. Except when she’d slipped conveniently into Jahiem’s arms, you’d called her a cheap slut that opened her doors more frequently than a lift. That was until Bea had gently tapped you on the back with gentle eyes and pure intentions, which had only aggravated you further. 

“Oh, Bea. I should find her and apologise.” But as you tried to stand, your head whirled and Rupert sniggered at your attempt to walk. 

“Might be a bit hard, considering you can’t use your feet. Sit down, you cock.” Rupert tutted at you, but there was a curious look in his eyes. 

“What?” You glared, crossing your arms. 

“You’re concerned about Beatrix, but you won’t apologise to Florence?” Rupert frowned, but you weren’t sure if he was annoyed about that. 

“No. Why should I? Because she’s your precious little girlfriend? Please.” You managed to laugh, leaning back against the ugly bed sheets. 

“Don’t take the piss. She’s not a slag.” Rupert growled, making you jump. You were unsure of his feelings before, but he seemed content to play second best to his ex-girlfriend again. There was a protective spark in his tone, and even though you should’ve yielded, you couldn’t care less. If he wanted to get back with his girlfriend whilst simultaneously wanking off another guy, it wasn’t your problem. That was his prerogative, and you had nothing left to lose anyway. With a bitter laugh, you nudged his shoulder and rolled your eyes. 

“I really don’t care what she is. Go and waste your time chasing after her, Rupert. I’m sick of your constant bullshit.” Finally regaining feeling in your legs, you rose from the bed and stumbled to the door, fumbling for the handle. To your surprise, the deviant was back at your side, blocking the exit. 

“I mean it! Get out of my fucking way.” You squared up to him, ready to fight. You were pretty sure that was what caused Rupert to touch your cock originally, but that wasn’t your main focus anymore. His moping and whining had set your veins alight, and there was no point at all listening to him defend his “true love”. 

“You’re sick of my bullshit?! What a joke! What about you, huh?” Rupert cornered you, and you held up your fists defensively. Whilst you weren’t sure if he’d actually hit you, you couldn’t tell his mood right now. The strutting peacock had shown his feathers, but the arrogance wasn’t the same as usual. Rupert seemed to be lashing out because he was hurt, it was written across his face in petty insolence. As you took a step back he followed you, glowering with those frighteningly beautiful eyes. 

“Hanging around the popular kids like a little stalker, hoping that someone will notice you? Do you think you’re fucking special, hm? You’re nothing.” Rupert spat insidiously, physically showering you with his spit. Even as the tiny glob landed on your cheek, you made no attempt to move. Whilst you burned on the inside, you fought the urge to bite your lip. Hearing him insult you shouldn’t have been hot, but Rupert was a different breed when he was angry. Perhaps because you’d never seen him show such genuine fury, it made you want to poke the bear. So that’s what you did. 

“Oh, sweetheart. I don’t need to be noticed. At least my mummy and daddy loved me.” You took the higher ground, watching conflict flash across startled hazel orbs. 

“How does it feel, Rupert? Knowing that your mummy prefers your brother? Laying awake at night whilst your girlfriend takes Jahiem’s cock up her-” You reeled at the taste of blood, eyes widening as you gently dabbed your lip with your thumb. Your cheek was starting to sting, and you were bewildered that Rupert had actually slapped you. Through the hurt, your cock started to stand to attention again. Fuck. You weren’t sure what was worse, the fact that you were ragingly hard, or that Rupert would see the bulge in your jeans soon enough. The slap brought back your senses, and you held both hands up. 

“Alright, enough! I don’t want to fight with you.” You thought that would be enough to soothe the enraged egomaniac, but he was still heading straight for you. You braced yourself for a punch this time, but a frosty finger rested gently against your lip instead. Rupert watched you wince slightly as he ran his nail over your open wound, eyes flickering down towards your belt. The gentle action made you tremble, goosebumps littering your arms and tugging the tiny hairs on the back of your neck. Rupert stepped closer, allowing you to see the ragged rise and fall of his chest. Perhaps the panting was from anger, but you wanted to make him breathless in other ways. 

“Why not, hm? I thought you loved the chase.” Rupert outright purred, pressing you into the bedpost. You gasped, equally shocked at his accusation and the close proximity of his body. If you moved your hands, you’d feel the outline of his hips through his stupid silk shirt. This pitiful plush boy had you sussed, but you couldn't fault his observation. You did love the chase, and the prospect of leaving the school without even kissing this idiot was unthinkable. Without worrying about the consequences anymore, you gripped hideous material and kissed his imbecilic, impeccable lips. 

Whether or not he wanted to protest that he wasn’t gay, Rupert lost himself when you attacked his lips. He didn’t seem stunned at all by your advance, instead biting at the little cut on your lower lip. You groaned, meeting the aggressive swipes of his tongue with the edge of your own. God he was such a good kisser, using his hips to grind against you as your tongues played for dominance. You ran one hand up his back, snaking your fingers into his slick curls as his own digits threaded into your belt loops. A glorious moan left his lips as you wrenched his head back, gripping fistfuls of his curls as you licked down his throat. 

“No more wisecracks for me, Trouble?” You uttered softly, drawing a map of his shoulders with your tongue. Each bite and nip made him gasp, but you felt a particularly deep rasp when you reached his nipples. It was a little sad really, wondering if Florence had ever worshipped him thoroughly like this. Judging by the way he tensed and bucked against you when you pinched those gorgeous rose-pink nipples, you doubted anyone had ever explored him properly. You wanted to rectify that immediately, popping the buttons on his shirt as you reached his waist. Rupert’s hands were tangled in your floppy hair, and you were grateful for such thick locks at last. He suddenly tugged on your scalp, forcing your head upwards. 

“Will…Will you…” Rupert panted lightly, looking uncharacteristically shy. There was that slight vulnerability again, so you wanted to reassure him. Moving from your crouched position, you cupped his face and pressed your lips together again. It was a little softer, a little kinder, yet still full of heat and desperation. Rupert pawed at you, dry-humping your thigh in search of friction. 

“Will you fuck me? Make me cry…please…” Rupert rasped, hand dropping to your zipper. Your throat vibrated in response, creating a somewhat animalistic rumble. Not only did he want you to fuck him, but his warm whisper shook something deep within you. This demon would certainly be your undoing, but you welcomed Hell with open arms. To begin your descent you nodded furiously, stripping as though your clothes were offensive. 

“You want me to fuck you, sweetheart? How badly?” You couldn’t resist teasing him, slowly easing your hand under his boxers. If he wasn’t so flustered and breathless, you would’ve yanked his trousers and boxers down immediately. But he looked so pretty painted with pink, you decided to draw out his little gasps further. Your hand circled his ass, squeezing one cheek as he urged you closer. 

“Badly. Hard. Until I break.” Rupert groaned back to you, seemingly impatient. Taking a little pity on him you melded your lips together, intoxicated with his rich taste. How someone could taste luxurious was beyond you, but he did. You savoured his spit, panting harder when he smeared it against your mouth. At the same time your finger reached his hole, startling him into a long drawn-out gasp. The muscle was so tense, constantly puckering as you gently played with him. You couldn’t see it, but there was a little puddle forming at the front of his trousers, spreading whenever you caressed his hole. Touching it clearly wasn’t enough for either of you, and Rupert wrapped his arms around you in an effort to tempt you further. Your cock pressed painfully against his abs, begging you to devour this brat the way you wanted to. Rupert touched your weeping head, gesturing at the ancient bed with a flick of his curls. He led you to the mattress, throwing the remains of his shirt away as he detached from you for a moment. The distance seemed to physically hurt him, but his signature smirk returned when he tossed his trousers and boxers in one sweep. You swore that your dick somehow grew at the sight, but you reached optimum hardness from the moment he kissed you. You watched as he climbed onto the bed, trying to keep your jaw from dropping as he got down on all fours. 

“Are you going to just stand there and stare all day?” Rupert grinned, usual cockiness returning in time just to make you smile. 

“It is a very nice view, after all.” You smiled back, moving to join him on the bed. A light amusement had broken through the tension slightly, and you felt warm all over when you stroked down his bare back. Rupert was biting his lip, eyes bright and full of mischief when he stared back at you. You held his gaze, bringing both hands down to rest against his plump butt. Unspoken emotions stirred in the pit of your belly, but you focused on bringing Rupert pleasure instead. Massaging each round mound in your hands, you slotted yourself between his legs, running a thumb over the furled muscle again. 

“Do you have any lube, Trouble?” You asked, noticing a slight blush creep down Rupert’s back. 

“N-Not here. I wasn’t exactly prepared for this, you know!” Rupert scowled, looking a little annoyed yet disappointed. 

“It’ll have to be the old fashioned way then. But I’ll take care of you.” You leaned forward, licking the shell of Rupert’s ear. “Do you want to stop, baby?” 

“No. Please, please don’t go..” Rupert begged, the tinge of fright outweighing the irritance in his tone. Your heart thudded painfully, he sounded so small and scared at the possibility of you leaving him. Planting firm but soft kisses down his spine, you felt him relaxing at the affirmation of your touch. You spread his legs, rubbing his hole slowly until his head fell forward in exhilaration. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Rupert. Forget everything else, I’m here.” You mumbled softly, threading your free hand through his fingers. He held onto you, closing his eyes as he enjoyed anything you gave him. Your lips dipped lower, and you kissed each cheek before burying yourself between them. It felt as though your cock was screaming at you, knowing that you’d soon be fucking such a gorgeous brat. But your dick could wait, you did not care about him at the moment. No, you wanted to make Rupert cry after all, and you could scarcely wait to see him shuddering in pleasure. Your tongue darted out, and you dragged it down the base of his spine, flattening it against his entrance. Rupert was trembling slightly, and you decided not to torture him for too long. Holding onto his thighs, you lapped at his hole, dipping slightly inside whenever he whined. His cock was dripping, you could hear it between each smear of your spit. It caused you to speed up, one of your hands creeping underneath to stroke his leaking head. 

“Hasn’t anyone ever fucked you with their tongue before?” You wondered aloud, switching to sucking on his rim whilst you waited for an answer. 

“What do you think, smartass?!” Rupert retorted, covering his face with his arm. His back was arching, cock slipping further into your grip. You grinned, spitting onto his asshole as he panted. 

“Then I’m glad to be the first.” You replied, slathering all of the wetness into his opening. Even though he was glistening already, you needed to be sure that he was sticky enough to feel good. If you ended up hurting him this way, you didn’t think you could ever forgive yourself. Your tongue gravitated back inside him, pressing your thumb against the sensitive nerves on the outside. Rupert clawed the sheets and your hand, blunt nails digging against your palm. 

“Put…put your finger inside me.” He demanded, scraping his lower lip with his teeth. His curls stuck to his forehead, sweaty with desire. 

“Promise me you’ll tell me if it’s too much?” You withdrew your lips, still caressing his butt as he struggled to speak. 

“I will. But I don’t think I could be any wetter if I were a girl…” Rupert chuckled weakly, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your palm. You definitely weren’t expecting him to say something like that, but woe betide you to refuse his wishes. One hand still firmly gripping Rupert’s, you released a breath and slid a finger inside him. It was just your finger, yet he thrust his ass back against you and seemed ecstatic. 

“Shit! Another, please!” Rupert whimpered, and it suddenly dawned on you that he’d probably had something up his ass before. Perhaps not a cock, but he’d certainly done this with his own fingers. You shared a moan with him, scissoring another finger alongside the first as he took you easily. 

“How..how are you not taking me right now? Don’t you like it, hmm?” Rupert started to tease you again, but you felt that same thrill wrack through your body at his words. You rewarded him by curling your fingers upwards, pulling them out before jamming them back in. He yelled out, reaching for his cock but failing to grab it before you pinned his hand down. 

“Rupert…you know I want you…” You whined back, thrusting faster as Rupert writhed under your touch. 

“Then don’t wait anymore. Fuck me!” Rupert shoved his ass against you, pouting at your words. It made sense that he’d be demanding in bed, but you felt the same wave of sadness wash over you from earlier. You loved Rupert’s cheeky insolence, but maybe he’d never been able to fully embrace it with Florence. You wondered if their intimacy had always been rushed, with Florence retreating to her phone afterwards. You would never ask of course, but everyone gossiped. Shaking your head slightly to the intrusive thoughts, you pulled your fingers out and allowed Rupert to rub against your cock. He was the one you wanted, not the others. 

“I’ll fuck you, you little brat. It’s hot to see you beg.” You smirked, nudging the tip of your cock over his hole, feeling every flex of his muscles. 

“You’re all talk and no-oh! Mm…mm…Oh God, yes!” Rupert was ready to retort again, but you stunted him in his arrogance by gliding your solid cockhead into his weeping hole. He sucked you in, barely giving you time to register how hot and tight he was. You even had to hold his hips back, stopping him from completely bottoming out. If he did that immediately, you’d cum in seconds. No, you wanted to go slowly, feeling every inch of his fervid walls dripping with your saliva. But you had to be careful thinking about that too, your sensitivity was soaring. 

“Rupert…oh fuck..” You lost your composure for a second, finally letting Rupert engulf the rest of your length inside him. There was a slight mound just above your cock, and grazing it left both of you breathless. Rupert didn’t seem to care about his temperament anymore, fiercely fisting his cock whenever you pushed against that tight space. Your balls were starting to tighten, but you ignored them smacking against Rupert’s ass as you started to plunge your cock inside him. His walls were contracting already, and the harsh squeeze set your body on fire. 

“Ah…Ah…no, not yet!” Rupert cursed quietly to himself, confirming your suspicions when his hand came away wet. 

“Oh baby, you came already? Aww.” You decided to make fun of him a little, but it was done in good spirit. Rupert grumbled and pulled away from you, rolling over to face you. He was gorgeous, curls completely ruined and body covered in handprints. Even though he was spent, he looked at your solid cock curiously. 

“Have me again. But I want to see you this time.” Rupert mumbled grumpily, refusing to meet your eyes. You felt your eyebrow quirk at his statement, but you absolutely wanted to be inside him again. Throwing his legs over your shoulders he beckoned you back, throwing his head back in ecstasy when you found home again. Your hands found his, pressing him down into the bed as you thrust into him for the second time. Rupert made no attempt to hide his moans, almost goading you to go faster. You obeyed, hitting his prostate repeatedly until the bed creaked with your efforts. At a particularly rough thrust you reached down, needing to feel Rupert’s lips as you pounded him. Shockingly he kissed you back, wrapping his legs around your back. Your cock was straining now, desperate for a little more but chasing the need for release. Rupert cupped your face, licking the cut on your lip as you started to clench. 

“Why…why are you afraid to cum?” He asked, teasing your top lip. 

“Because…” Why were you afraid to cum? Was it because you knew you’d never see Rupert again? Because this was the best night of your life, and you’d be leaving at the end of the week? Because Rupert would never love you back, and he’d beat you up if you dared to tell anyone? It was all too much, and you were at risk of slowing down or even stopping. But the arrogant brat kissed you, and eased your worries with unusual tenderness. 

“Let yourself go. It’s you and me, right?” Rupert paused, feeling the beginning of your orgasm. As you shuddered and tensed through it, he helped you through the nerves, keeping you inside him. 

“It’s always been you. I know I’m stupid, but I…I can’t imagine life without you. I’m sorry.” Rupert sniffled, mouthing along your neck as you filled him with your essence. It took a while for your breathing to calm, but when it did, you pulled out and crushed your arms against him. You were both shaking, but you knew without a shred of doubt that you couldn’t leave him. His caresses were so soft now, all the bravado and ego shattering in a moment to hold you close. You absorbed him into your body, warm skin lightly brushing together in harmony as you shared the moment. But you experienced a moment of clarity, and in that, you knew exactly what you needed to do. 

Fuck Carol. I’m here to stay, bitch. 

Tagging in case you'd like to read: @grinningkatz (for the pretty pics ehehe), @lancedoncrimsonwings (I thought you'd like my British quips at the end for NT haha), @lord-aldhelm (would love your opinion) and obviously my usual amazing moots if you find this go wild <3

[vunderjoy]

I would be the most boring protagonist ever. If I was given some kind of item or circumstance that would improve my life but “at a price” I would simply refuse to engage with it. Not even entertaining the thought. I know what kinds of lessons it’s going to teach me already, and frankly I’m not interested in dealing with all that on top of everything else! If Ryuk gave me the death note I would simply burn it and shoo him out of my home. Give me a genie lamp and I’ll go “no thank you!” and hand it straight back.

[goldennika]

may be a hot take but i think kids should experience being bored more

instead we have a generation of ipad kids (worse, ipad babies) who are being overstimulated from day one — never really having a moment to connect with who or what is around them as they are just absorbed in what is on their screen

there would be an entire generation who would not know the simple thrill of choosing the “winning”water droplet make it down the car window during a rainy ride around town or finding hidden animal shapes among cloud formations during long car rides

i fear they would grow up to always needing instant gratification — on-demand streaming culture, same-day delivery, AI — and worse, being absolutely bombarded by external stimuli that they do not get a chance to properly form an original idea that comes from taking the time to inspect, explore, and interact with their environment

[independent-fics]

I know people often interpret Eliot’s unwillingness to fight cops as pro cop (which maybe it is) but on my interpretation I just take it as him not wanting the hassle. Like cops have power and their job is to remember faces and pursue criminals. Like Eliot probably knows it’s more logical to just avoid the hassle altogether.

[timeisacephalopod]

You know as a horror fan "cultural Christianity" is such a useful term because as an atheist as well as a horror fan and a fan of haunted house stuff if it's done well I very, very quickly noticed how many horror movies are Christian propaganda. So few horror movies involving religion (which is a shocking amount of them btw) pick any religion that's not Christianity to center itself around and when they do that religion is bad and evil, not the cause of evil and the savior from it (because the demons may be Christian, but God and the bible are also the solutions in a way other religions aren't granted. Bonus points if it's an indigenous religion being portrayed as Evil and Bad).

Pretty much any exceptions I can think of to that rule use Judaism and the Holocaust as a backdrop and never in like a normal, the Holocaust is horrible way it's always playing on myths of Nazi Germany's experimentation on the Jewish population. Which I find highly troubling and disturbing, but regardless nothing like being a horror fan to convince you of cultural Christianity because no other genre leans on religion as a plot device so much unless it's straight up a Christian movie for a Christian audience using Christianity as it's main theme and through line.

[yardsards]

my quality of life would increase by a ridiculous amount if i owned a dishwasher i think

[pinnithin]

I feel an essay on shadowheart coming on

[ibskurapika]

real "i want a breast reduction" hours fellas

[t-audrey-blog]

writing star wars fanfiction really do be like *writes fifty pages without pause, then spends an hour looking at wookieepedia to dig up two appropriate jedi to reference for a single paragraph*. sigh

[musical-chick-13]

Ugh, not me going, "Maybe after I finish this multichapter, I never write again."

[confetti-critter]

Social interaction where I got anxious over nothing and it got resolved with nothing bad happening but I still feel like I'm dying.

[gutsby]

Make It Stick

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel never thought he’d need a vasectomy. Then, one night, he accidentally finishes inside you.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected-peepaw-p-in-v (I’m sorry). Accidental creampie. Age gap. Cumplay. Breeding kink. Ovulation has led me places I wouldn’t go with a gun.

Note: Convergence is a painting by Jackson Pollock. We studied it in high school and I thought it looked like jizz idk

Word count: 4.7k

Prequel | Part 1 | Part 2

He should’ve gotten snipped when he had the chance.

Should’ve taken the plunge, faced his fears of needles and fluorescent-washed doctor’s offices like any man his age could have done and gotten the damn vasectomy. Now he was here, nearly two decades older and still none the wiser in this cold, dead world with a pretty young thing like you between his sheets. In lieu of elective surgery, Joel Miller had only to grit his teeth, bite hard, and repeat over and over again in his head, desperate:

‘Don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, DON’T—’

Words like those normally worked. With women that weren’t you, they tended to serve him exceedingly well.

But you were just so tight. And wet. And welcoming. And try as Joel might to pretend like he got laid on a regular basis, the truth was that he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t seem to think straight when it came to this fixation he’d developed for you, so, instead, he let his dick do all the decision-making whenever he found himself around you. Ten times out of ten that ended in:

“J-J-Joel—oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—I’m gonna CUM.”

And that made it worth every last life-endangering drop.

Feeling how your flushed, lithe body came apart beneath his touch. How you needed him. How your eyes grew to half the size of your face and you gaped up at the man, lips parted, like you couldn’t even comprehend how the friction of seven inches could make you feel so good.

If he had it his way, he would’ve loved nothing more than to show you that feeling every night, and twice the next morning if his hip wasn’t giving him too much trouble.

But, at present, the man had bigger fish to fry. Like not becoming a new father at fifty-nine if he could help it.

With the last two fluttering pulses of your heat, and almost going cross-eyed from the pleasure as he felt it, Joel yanked his big, slippery cock out of your body and made a fist around his member as he always knew to do. Tugged and pulled and grunted above you—‘Sweet girl, you’re so fuckin’ good to me’—and watched your tits and your belly for the milky white ropes to ensue.

Strangely, though, your skin stayed the same.

No cum-spray Convergence appeared before him, no opaque and cloudy fluids dribbling down your ribs, nothing. Your stomach was as bare as the rest of you, save for a few beads of sweat, and that was all there was.

Joel shook his dick harder, confused. Beneath him, you were still coming down from your high smiling ear-to-ear and staring blissfully at the ceiling. Your chest rose and fell, rose and fell in quick succession, and while you endeavored to recollect your mind, Joel was losing his.

Where the FUCK was his cum?

In no naked horizontal tango to date had Joel simply…cum without noticing. Shit like that just didn’t happen to men, least of all to ones his age, so when he’d wrung his poor cock like a sodden towel and still saw nothing come out, he felt his stomach turn and plummet inside him.

He dropped to his hands and knees in less than a moment and lowered his head between your legs.

“No, Joel!” you squealed, giggling. Kicking your feet, “Another round and I’m gonna combust, you old perv!”

But Joel wasn’t looking to get his dick wet again. He was inspecting you. Or trying to, anyway. Quickly realizing he couldn’t see a thing in the darkness, he let out a breath through his nose and lifted you off the bed. Your naked frame thrown over his shoulder, bare hip beside his head and your strangled, muffled cry of, ‘What the hell, Joel?!’ hardly seemed to register with the man carrying you off.

You were toted to the bathroom. Joel was about to ease you down on your feet. Then, appearing to change his mind at the last second, he set you onto the sink instead. Your skin bristled with indignation, anger. A little arousal.

“Last time we did it on a sink we broke the faucet,” you reminded him, feigning more dismay than you really felt inside. If anything, you liked it when your fossil-age fuckbuddy switched things up. You were just exhausted.

Heedless of your words, Joel kneeled on the floor and pried your legs apart before him. When you swatted at his silver-flecked head, he brushed your hand away.

“Hold still,” he grunted.

“How come?”

“‘Cause I said.”

How quickly he commanded that tone of a father.

“Wanna sleep,” you groaned, about to roll your eyes.

But you couldn’t deny you liked being doted on by him.

Joel’s touch was gentle. Probing. Spidering down the most sensitive parts of your bare lower half, between your thighs, and slowly coaxing you closer to the edge of the sink. Your breath hitched when you saw his head tilt.

He appeared to be deep in thought—a rare sight for anyone who’d seen Joel Miller in the postcoital state. Most every time he’d blown his load before, the man was dead asleep within ten minutes. His joints could barely hold himself upright after a half hour of plowing the back forty, much less carry you, too, so you were puzzled now.

He thumbed at the seam of your cunt, and you whined:

“Jo-el—”

“Can ya…push, baby?” His eyes flitted up quickly.

“Push?”

“Yeah, just…” With a look you couldn’t quite read, he placed the palm of his other hand on your belly. Then, pressing, “Like this. Like you’re squeezin’ somethin’ out.”

You cocked a brow in muted confusion but did as he asked. You watched his gaze, and it stayed on you.

Or, rather, on that soft and pliant spot between your legs the old man seemed to favor so much. On any other occasion, in a position like this, he surely would’ve been wearing a smile. Tonight, his lips curled into a grimace.

And twisted even further when you ‘pushed’ like you did.

At first you felt nothing. A gentle clench of your walls supplied little more than a sense of having been stretched—no novel concept to you, who’d spent the last three-and-a-half months or so getting fucked by the finest AARP affiliate alive most every night. It wasn’t until you clamped down again that you got the feeling there was something else. Something thick and warm and slow as molasses trickling out from between your folds.

You let out a low, tender, ‘Mmph’ without meaning to; it felt kind of nice. Beneath you, Joel’s face turned grave.

He watched as his spend oozed out of your freshly-fucked hole and thought of vasectomies again.

You were young—too young to know better. Too sweet and naïve to see any peril in spreading your legs for a man like him, in a world like this. And Joel swore he’d be careful. But no post-apocalyptic birth control method was perfect, or even close to it, and it was clear he’d relied too heavily on reflexes to keep him from cumming inside you. Joel was old—too old to be doing this shit.

Too grown and well-versed in sex to be making mistakes as stupid as that. His brow pinched in, and he drew his next breath as if the air around him was growing scarce.

“Joel, what’s—”

“When’s the last time you— you— uh…bled?”

Hardly more in control of his face than the rate his heart went thudding in his chest, Joel winced at the end. This time, you were the one to knit your eyebrows together. You could tell by that tight, discomfited tone he wasn’t talking papercuts, but were still unsure of his purpose.

“Like two, two and a half weeks ago. Why?”

Well, fuck.

Joel buried his face in his hands. You scooted closer to the sink’s edge, thinking little of his cum leaking out.

“Why?” you tried again. Softer this time.

An old, weathered head lifted to greet you. It was bleak.

“You see this?” Joel paused. Swiping his finger through the viscous white substance that had trickled out on the counter, in a puddle now, “Y’know what it means, right?”

You let his look, and the question, remain suspended in air for a second. Then another. Then you shrugged.

“Yeah. But…you’re old,” came your answer at length.

You’re old.

Joel and you both knew as much, but the former wasn’t quite following your train of thought. Still wanting to try and mitigate damages while he could, though, Joel reached for the roll of toilet paper that was fastened to the wall and tore himself a strip. He bunched it up and, reaching for one of your knees to spread you further for him, took to daubing the tissue across your entrance.

“What’s me bein’ old got to do with anything?” A little sharp, then, seeing you flinch when he drew too close to your clit, “‘m sorry, baby, just— gotta get this out of you.”

You made a face but let him continue anyway. Your eyes followed each movement of his hand, and reflexively, the muscles in your thighs tightened. Why bother with this when the man has so many better uses for his hands?

For a second, your eyes fluttered half-shut.

“Maria says old folks are, uh…infertile. Got something to do with a middle pause,” you said, breaths labored.

Joel stopped just long enough to shoot you a look.

“Menopause,” he corrected, all too matter-of-fact, before returning to his work, “is a woman thing.”

What the hell were they teaching in Jackson’s sex ed classes, anyway? Then Joel remembered how his brother sincerely believed that women peed out of their vaginas until he was twenty-three, and the thought of you not knowing the ins and outs of male virility wasn’t the most far-fetched idea in the universe. Besides, sexual health wasn’t exactly the community’s highest priority when the world around it was in a perpetual state of decay and hordes of fungus-faced fuckers ran rampant in the wild.

He curved a tender, careful finger against the ring of muscles framing your sex, trying to absorb more cum, and your grip on the edge of the countertop tightened.

“S-So, you—” You swallowed, throat constricting a little too, “You’re sayin’…men can make babies…whenever?”

You sounded so innocent as you said it. Joel wanted nothing more than to club himself over the head for being the cause of this predicament—of being such an instrumental part of the perceived corruption, as it was.

Meanwhile, your head was swimming in filthier thoughts.

Deeper, Joel, keep…pushing in…dee-e-per. You would have scarcely had more luck giving a fuck what Joel was talking about now than if he’d just said the room was on fire. By his voice, you knew you should’ve been paying attention, but the dexterity of his fingers was too much. He was caressing the first couple inches of your inner walls, attempting to scrape what bits of his release he could get unstuck from the flesh, but it seemed he was succeeding mostly in just turning you on. Rendering you deaf to the drone of his words as you pictured him pushing something else inside your tight, throbbing—

“—whole lotta problems for us if you’re, uh…ovulating,” Joel finished, expression taut and oblivious. You hadn’t heard the first part of that sentence and didn’t care to.

“Ovulating,” you repeated slowly. Indifferent.

Joel carried on without a hitch.

“Kids just ain’t fit for this world. I know you know that.”

You nodded along, not hearing a word.

“And if you’re— if y’ever did consider, maybe…”

Your lungs took an extra sharp inhale when Joel’s fingers coaxed out a warm, sticky glob of his load, and he petted your folds with his thumb. Then let out a breath himself.

“…y’oughta start a family with someone your own age—”

That part snagged your attention. Too swiftly, it came:

“My own age?”

Sighing, in spite of those welts of pleasure so heightened by his touch that the space between your legs began to throb and ache. Hardly possessed of more sense to form words that weren’t just echoes of his own, you tried communication from a simpler source—your foot.

You nudged his shoulder, and Joel looked up.

“What?”

“What?”

Parroting was, evidently, a hard habit to kill. Your toes curled into the bare skin of Joel’s shoulder, and when he re-inserted his finger, you ground your heel even deeper.

“When’s that ev…ever stopped us from doing it before, hm?” you said, tone strained but laced with some humor too, “Thought you liked sayin’ you’d make me a mama.”

Joel’s face flooded pink at the recollection—as a matter of fact, there had been several such memories. Instead of answering immediately, he just averted his gaze again. He anchored one hand to your thigh, and with the other teased out another string of your shared arousal before wiping his finger on the tissue, clinically, and repeating. All he had to offer in reply after was: ‘That’s different.’

And it was, to some extent. Joel wasn’t blind to the sea of uneasy looks that trailed behind you both whenever you walked the streets of Jackson together. How wide the eyes would get when instead of observing some filial display of affection play out before them, as expected, you’d loop your arms around his waist and take his lip between your teeth as you kissed—‘Can we please go home now, baby?’—that Joel was certain he’d been cemented as the resident pervert among everyone in town. Just how much worse that reputation was liable to get if there ever happened to be a round and swollen belly between that embrace someday was unthinkable. Dirty talk was one thing; parenthood another entirely.

This is for the best, became the low, grating refrain in his skull. Why he dug so hard, pushed so far inside the wet, velvety interior of your body without a thought for his own desires in that moment; he had to cull every trace of himself out of there, before he had half a chance to think.

“Baby, hey, hey, no—” Joel cut in a second later, abrupt.

No, no, no. You weren’t thinking either. Wrapping your hand around his wrist, pushing his fingers deeper inside.

Smiling a little, too.

“What are you— no, honey, don’t— you can’t,” Joel’s words splintered in every direction, watching you plunge his own index and middle fingers into the slick and the warmth he’d just been trying to get his cum out of. He looked up and saw your lids were heavy, about to close.

“What are you doin’? This ain’t…no, baby, it ain’t…safe.”

Back to sounding like a dad in no time at all.

“What’s wrong with leaving it in a bit longer? Feels nice.”

You had no idea what you were talking about. Joel pulled back on his hand and, in less than a second, had it freed.

“I just told you,” he huffed, “You’re too young—”

“I’m plenty old, Joel,” you returned, eyes snapping open, “You’ve shown me that more times than I can count.”

Joel was silent, stunned. He rose to his feet as your eyes seared holes into his, and for a second, he was uncertain whether to take a step back or reach out for you again.

“Baby…”

To his surprise, something like hurt surfaced behind your eyes. You set your lips in a tighter line, and your grip on the counter grew firmer just the same. He would’ve taken that move as his cue to lean in gently, slot his body between your thighs, and venture an apology of some sort, when the next thing you did stopped him cold.

Without a word, you slipped your free hand between your legs—eyeing Joel closely, almost scornfully, as you did.

You took your middle and ring fingers and sank them into your cunt. Not intending to let a drop of his spend leak out, you wedged them in as far as they’d go. Joel watched. Gawked. Once sufficiently pleased with the look of shock taking over his handsome, aged features, you withdrew the fingers. You brought them up to your mouth, wrapped your lips around the tips, and sucked.

It was a rare thing to get a taste of you and Joel together like this, so you savored it. You moved your mouth further down to drink it all in, peering up with wide, indulgent eyes and a look that was meant to punish.

Feels nice.

Tastes alright, too.

You’d licked the last bit of this glaze off your hand when your stomach clenched. You knew it would happen. Full as you were, you feared your body still hungered for more. As such, it hardly came as a surprise when next your muscles tensed, and you shifted closer to Joel.

“Maybe I don’t want babies with someone my own age.”

Either one of your knees were nudging his hips. Drawing him in. Joel appeared to waver for a second, unsure, but the look on his face made it clear this was mostly a matter of a delayed reaction. He couldn’t get his legs to move because the rest of him was still in awe. Staring at your lips, where the residue of his spend was glistening, then to your eyes, which were no less inviting, then up to the crown of your head and over it, to fix his stare on the mirror behind it. You watched him watch his own reflection with a look that was both hard and unkind, breathing slow. When he didn’t stir from that position after a minute, you touched a hand to his lower stomach.

And, brushing the heel of your palm against what felt like a hundred grey hairs in the old man’s happy trail—your favorite ones—you smoothed a caress along his belly, back and forth, before moving it left. Your hand came to rest on a mound of muscle and fat sitting right above his hip. Love handles, Joel had remarked one morning with vague distaste. Love handles, you’d repeated, beaming. You held on tightly now, appreciatively, and used your well-loved wall of flesh to pull him closer. As with any beckoning of yours, Joel didn’t have so much as half a mind to resist. He did, however, refuse to meet your gaze while you tilted your hips and spread your legs wider, before winding your ankles around the backs of his legs.

“Don’t you think I’d look pretty?” You pouted up at him. Your folds made a light, warm suction rubbing along the front of Joel’s cock—of course he’d grown hard again, and you could hold him, point him down to that wet embrace awaiting him patiently at the edge of the sink.

Joel cursed under his breath.

“‘Course I do…” he said, voice hoarse, “Y’always look—”

“I mean…with your baby inside me, Joel. Right here.”

As if to put a finer point on your words, you nestled the head of his cock inside the first inch of your body. Joel had to seize the laminate underneath you and grit his teeth to keep from letting out a groan too loud. That tip may as well have been a first-rate conductor of heat, and your warmth the thing that might send him spilling again

“You don’t—” Joel choked out, nearly incensed, “—don’t know what the hell you’re sayin’, baby. What that means.”

In truth, there wasn’t a world Joel Miller could imagine where a girl like you could give more than a passing thought to getting knocked up by him—a man his age. What good would it do? You had your whole life laid out before you like a four-course dinner spread; there was no sense whatsoever in letting the meal go to waste on him.

He communicated as much by moving to pull out.

You met the effort with a push of your own, sinking down another inch or two on his shaft and smiling when you saw his eyes roll back in his head at the dizzying friction.

“I know more than enough, old man—” Grin stretching ear-to-ear as you dug your heels in his ass and tugged him deeper, “—who do you think taught me all this?”

Of course, it had been Joel.

Always, always him—the only one, in fact.

Your walls drew him in like a hug. For once, Joel conjured up the strength to take a look between your lower half and his, and when he did, the next moan was inevitable. It trickled through his lips. Your body looked sublime swallowing a third of his cock, and it was almost as though a maggot had crawled into his brain, chanting:

‘Make her full. Make her yours. Tell any man who’d even think of looking her way she belongs to someone else.’

He couldn’t.

Joel would never be so selfish. Just think of her youth.

But when his gaze drifted back to yours, every thought and any word besides seemed gently to melt away. Beneath him, your eyes were two pools of desire.

“You like this…don’t you, Joel?” Your voice was tiny.

“I do.”

In fact, he loved it.

“Then why can’t we?” Why shouldn’t we?

Minuscule now, the words that reached him barely exceeded a whisper. It was as though the moment itself had drained all fear from your face—and out of Joel, all common sense from his brain—leaving you both to stare at the other with shared, stupid, anoetic looks of bliss. The man who had you beat by thirty-odd years seemed nearly of the same mind, with almost identical ignorance.

Idiocy.

“Just once?” Joel croaked.

Somewhere underneath, unseen, you smiled.

“Just one?” you murmured back.

He sank in another inch. When your walls contracted around him, Joel’s hands found your hips by force of habit and pushed your back against the glass behind it. The mirror was cool, and inside you, Joel was throbbing.

“Once,” he repeated, not thinking too deeply.

“One,” you said, with a world of more purpose.

Joel relinquished the last three inches, and with it, all of his resolve. The handsome, scarred, and plainly greying features all twisted as one, and the expression that you knew too well to mean that the man was feeling good took on the slightest hint of guilt. He gripped you tighter.

“One?” Joel panted. Confused.

He pulled out halfway just to find his home again. Your pearly slick mixed together with his spend, and both coated over Joel’s shaft in a pretty, generous sheen.

“One more of you, I mean.” You sounded too sweet. There was no way in hell you’d actually meant it.

Joel’s cheeks flushed again, but he didn’t stop, either.

“Baby…” he trailed off instead. He pushed in, pulled out, felt your tender little hole make an ‘o’ around his shaft, and then he kissed the edge of your left cheek—maybe to rein in the need in his words before he spoke again: “One’a me takes and I’m givin’ ya fifteen more, y’hear?”

The smile he received told him as much as he needed to hear. He probably wouldn’t have believed it even if you’d said the words yourself. Joel’s thrusts sped up, and as the pleasure distended in the pit of his stomach with the friction and the feel, his words flowed a little more freely.

In disbelief, “Wanna be a mama that bad for me, huh?”

Your grin grew bigger. You nodded your head.

“Make your old man a daddy, is that it?”

Exactly. Senseless as it was, your look said it all.

To have slipped between the grooves and ridges of Joel’s brain and caught wind of even a fraction of the things he wanted to do to you then, a smarter girl would have run. Would have shoved him back out as swiftly as she’d let him in and told him no, that’s gross, and gone home. And, had the grey matter floating inside your own skull not been so completely dominated by primal need and wanting, that’s likely what you would have done, too. Instead, with a head full of lewd, youthful stupidity, you seized the black-grey curls dangling at the nape of his neck and drew him closer. You spread your legs wider.

“That is what you’ve wanted this whole time, right?”

Under his scruff, a muscle tensed as Joel bit down.

That’s all he’s ever wanted.

Let the neighbors talk.

Let them say what they wanted to say—it was probably all true to the point they were trying to make, anyway. That Joel was a pervert, of course. That you were naïve, also true. That you would look too good not to stare in a white cotton frock with a bump underneath, absolutely. These were the ideas permeating your brain and his while Joel took a firmer hold of your sides and brought his nose to rest against yours. With every stab of his hips, he pressed kisses to your soft, parted lips, speaking low:

“That what you want, too, darlin’?” More serious now.

The head of his cock nicked a sensitive ridge inside you, eliciting a whimper, but you nodded. You nodded again, feeling the brush of his stubble at your mouth and your chin, and nodded again when he bottomed out, stuffing you tight. It felt a little more momentous than any other time in the past, now that you were picturing a fullness that wasn’t just him. Him and you: a concrete being to soothe the sting of his absence long after Joel withdrew.

Something to stick.

“Please say it, baby.”

Someone to call yours.

“I want it,” you said, sounding desperate.

A coil was just starting to form in the place you felt him. Drifting up, pulling tight, making your eyes go glossy and wide while they stuck to Joel’s and begged him for more.

“Want what?” He sped up, and his thrusts got sloppy.

“Want you,” you breathed, “Inside me, Joel, please.”

As if predicting your next thoughts, the man lowered his hand to your belly. You hadn’t even noticed the smallest bulge had taken shape beneath the skin. Joel slowed, momentarily, then rubbed the base of his palm against the mound where your body was obliged to make room for his cock inside you. He drew soft, tender circles there and, with the motion, sent stars flying before your eyes.

“Good girl,” he murmured, “Right here?”

“Ri— right there. Right there.”

Joel adored that sound. The soft, elated look, the gentle knoll of flesh in a bump below his hand, the whimpers rolling off your tongue repeatedly, quicker and quicker the more the pleasure inside you continued to build. Joel’s release was coming soon, too. For the hundredth time that night, he silently wished he were a little younger; so he could fill you up once, twice, twenty more times until your insides were stuffed and painted white. As if reading his mind, as he had for you, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Hope our baby has your eyes,” you murmured to him.

It shouldn’t have had such a strong effect—but of course, it did. Joel pictured the small, sweet infant with irises that shone a bit like his, and his stomach caved in.

Tonight, tomorrow, or ten months down the line, he was getting you pregnant. He’d clear his whole schedule for it

“That right?” And now he couldn’t stop the smile as he spoke, leaning even further in, “What about their nose?”

He kissed the tip of yours.

“Hope they get this.”

He kissed either one of your cheeks.

“These too.”

You had to fight back a laugh while his scruff tickled skin. Two deep strokes away from the brink of release and he still somehow always stayed in tune with your needs.

The threat of your peak was perilously near. Joel’s spend and your slick, tender glaze made a chorus of sounds at each thrust, and the deeper he went, the bigger it swelled. Your smiles couldn’t stay for much longer when the feeling inside you both was being amplified like that. Sensing this, Joel took hold of your face and slipped his touch to cup your chin. He made you tilt your head up to him, as if to ask again, ‘Are you sure?’ and when you nodded, his lips twitched again. A fleeting hint of a grin, like he couldn’t be more eager to finish now if he tried.

Holding your face, cock swollen and throbbing and desperate between your walls, he felt a familiar twitch.

There it is.