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rinhaler · 9 months ago

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I Should Just Walk Away !

His knuckles are split, what are you meant to do? Not tend his wounds? Someone’s gotta do it! It doesn’t mean you’re going to fuck him again. No way.

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors. ✧. ┊ underground fighter!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

Genre: porn with a plot (and a sprinkle of angst?) Notes: I'm gonna make a masterlist and stuff bc I love this au but I'm lazy pls bear with me! ♡ Warnings: 18+, fem!reader, blood ♡, wound care, daddy!kink, size difference ♡, age gap, degradation, fingering, tit sucking ♡, slight edging?, dacryphilia, m+f masturbation, car sex ♡, vaginal sex, creampie ♡, pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby, kid), mutual pining ♡, angst??, calls ur pussy she/her ♡, (lmk if i missed any!!) Words: 8k

—

Even after proclamations of love for each other, the rest of the ride home is silent and uncomfortable. In hindsight, it might not have been the best decision to divulge the truth of your tryst with Sukuna to your little brother.

You could try to reassure him. But what would be the point? You’re only a few years older than him, yet somehow, you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be a teenager. When you were Megumi’s age, though, you had parents.

They were alive.

Sure, you were somewhat rebellious but you behaved for the most part. You studied, worked hard, steered clear of ‘bad’ boys. And, as Sukuna so elegantly put it, you’re a ‘snooty doctor’. You’re thankful for that, because without that salary you’d never be able to afford subsidising your brother.

You had your parents.

But you’re all Megumi has.

It’s a little unsettling how quiet he’s actually being. You were bickering not too long ago, you’re taken aback that he seems to have no desire to continue. A fleeting thought that he might be trying to punish you enters your mind.

Your head snaps a few times to look at him, though he doesn’t do the same. There’s a little grimace on his face as he looks at you from the corner of his eyes.

It’s disgust.

“Are we okay?” you wonder, and the way it leaves your lips in a warble must be pathetic for your brother to hear. He scoffs immediately after, still outright refusing to say another word. You make sure to keep an eye on the road, though your gaze can’t help but wander towards your sibling when you get a chance. “I’m just going to make sure he’s patched up properly, okay? He’s not staying the night.”

“As if that matters.” he rolls his eyes.

It should matter. You don’t know what he means, and you don’t dare ask him to elaborate. There’s no reason for you to be scared of a seventeen-year-old. You aren’t. You’re more afraid of disappointing him.

“Megumi…” you take a breath. “It’s late. I think we should talk properly tomorrow.”

He takes a breath not too dissimilar to yours, you aren’t sure if it’s inherited or if it’s a habit he’s picked up from you. Is he mocking you? He doesn’t say much more, shrugging his shoulders is an answer all on its own. And still, it makes your heart twist as anxiety pierces through it like a stake.

“Fine.”

“Really?!” you bark out unintentionally. Maybe he’s more mature than you’ve given him credit for, because agreeing to talk properly is the last thing you expected. Your eyebrows knot briefly, and you look at him again when you reach a red light. “Are you fucking with me? You’re not serious, are you? You’re gonna sneak out in the morning and I won’t see you until—”

“I said fine. Didn’t I?” he grunts. “At least be quiet when you fuck him if you insist on lecturing me in the morning.”

“I’m not doing it again, I told you.” you assure him. “It was a stupid mistake and I regret it but I just wanna make sure his hand is okay. And then I’ll tell him to leave. I promise.”

“Should prob’ly tell him that, ‘cause he won’t stick around once he realises.” you both find yourselves looking in the rearview mirror at the man following behind you at a distance before quickly averting your eyes. “Don’t make promises you’re not gonna keep. You sound like my dad.”

“Ouch, babe. Noted.” you laugh a little despite being genuinely offended.

The rest of the journey is completed with your brain on auto-pilot. You aren’t even sure how you made it home without crashing once you realise you’ve parked perfectly in the driveway.

Megumi snatches your purse and ducks out of the car, making a beeline for the front door. You watch him as you allow your head to gently thud against the headrest behind you; he’s frantically looking for the house keys so he can shield himself from any possible sighting of you and his boss together.

He drops your purse on the ground with little care once he finds what he’s looking for, and you’re startled when you hear a knuckle lightly rap against your window.

“Nice place, princess.” he speaks, though it’s slightly muffled by the closed window.

“Stop calling me—”

“Oi. Pick up the purse.” Sukuna warns your little brother before he can hide indoors.

He looks over his shoulder at you both before slowly crouching down to pick it up. He grips it tight before finally disappearing.

Sukuna gives you room to breathe before offering a hand to help you out. Like you’ve never gotten out of your car before. Instead of taking it, you stare. You stare at his obscenely large hand and can’t help but remember his fingers had been inside of you mere moments ago.

You smile, as politely as you can, before hurriedly chasing after your brother.

He saunters after you with a lazy smirk playing on his features. You only see it when you remember you’d forgotten to lock your car. The sound of his Mercedes locking is a deafening reminder.

You enter your home; he hadn’t even bothered to turn a single light on as he charged straight towards the kitchen. You’d expected him to have locked himself in his bedroom by now. But instead, his silhouette is illuminated by the light emanating from the open fridge.

He grunts when you switch on the living room light, looking at you like a raccoon caught going through the trash as he chomps down on the cereal you’d bought on the way home from work.

“Can you get the first aid kit from the cupboard?” you ask him as you take off your coat and throw it down over the back of the couch. “You shouldn’t be eating so late, y’know.”

“I’m starving. I didn’t eat today, ‘m a growing boy, y’know.” he counters. He moves to look through each and every cupboard. He looks at you and shrugs before continuing to eat.

Your eyes are both directed to the sound of a gently closing door. You half smile at Sukuna as he enters before you look at your brother again in contemplation.

“Oh I moved it to the bathroom ‘cause we never use it.” you sigh as you make your way there. “You can finish eating in your room if you want.”

“Tryna get me out the way?” he rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, I don’t wanna stick around here anyway.” he side eyes Sukuna as he walks with his bowl towards his room.

You don’t see the amused grin he offers your little brother while you retrieve the first aid kit.

If you had, you’re sure you would have sent him home too.

“Sorry,” you groan, setting the kit down on the coffee table. You stand with your hands on your hips as you stare at him. It’s dawning on you, now, regardless of how exhausted you are. You’ve let a man you barely know into your home. A man older and stronger than you’d ever hope to be. You’ve welcomed a criminal into the space that is meant to be the safest for your little brother.

“I’m not gonna kill ya, sweetheart.” he cuts through your thoughts as if he can read your mind. It makes your heart race, though your face remains stoic as you try and disguise your evident worry. “Last thing I wanna do is scare you, though. I’ll go if you’re—”

“No, it’s fine.” you interject. “I’m tired, though. I’m gonna get changed because I wanna go straight to sleep after this, okay? You’re not staying.”

“Shame, I had fun.” he grins, circling the couch before sinking into it. His body is angled towards you while his eye looks you up and down with purpose. “Get comfy, I’ll be right here waiting for you, darlin’.”

Even someone as headstrong as you can’t deny how giddy he makes you. You walk backwards, unable to take your eyes off him before you eventually find your bedroom. Everything he says is so intentional, it’s almost vindictive. Like he knows just what to say to have you weak at the knees for him.

But this isn’t you.

You’ve never been the type to fall for a man’s alleged charm quite so easily. But you also didn’t think you were the type of person to fuck a stranger. He isn’t exactly a stranger, though.

He’s Megumi’s boss.

“Stop calling him that.” you whisper to yourself as you try and break yourself out of your spiralling train of thought.

You dress yourself in the most unflattering pyjamas you can find, wearing them with the full expectation of turning Sukuna off of you. He can’t possibly still be angling to fuck again when he sees you in mismatched pyjamas, complete with aged holes and stains from that one spaghetti night you and Megumi attempted.

There’s a feeble attempt made at wiping your makeup off, although you barely try. Your smile is almost blinding as you look at what a mess you are. The panda eyes from your smeared eyeliner and mascara enhance your sunken eyebags. Your eyeshadow glitters across the bridge of your nose and into your hairline beside your temples. Your pretty lipstick that you’d lined so perfectly is half removed while the other half is smudged down your chin.

You emerge from your bedroom with a confidence you only ever experience when you’re at home in your comfiest clothes. Despite your appearance, and even despite your company, you’re so content.

His eyes squint as he looks at your face, and even still, he’s smiling. He chuckles softly as you get closer to him, sitting beside him as you open the first aid kit.

“You look way prettier like this, princess.” he tells you, folding his arms across his chest as he continues to stare.

“Ah! Really? You think I look prettier?” you ask sarcastically.

“No, you look awful.” he laughs. “Is this all for my benefit? I still want to fuck you, admirable attempt though.”

You shake your head and roll your eyes as he laughs a little more, and you force yourself to frown when you realise his laughter is contagious. Everything he does is so effortless; you can’t remember the last time you genuinely smiled so hard it hurt your cheeks.

His eye fixates on you as you begin to look through your little first aid kit and pick a few things to use on his knuckles.

“I’m sure you could have done this yourself,” you start as you pick up a packet of antiseptic wipes and begin to clear the blood surrounding his knuckles. “Could have gone to a walk-in place if you were really worried.”

“Of course I could. Been doing this for years, did you really believe I don’t have my own first aid kit?” he asks. “I wanted you to do it.” he confesses, though he’s no longer smiling. You don’t stop wiping away the combination of wet and crusted over blood on his hand, though you can’t help but stare back at him.

Is he trying to scare you?

“You’re unbelievable.” you tell him, quietly.

“It’s hard to do it with one hand, sweetheart. And you’re a professional, I’d have to be an idiot to do it myself.”

You look away, only to pour rubbing alcohol onto a clean wipe. He can’t help but be transfixed as he watches you, admiring how your dainty little hands are so delicate with the equipment. How your face appears so irritated as you perform tedious tasks such as this, but you do it regardless, and he thinks it’s sweet.

“You should be on my payroll,” he finally smiles again. “My private doctor.”

“No.” you shut him down.

“I forgot how stuck up you are. I thought you’d at least be fununtil tomorrow.”

“Be grateful I’m doing this at all.” you reply with ease. All enjoyment and giddiness over his company seems to be a distant memory as you recall the type of man he actually is. You’re grouchy and exhausted, and he’s testing your patience. “I don’t like you and I don’t like what you do. And I hate that you’re involving Megumi.”

“Lighten. Up.” he warns you.

You press the wipe quickly into his cuts, and you can’t help but smile as he winces from the abrupt stinging pain. You laugh harder as he tries to downplay it. His expression becomes unreadable as he tries to appear detached. You can see it in his visible eye, though. It’s watering.

He can’t help but break at the sound of your laughter, however, as you continue to snicker whilst rummaging through for a roll of gauze to wrap around his knuckles.

“I usually don’t crack when I do that myself. You wanted it to hurt.” he smirks, shaking his head.

“Guilty.” you continue to giggle as you face him again.

He doesn’t say another word as he watches you wrap a thick enough layer of bandages around his bloody knuckles. The somewhat shallow lacerations seem to cause slight discomfort despite being taken care of. You watch him, purposefully, as he flexes his fingers a few times to test how it feels.

You aren’t sure if he knows you’re staring, but his guard seems down. It could be an act to disarm you, but you aren’t convinced he’s a good enough actor to pull it off. The genuine curiosity and intrigue on his face due to your handiwork makes you feel off. Is he judging your ability to provide proper care?

It’s not like you wanted to.

But you both know that’s a lie.

He grins when he finally notices you staring at him. And that makes you relax. You were right, he was genuinely lost in thought despite being in your presence.

“You should go now,” you say quietly. You angle your body to rest your arm over the back of the couch, your balled fist supporting your head as you begin to yawn. “I’m tired.”

“Sure.” he nods, moving to stand before relaxing into the soft seating. “I need your number.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yeah, ya need to give it to me sweetheart,” he smirks, mirroring your body language. “Need it so I can tell you when I wanna see you again.”

You scoff, shaking your head defiantly at his bold claim. The thought of him clicking his fingers for you to come running like a loyal lap dog is almost enough to make you gag. You’d slap him if it wasn’t so late, you’re too tired and you don’t want to cause a fuss for Megumi or your neighbours.

“You’re never gonna see me again,” you smile, biting your lip as you look him up and down. “And you’re not seeing Megumi, either. He’s done with your little fight club. And I’m done with you, period.”

“Aren’t you meant to be smart? Concerning that a doctor could be so naïve.” he squints slightly as he regards you, looking you up and down as you had him. You’re so sure of yourself, he can’t help but wonder if you’ve forgotten about your current appearance. “I’ll be seein’ you both again. Megumi isn’t quitting. And I like you, and I’m not the type of man to give up things I like.”

“Tough shit,” you laugh lightly. “You’re gonna have to find another poor woman to pester. I’ve got enough going on without dealing with a loser like you.”

“A loser? Really?” he chortles. “You were moaning on my dick and calling me daddy earlier. Now I’m a loser?”

“Shut up.”

He leans in close to you, noses almost touching and his smile widens further as he sees how glittery your face is from your poor makeup removal. “Are you only going to be nice to me when I fuck that brat out of you?”

You turn your head away, your heart racing as your body betrays you. The want and desire bubbles in the pit of your stomach. But you can’t. You know you can’t; because you promised.

He isn’t special.

Sukuna is not special.

“You’re not fucking anything out of me.” you tell him, peering out of the corner of your eye to see him look a little surprised at your declaration. He thought you were playing hard to get. You aren’t playing. “It was a one-time thing.”

“Really?” he asks, barely missing a beat as he responds. “I don’t understand you. I thought—”

“Of course you don’t understand me. You’ve known me for a few hours. Just because we’ve fucked doesn’t mean you know me.” you remind him. And he nods, he agrees with you. He’d be a fool not to, and the man is no fool. “It was just a heat of the moment mistake. I mean it. I don’t want to see you again and I’m not letting Megumi fight anymore.”

“Why?”

“Why?” you scoff. “He’s a child. It’s dangerous. I don’t want him—”

“No, sweetheart. I’m not stupid, I know why you don’t want him to fight anymore. Do I look like a moron to you?” he asks, voice gruff and harsh as he interrupts without a care. His temper is visible and rising as he begins to run out of patience for your attitude with him. “Why don’t you want to see me?”

“Because you’re shady and I don’t want to upset my brother. He’s already upset, I don’t want to make it worse.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“Excuse m—”

“That’s a reason why Megumi doesn’t want you to see me. Yeah I’m a little shady, but you like me. I know you do. Otherwise you wouldn’t have let me come over here, see where and how you live, and tend my wounds like a good girl.” he sneers.

“Fine. I don’t like you and I don’t want to have a platonic relationship with a criminal. Let alone a romantic one. What happened earlier was a mistake.”

“… You’re lying.” he says, and it’s curt. You cross your arms over your chest and shake your head with an amused laugh as you digest his denial. How he can sit there and act so full of himself when you’re being perfectly clear is beyond you. It’s jarring.

You jolt as you feel thick fingers lightly grip your jaw. Your wandering gaze is now brought to him. Your eyes forced to fixate on the placid expression plastered across chiselled features.

“I see you, princess. You don’t wanna see me because you want to get mixed up with a criminal, and you’re scared of that. I see you.”

You stare at him, licking your lips not so discreetly as he continues to cradle your jaw. His lips curl at the sight of the little pink muscle slipping between your lips to wet them. You’re angry. Furious at yourself for letting him touch you, hold you, like this. And you hate yourself, right now. Maybe even more than you hate him, too.

Because he’s right.

Your lack of action gives him cause to stare down at your shimmering lips, it’s a warning. A silent announcement for what he’s about to do. He doesn’t let go, but his head tilts. He leans in closer to you, daring to give you what you both know you want.

And again, he’s thwarted.

You turn away, unable to look at him right after this time.

“… You should go, now.” you tell him.

He sighs, but pulls away. You almost mewl as his thumb softly swipes across your chin. And when he withdraws it, you feel your body fill with loneliness. Your skin feels colder.

And it hurts, because he’s on the right track. You’re pushing him away because of Megumi. But deep down, as much as you crave him right now, you know it’s the right thing to do. You jolt a little as he abruptly stands up from the couch, the breeze from his movement makes you freeze.

He sees it.

“Go to bed, you’ll warm up.” he says bluntly before making his way towards the front door. He stops as he grabs the handle, holding up his bloodied knuckles. “Thank you, for the first aid.”

“It’s… it’s fine. No problem. Goodnight, S-Sukuna.” you say, cursing yourself for the audible whine in your words despite your attempted conviction. You watch him as he grabs the handle before turning to face you again.

“Come with me.” he tells you, curling the tip of his index finger. “I need to give you something, don’t argue. For once.” he demands.

You’re compelled to follow, in spite of his demeaning way of summoning you. You truly don’t want him to leave, you don’t want him to go, so any extra time you can spend with him, you’ll take.

He walks ahead of you, leaving you shivering in the doorway as you try and preserve any warmth you can. He opens the door to his car and turns around, a little bewildered that you aren’t right behind him. It makes you giggle to see him look around in search of you before he finally spots you still at the front door.

“Come here.”

You close the door and rush to his side, quickly looking back to make sure Megumi isn’t looking for you. He rests his arm atop the roof of his Mercedes, before holding out a small piece of paper between his fingers to you.

It’s a business card.

“What kind of thug needs a business card?” you ask before you even think about what you’re saying. He scoffs, squinting at you.

“You’ve only fucked me once, you don’t know me.” he smirks. And at that, you can’t help but laugh. “What you said… makes it seem like we’ll learn more about each other if we keep fucking.”

“I don’t want to know you, Sukuna.” you sigh, reluctant to keep up the charade. Reluctant to keep pretending he doesn’t excite you. To keep pretending the few hours you’ve spent with him haven’t been the liveliest your life has been in years. Maybe ever, really. “I can’t be selfish, you don’t get it.”

“You’d be surprised.” he says, abruptly. “Why did you follow me out here if you don’t want to know me?”

“Because you asked me to, you said you wanted to give me something…”

“You could have said no. Do you always do what people tell you? You wanted to. I wanted you to. And now you’re here, you have my number. If you want to be selfish… you know where I am.”

“I don’t—” you sigh, shivering aggressively before you push his card back into his chest. “I don’t need this.”

He grabs your wrist hellbent on sending you away with this one little piece of the puzzle of his life. A way to talk to him again if you change your mind. He’s giving you access, he wants you to take it, desperately.

He crouches down, levelling his head with your own so his one, uncovered eye is levelled with yours. He can’t help but smile, it’s almost maniacal, as he watches your resolve falter under his glare.

“You’re too stubborn for your own good, kid.” he grins. “And you’re not all that smart, for a doctor.”

Your face burns with heat. And you can’t tell if it’s rage or lust. Do you want to kiss him or kill him? You don’t know, you don’t know. His smile grows wider as he realises what he’s done to you. Your faces are so close to each other and this time you can’t will yourself to turn away. You can’t submit, not after this.

“I’m smarter than you.” is all you can think to say. It feels pathetic and phoned in. And he reads it, too, by the ever-growing look of amusement on his face.

“I don’t doubt that.” he nods. “What’s got you all hot ‘n bothered, hm? ‘Cause I called you a dumb li’l doctor? Or ‘cause daddy, called you kid?”

You feel your face sear further. So much so you can even detect each and every drop of sweat beading at your hairline. You’d forgotten it was freezing outside, instead trying to find a way to subtly cool yourself.

“You d-didn’t even call me dumb. I’m not.” you say, stuttering over yourself like a true idiot as you try and gain some semblance of composure through this agonising conversation.

He closes the already small distance between you, placing his hand on the small of your back and pulling you towards him. Your eyes flutter closed under his as he examines you. His head tilting and turning, forcing himself in your line of view.

“I am learning more about you. Should we fuck about it, sweetheart?”

“What are you—”

“Do I remind you of your old man, hah? I bet that’s it… was daddy never proud of you?” he chuckles darkly, carding his fingers through your hair as he stares down at you. “S’that why you like me, darlin?”

“Shut up.” you respond, voice meek and pathetic as you wrestle with your will and want. His fingers lace through your hair, delicately holding the crown of your head before you find yourself being pulled closer still. His lips ghost yours, and he’s a tease. He’s such a fucking tease.

“Got a thing for older guys who talk to you like shit… I see it. Get too much respect at your little doctor job all day. Do you like being talked down to, hm? No wonder you like a thug like me.”

“You don’t know what you’re— You d-don’t even know.”

“Yeah? I don’t?” he asks, his tone melodious and teasing. His head tilts back, the feel of his lips intensely teasing yours soon broken as he does. But you look up to him, eyes full of anguish and sorrow like a kicked puppy who doesn’t know what it wants. You hate him and the reason is clear.

You don’t hate him at all.

You just hate that he’s right.

“I think I’m right. I think you’ve got daddy issues, and you like it when I call you kid.” you turn away as he speaks. But almost as quickly as you do, he’s forcing you to look at him again. His ruby eye flaring, an expression all of its own. A warning, a look of command. A look of lust. “Am I right, baby? Is your little cunt soaked ‘cause I call you kid?”

“… I have to go.” you say, quietly.

“Sure.” he smirks.

A sense of déjà vu overwhelms you as you recognise in his smile that you’ve done this dance before. You can’t move and you can’t speak. There is no desire in you to leave him now and return to your home, your bed, like you should.

All you can do is stare. Your eyes fixated on the man who has just read you like a book. His amused expression doesn’t falter. He’s patient, surprisingly. You wouldn’t have painted him as a man with patience. But looking at him now, you know he’d be willing to wait all night if he had to. He’d wait for the sun to rise just to prove a point.

But he doesn’t need to.

You lunge forward, your hand cupping his face as you break the boiling tension between you and seal your acceptance with a scalding kiss.

He won.

He told you before, he doesn’t lose.

Your lips suctioning and pecking at his would make you embarrassed if you weren’t so desperate. He welcomes it, too, meeting yours with just as much urgency. He wraps his arms around your back as you slip your tongue between his lips, allowing them to tangle and swirl in a passionate encounter.

He chuckles into it as you curse. Curse him, curse his name. You can’t believe he’s reduced you to this, again. Your heart heaves in your chest, and you break away just to instruct him.

“Open the fucking back door.”

He laughs again, keeping hold of you as he guides you in a way he can carry on kissing you and still do as he’s told. He ducks in first, pulling you in with him right after. You grind your hips against his heavy bulge as he closes the door after you. He looks up to admire you, to adore you.

“You smeared your makeup like a fucking idiot so I wouldn’t fuck you,” he laughs. “And look at you, humping my cock like a desperate little pet.”

“Shiiiit, I forgot I’m a mess.” you sigh, though you don’t really care. You wrap your arms around his neck, keening as his heavy palms grip your thighs press you flush against his body. “This is the last time. I m-mean it.”

“Whatever you say, princess.” he says, smugly.

You dismiss it, too enamoured by the feeling of his bulge alone as you continue to grind down hard and purposefully onto him. He’s relaxed, allowing you to take the lead and go at your own pace.

It’s embarrassing, really, you’re not as experienced as he seems to be. He’s older. And you hate to admit it, wiser. When it comes to encounters such as this, anyway. You’re smart and well read, sure, but casual hook ups are foreign to you.

You’ll keep that to yourself for as long as you can, you can’t think of anything worse than giving Sukuna that little tidbit of information about you. That he is only the third guy you’ve fucked.

He hit the nail on the head back at the club, but you can’t let him know that.

“Let me feel.” he mutters. His hand holds your hip to keep you in place. Another snakes down into your sleep shorts, his mouth falls open with an amused chuckle as he touches you. “Still full’a me, baby. Bet I’ll slide right in.”

His fingers play with your pussy without any real goal. And still, it makes you delirious. He smears the evidence of your previous tryst around your folds, and he watches with conviction as his fingers circle your clit.

He withdraws them, briefly, to move your shorts into the crease of your thigh. You watch him, and he doesn’t take his eye off you, either. Your lower lip droops as you admire him. Truthfully, you’ve never been in the presence of someone so domineering as him. He is the true definition of a red-blooded male.

Sukuna is huge. In the literal sense, he is unnaturally tall. His build is enormous, his hand is larger than your face. But his aura alone is enough to fill an entire room with an ambience that he sees fit. He could instil fear into the minds of men just because he wills it.

Unfortunately for you, you are not immune to his will.

“You’re so pent up darlin’, you must work hard. Y’need to relax… no wonder you can’t keep your hands off me.” he says. It could be read as demeaning. You think it should be. And yet, you don’t detect any malice from him. He makes a show of spitting on his fingers, keeping eye contact with you as the ‘ptuh’ sound leaves his lips. It makes you shudder.

Though when he touches you with such purpose, so lewdly, a whine you never knew you could make leaves your lungs. He looks up at you like you hung every star in the sky as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. The ‘shlick’ suctioning sounds of your already tainted walls couldn’t possibly be any louder.

He sees how embarrassed you are, but he doesn’t care. Your nose crinkles and your eyes close softly. He curls his fingers and his palm flattens against your clit. And you cry out for him, lurching forward as you wrap your arms around his head rather than his neck. He’s surprised to see your hips rock against his touches, riding his fingers like it’s the only contact you’ve ever known.

His free hand reaches up to tug down your vest. His tongue is flat and wide as he sticks it out to lick your bare tits. He isn’t rough, he isn’t aggressive, he isn’t rushing. He sensually swirls his tongue over your nipples, breathing heavily on occasion before he kisses them. You whimper when he sporadically skims his teeth across them. There’s no bite. No effort. He just wants to hear you cry for him like that. It’s like his teeth are barely there, just enough that you know they are.

“Do you touch yourself?” he mumbles against your skin. You can’t bear to look at him after hearing that. You pretend you didn’t, moaning louder as a diversion. It’s fruitless, and apparently you aren’t a good actress. He yanks your hair and forces you to look at him. His fingers stop, and your body writhes from the loss. “Don’t do that again. Answer me.”

“S-Sukuna…” you fuss. The feeling of your building pleasure being torn away from you is making you stupid. It’s pathetic. And yet, in spite of how humiliating it is, you’re still rolling your hips in a bid to get the feeling back. His expression falters to one you can’t read. You think it’s annoyance, but it’s so detached and expressionless. You yelp as he withdraws his fingers completely, with no time to feel the loss when he grabs your face with his slick-coated hand.

“I want to know if you make your pretty pussy cum after a hard day at work.” he says calmly, a low rumble in his chest as the words roll plainly from his tongue. Your eye contact falters as you notice him pulling at his sweatpants in search of his aching length. “And I want you to show me how you touch her. So go on, answer my question.”

“I… I—” you stumble. You watch him intensely as he frees his throbbing cock. He wraps his fist around himself and lazily strokes. He still glares at your features. While you’re utterly captivated by his cock.

It looks so angry. Too pretty and perfect to be real, you think. But somehow, it is. You think he’d be better suited as a porn star than a criminal with an asset like that. He spends an extra second squeezing his length just below the tip when he strokes himself, it’s like he’s ringing all of the pre out that he can. It dribbles out of his slit, coating his tip the more he summons. It’s beguiling.

You suppose you hadn’t really had a chance to admire him back at the club. It was so heated and hasty. Now, it’s purposeful. You look at his face again when you realise this is what he wants. He wanted you to look at how he touches himself and how gorgeous his cock is. He wants you to see how big he is and how much he aches and throbs when he needs to be buried in a sweet little cunt.

He wants the memory of this to stain your mind.

“I d-don’t.” you confess. “Not much… I’m always tired. Busy.”

“Mhmm… I can tell.” he nods, his voice is somewhat sympathetic. “Come here, princess. Sit on it.”

His hand grips into your hip while he lines himself up with your entrance. You don’t fight him, you don’t hesitate. You let him push you down, you eagerly suck him in. Your eyes roll back as you feel him swell through your walls. Even after taking him earlier, you’d forgotten how monstrous he feels inside. And this time, somehow, he feels bigger.

“Fu-uck,” you gasp as his tip immediately nudges at your sweet spot. You hold his shoulders and hope he’ll assist you. The thought of disappointing him makes you anxious. The idea of him knowing how inexperienced you really are makes you sick.

He throws his head back as your hole swallows him greedily. He looks at you through a heavy-lidded stare, and relief fills you as his hands grab the fat of your ass. You moan pathetically as he spreads them. But his ultimate goal is to bounce you on his cock. You feel weightless in his hands as he helps you. Each steep drop down onto his length makes your throat tight.

He's there.

You feel him there.

“Play with yourself, go on. Rub her f’me.” he says lethargically.

And your face feels like fire. The foreplay was gasoline and his command is a match. And yet, out of fear of him withholding pleasure from you again, you comply. Your hand slithers between your thighs and you do all you can to pretend you’re elsewhere.

You try and pretend you’re in your room, in your bed. What usually gets you going is a mildly heated scene from a movie or TV show. The sexual tension of an almost kiss makes your face flush, though a lot less than it is now. And you think it’s unbearable to witness sexual tension and not see any resolve, so you scamper to find a video online to suit your needs. Something quick and short as you reach into your nightstand to find your favourite toy.

The thought of being caught by your brother makes you sick so you have to be fast with it. The website you ordered it from assured the toy would be whisper quiet. And you can only hope it’s true. You don’t touch yourself, not without aid. And even then, it’s sparse. You haven’t rubbed your clit with your own fingers in years.

Years of being riled up and having a useless boyfriend who didn’t know what he was doing lead you to finishing yourself off each and every time. And you knew, the moment you got a job and your own income, you’d buy yourself a vibrator.

It’s hard to pretend Sukuna isn’t here, though. It’s hard to pretend you’re in your room with Netflix playing quietly enough in the background it can still cover the sound of soft core moaning from your phone while you vibrate yourself to completion.

Because his cock fills your each and every thought. Every sense you possess is dominated by him. The feel of him stretching you out beyond your limit and repeatedly hitting your sweet spot. The sound of the sticky tacking of his length as he slams you up and down on his pulsing member.

Your vision alternates between his gorgeous gaze and the point where your bodies connect again and again. Your pussy gushes slick and the evidence of your prior combined coupling stains your inner thighs and his crotch.

The scent of your sex fills the car and the heat of your sweaty bodies exacerbates it. Your skin is damp, as is his. And it’s overwhelming. He groans into a chuckle as you moan louder and louder for him. If anyone happens to be awake at this ungodly hour, they’ll no doubt hear you. If anyone looks out of the window, they’ll see how the car rocks back and forth. It turns you on further. The tang of sweat and arousal filling the car. It makes you lightheaded.

“I can— fuck— c-can taste you, daddy…” you whine. He urges you to fall forward so he can kiss you. It forces you to take over, moving your hips on your own as you try and maintain your building pleasure. “You’re too big… can feel you in my throat, Sukuna… tastes so good.”

“Dirty fuckin’ girl.” he smirks, kissing you again. “You’re fuckin’ filthy. Not the good girl you pretend to be, hah?”

You nod, agreeing. He’s right, after all. You’re talking in a way you didn’t know you had in you. He takes over again, holding your rear so he can take full control of your body. He guides you repeatedly until your eyes cross from the pleasure. Your walls tighten, and your throat feels hoarse as you cry out for him.

“Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight, kid. Don’t be shy. Cum for daddy.” he encourages you.

You cry, at that. Falling forwards to envelop him in your arms as you come undone. He coos, sweetly, kissing your cheeks and licking away your tears. The feeling isn’t lost on you, the feeling of disgust. You’ve never felt happiness or value like you did just now. Realising how right he was about your issues and using them to subdue you.

Your pussy gushes and he moans further, chest roaring as he finally lets his sight drop to see what a pretty mess you’ve made of yourself.

Made of him.

Made for him.

He pushes his thumb into your clit and rubs quickly, further extending your pleasure through it all. You could just about cum again when you feel him shoot another load into you, his warmth filling your womb for the second time today. It makes you feel special. It makes you feel loved.

The very idea of it has you pushing yourself away from him desperately. But he holds you close. His moans are boisterous and uncaring. It’s loud enough to wake the whole neighbourhood, you think. And at the very least, you’re sure Megumi will hear if he doesn’t have his headphones on.

His arms wrap tightly around your waist to keep you in place, his feet planted firmly on the floor of the car as he fucks himself into you. He’s sure to empty every last drop into your cunt, his balls slap against your ass as he ploughs into you furiously.

And when he stops, you freeze. You feel cold. You feel filthy.

He doesn’t discard you or try to kick you out. The opposite, really. He’s still holding you close, lightly peppering your chilled skin with kisses. Eventually stopping to rest his head on your chest. He feels you try to move away, but he only holds you tighter.

So you stop trying to leave. And instead, you run your fingers through his hair. He hums contently, at that. And you feel your heart pound harder, a little smile works its way onto your face.

Maybe he’s not so bad.

That thought alone makes you stop. He looks up at you, his stare soft and gentle as he wonders what made you halt your actions so abruptly. Before he can ask what’s wrong, you move to leave.

“I have to go, I really have to go now.” you say bluntly. He huffs, watching as you scramble to put your clothes back in place, clambering off him in a hurry. He doesn’t say anything in response. He watches as you scramble to open the door. Tears of panic begin to fall as you struggle to open it, you frantically pull and push as you try to get away. He leans over, and with little effort, he opens the door for you.

“Goodbye.” he says, simply.

“G-Goodbye.” you respond, ducking out and briskly walking to your front door.

You take a deep breath when you get there, preparing for the possibility that Megumi is about to greet you and bite your head off. Sukuna doesn’t move. He stays in the back seat and watches you with a sombre expression. With no inclination of what happened to change your mood, he can only assume he stepped out of line.

He doesn’t want to leave just yet. At least not until he knows you’re safely inside.

As you grab the handle of the door and push, your heart sinks.

“No, no, no… d-don’t do this to me now.” you sob, hysterically fiddling and pushing the door. You stupidly think that you just need to try harder and it will open. But no such thing comes to pass. You’ve locked yourself out.

Sukuna sits upright when he realises, watching as you slowly turn to look at him. His hand folds, gesturing for you to come closer. And with no other option, you do. Your phone is inside as well as your car keys. You can’t text Megumi to tell him what you’ve done. And even if you could, he’d only come outside to see that you’ve let him down. Again.

“Silly girl.” he says, looking at you with a weak smile when you finally approach. You duck down to look at him, not willing to get inside with him. “Do you want to come to my place? I’ll bring you back in the morning.” he suggests.

“I’m not fucking—”

“You can stay in a different room.” he answers your obvious assumption with a reasonable response. And still…

“N-No. I don’t want to go to your house.”

“Then I guess we’re sleeping in the car. Come on.” he sighs. He waits until you get in, begrudgingly, and then gets out himself. You watch him as he circles to the trunk of his car, looking ahead at your home as you wait for him to return. And he does, with a large, fur blanket.

“Why do you have this?” you wonder.

“I don’t remember. You better not be complaining, sweetheart. You’re lucky I didn’t fuck off right after I came like I usually do. Especially after that little performance.”

“Performance?!” you yell. You position yourself as far away from him as you can in the confined space, sitting as closely to the door as you can. “You just don’t get it! At all.”

“You’ve made that clear, princess. Don’t worry. I’ll steer clear when you get back inside tomorrow. I’m too old to be playing stupid games with little girls who don’t know what they want.”

You huff, covering your legs with the blanket before folding your arms.

“I told you it was a mistake.” you correct him. “I told you I didn’t want to see you or do that again.”

“Shut up.” he shakes his head. “Just go to sleep and we’ll never have to see each other again. Because that’s what you want, yes?”

You pause before speaking. Images of his delicate expression in your arms haunt you. You’d overreacted because of your own cowardice. Because of a promise you evidently had no intention of keeping. It wasn’t a performance. It was just… fear.

“Yes.” you tell him. Your response is bold and scathing.

He doesn’t react, he merely shrugs, adjusting the blanket over his own legs, too. His arms cross over his chest, and his head rests against the window. You can’t see beyond his eye covering, but you assume his visible eye is closed.

You do the same, hoping you fall asleep sooner rather than later.

You’re wrong, though.

His eye is open wide, looking upwards to the light polluted sky. There are a few stars visible, three. He stares at them, thinking about the events of the evening. He hadn’t expected to end up fucking once tonight let alone twice. But when you walked into his club and tried to give him a piece of your mind, he knew.

He knew he’d have to have you.

And he hadn’t expected to be so lucky so have you again, like this. But he can’t put his finger on why things went so sour. It could be one thing or a number of things. He has ideas. He thinks your less complicated than you seem to think you are. You’re keeping him at arm’s length, and that, he understands.

He’s a stranger, but he doesn’t have to be.

He doesn’t want to be.

But what can he do?

He’ll just stare at the stars until he drifts off to sleep.

Maybe things will be different in the morning.

—

chapter one | m.list | chapter three

#🦋 — luxe writes #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu #jjk x fem!reader #tw blood #tw daddy kink #tw size difference #tw age gap #tw degradation #tw dacryphilia

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mossfrg · 2 years ago

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Jersey Gotham

Okay as someone born and raised in Jersey, I feel like we as a fandom are missing out on truly Jersey-ified Gotham. Like, c’mon, Jersey Girl Brucie Wayne??? So here I am to present a list of things I need more of because god damn it make Batfam— mostly Bruce, Jason, Tim, Steph, and Duke— Jersey (all based on my own personal experiences/real things that have happened to me):

Bruce cannot pump his own gas. He just. Doesn’t know how to. It’s not like a rich person thing, he just never learned cause he’s from fucking Jersey and never leaves Gotham. Jason didn’t know how and Talía lost her shit “How??? You are child superhero??? Who died and spontaneously came back??? But you can’t pump gas??” Tim kinda knows cause of Titans but again, he never really had to. (There’s a Twitter threaded dedicated to the Wayne family titled “is this rich or Jersey”). Steph and Duke can but they both pretend not too.

There have been fist fights over whether it’s pork roll or taylor ham. Jason and Bruce are very adamantly pork roll like the good Southern Jersey boys they are— it’s the one thing they can agree in most days— but Tim is taylor ham. Steph and Duke, despite being South Jersey, like to cause chaos and flip sides constantly. Dick, Damian, and Cass couldn’t care less.

The Absolute Hatred of New York/NYC. Doesn’t matter which kid it is, Bruce (and Alfred) got them all on board with this. Don’t even get them started on the Statue of Liberty; it’s a Wayne family tradition to try and buy it from NY because technically it’s more in NJ than NY and it’s closer too. They’ve yet to be successful but Bruce has hope for when it’s Damian’s turn.

And bc of this hatred of NYC comes the support of Philly!! None of them are super big sport fans, but they do cheer for Eagles, 76ers, and Union. Bruce, thanks to Alfred, is a big fan of soccer (“it’s football, master Bruce, I didn’t raise you in a barn”), and is a member of the Sons of Ben. He can be found in the River End of the stadium with Jason cheering for Union at pretty much every home game. There are multiple videos of Brucie Wayne and Jason Wayne screaming at refs, launching fireworks off the roof, and cursing out opposing teams’ players. Duke and Tim can be found 76ers games, while Steph frequents Eagles games.

Accents. Pls for the love of god give those boys (and Steph) accents. They are from New Fucking Jersey. They say “cawfee” and “tawlk.” They pronounce 0% of their t’s in the middle of words— kitten is ki’en, Trenton is tren’in. Jason and Steph drop letters when they gets pissed, Bruce slurs words, Duke and Tim drop passive-aggressive “y’all’s” to piss people off.

Driving. Now it’s not that they’re shit drivers, it’s that everyone else is a shit driver, and it’s not helped that majority of them learned to drive in the Batmobile. Steph has a loudspeaker on her car and frequently yells “fucking Pennsylvania turn your goddamn blinker on!” while driving. Bruce has a room in the manor dedicated to his speeding tickets. Tim as gotten into multiple fists fights at lights because people were driving slow in the fast lane. Jason is infamous for doing the Jersey Slide.

Jason, Tim, and Steph have gotten mugged before. They talked their way out of it and gave tips to the mugger. Bruce has kicked a rabid raccoon while walking home before because what else was he supposed to do? Duke has ordered a “pork roll egg and cheese on an everything” before in Not-Jersey and cried because they don’t have it. Several foreign benefactors of WE have asked for translators at meetings with Brucie cause Brucie’s accent is so thick and exaggerated. IN CONCLUSION: making Batfam (and gotham) Jersey is funny as hell and presents so many good opportunities. Make Batfam Jersey! (again these are all just my personal experiences, big state yada yada, different experiences, blah blah idgaf I jsut need batfam fist fighting over pork roll)

#batfam #richard grayson #bruce wayne #brucie wayne #jason todd #tim drake #stephanie brown #duke thomas #cassandra cain #alfred pennyworth #gotham #Please make them Jersey #Gotham is literally in Jersey #Make batfam jersey #Yes I did kick a raccoon once worth it

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marc-spectorr · 1 year ago

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come alive

pairing: poe dameron x reader

kiss prompt: #22 …in a rush of adrenaline

warnings: 2.0k wc. mentions of violence, shooting, weapons. curse words.

notes: thank you to the lovely anon for submitting this prompt! i decided to make this its own post bc i wrote quite a lot. also i haven't watched star wars/written for poe in a hot minute so pls be nice to me lol. hope you like it!

—

“What’s the escape plan?”

At the question, Poe shoots you an odd look that is quite concerning. “Escape plan?”

“Yeah, the escape pla—oh my god,” you say in a hushed whisper, blinking at him. “You don’t have one.”

“I don’t have one yet. Don’t worry, I’ll come up with something quick and then—”

“—and then we get captured, locked up behind bars to rot or until they decide to—”

Your ramblings are cut short when Poe puts a hand over your mouth, gently shushing you. Three stormtroopers approach the stack of oversized crates, shrouded in darkness due to the absence of sun at this late hour.

You freeze and hold your breath, waiting for them to pass. Fortunately, they march right by without problem, oblivious to the fact that you two are hiding behind them.

As happy and relieved as you were when Poe first showed up to free you, you’re now back to thinking that you will die at the hands of the First Order. It’ll only be a matter of time until someone realizes their imprisoned Resistance spy has escaped. You’ll never get out of here, especially without a plan. You’re doomed.

You swallow thickly and try to distract yourself from the dread and panic clawing inside of you. You’re on the verge of hyperventilating. Glancing around wildly, you need to focus on something else. Anything.

Eventually, you have no choice but to settle on having your attention on the pilot’s stupidly handsome face. You keep your eyes on him, inhaling and exhaling deeply to gather your composure. All the while, you wonder— has he always been this good-looking up close? You have never realized how pretty of a shade his dark eyes are or how much they sparkle in the low light. You’ve never seen such thick and curly hair like his, and you have the biggest urge to card your fingers through it.

“Sweetheart, hey—relax,” Poe murmurs when you grow quiet on him, his watchful gaze flickering every now and then to check your surroundings. “Breathe. We got this.”

Poe has long dropped his hand from your mouth, but it remains on your face, cupping your cheek as he assesses you for any injuries. You feel your pulse pick up a beat. You’re sure it’s mainly from the threat of danger you’ve found yourself in. Certainly not because of Poe, your good friend, and crush ever since the day you joined the Resistance.

No, it definitely cannot be that.

“Okay,” you sigh out, nodding. You take a quick glance at the perimeter yourself this time, mostly to hide away from his gaze. “Now what? We can’t stay and hide here forever.”

“You’re right,” Poe agrees. He steps closer to you, his chest brushing against your back as he scans the area with you. “My ship’s past the tree line. Best course of action is to sneak out without alerting anyone. But if things don’t go our way, we use these.”

Slipped into your hand is a blaster. You take a deep breath and tighten your fingers around the grip. You hope it doesn’t come down to a shootout between you, Poe, and the dozens of armed guards patrolling the place. Violence isn’t really your strong suit. That’s why you preferred missions that involved laying low and gathering intel. Too bad your cover got blown on this assignment.

(And yes, you are still sore about that).

“I’m a shit shot, just a heads up,” you warn Poe. You turn around and bump into him, forgetting that there’s barely any space between you. He doesn’t make an effort to step away, and surprisingly, you don’t either.

Poe’s lips curl into a smug grin. He holds up his own weapon in his hand. “And I’m very much not. See, we’re a perfect match. On a scale of 1 to 10, how’d you rate my spur-of-the-moment escape plan?”

You bite back a chuckle and shake your head. Leave it to Poe to distract you from your worries, even if it only lasts a minute. In all seriousness, you have faith in him. He can be overly cocky sometimes, but he’s smart and skillful. You’ve seen and heard what he’s capable of. There’s a reason why you and plenty of others admire the hell out of him.

“I’d give it a 7.5, mainly ’cause I trust in your confidence too much. Plus, it’s not like we have other options.”

“That’s the spirit,” Poe beams. “Sorry if I worried you about not really thinking this through earlier. Once I found out you were being held out here, I kinda just... went for it, y’know? I didn’t have time to waste. I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

You smile at him, ignoring how your cheeks are warming up against the crisp nighttime air. You’re touched by Poe’s statement. Grateful that you’ve crossed paths with someone like him. Who else would be this reckless and determined to dive into an impromptu rescue—or insane enough to risk their life to save yours?

The thought has your heart feeling tender, but you can’t get caught up in it at this moment. You and Poe need to make it out alive first. Fuck, now the nerves are starting to creep back in.

“Thank you. If we come back to the base both in one piece, dinner’s on me.”

“You mean when we get back,” he corrects. He holds his hand out for yours. “Deal. It’s a date. Alright, you ready?”

Poe’s question almost doesn’t register in your head after he refers to your dinner offer as a date. He doesn’t seem to be joking around. He sounds serious, and you don’t question it. You find yourself more than okay with calling it that.

Clearing your throat, you give Poe a slight nod, ready as you’ll ever be. Both of you have to get out of here alive. Your date depends on it.

Staying undetected as you move through the shadows was easy in the beginning. Few are out on patrol this evening, and when you do encounter someone, Poe manages to evade them. Surely this isn’t his first go-around at something like this.

You do your best not to allow your anxiety of getting caught to cause you to lose focus. The warmth of Poe’s hand in yours helps soothe you, an assurance that if anything goes wrong, you’re not alone.

When you spot your way out, relief floods over you. You tell yourself you’ll be home soon. That you’ll be back in your bed in no time, tucked under the covers, safe and sound. No longer would you be fearing for your life in the way you are right now.

You’re nearly there— the clearing is just within sight. Less than a hundred yards away more and…

Sirens suddenly blare. So loud that they ring in your ears and leave you disoriented for several seconds. The quiet of the night quickly descends into chaos as guards pour out from every which way. The radioed orders your ears pick up are clear and bone-chilling: they are searching for you, and if found, they want you gone permanently.

“There you are, scum,” a trooper snarls from behind, weapon pointed at you. They’re about to pull down on the trigger, but Poe reacts much quicker. The blaster in his hand fires, and the man instantly drops to the ground.

You barely have time to process what happened when Poe grasps your hand tightly, holding onto it uncomfortably tight, but his touch is grounding. The two of you share a knowing look as the sound of distant voices and heavy footsteps grow closer.

“We gotta keep moving. Shoot anyone who’s chasing after us, got it?” He says, his voice a blur over the erratic pounding of your heart.

Poe doesn’t wait for your acknowledgment. He makes a mad dash towards the gate leading out of the compound. He wasn’t lying when he said he was not a shit shot, taking down a few men with such ease— they were no match for him.

Luck seems to be on your side tonight. The moment Poe tugs you past the gate, you run across the field and into the woodlands as fast as possible, the fastest you’ve ever moved. Your muscles are sore, and your head is dizzy. It feels like you can’t get enough air in your lungs.

Still, you run. You run and run, even if you’re starting to think that your legs will give out at any moment. You have to get as far away as you can from the place that has kept you captive. It’s your best bet if you want to survive.

Finally, Poe’s ship comes into view. He glances behind you, and you mirror his action, seeing that the guards have lost track of you in the dark. The relieved smile on your face remains for only a split-second, however. As soon as you turn your head back, you see the stormtrooper emerge from the thick bushes, aiming to shoot at an unsuspecting Poe.

It’s like everything is in slow motion. From you realizing that Poe is in imminent danger to the way you forcefully push him out of the line of fire and draw your blaster.

Adrenaline buzzes through your veins. Your chest rapidly rises and falls. You steady your hand even as it fights to tremble. Without thinking twice, you fire your weapon. The first shot narrowly misses the enemy, but the following two blasts hit them fatally, and they slump to the ground, unmoving.

Luck truly is on your side tonight.

You gasp a breath in surprise when a pair of solid arms suddenly wrap around you, your nerve endings still on high alert after all that has transpired.

Poe’s gentle voice saying your name cuts through your foggy mind, and you meet his gaze. Your heartbeat continues to drum sharply against your ribcage as you stare at him for several moments, tracing the deep, worried lines etched on his face.

You don’t know what comes over you after. You’re unaware of what you’re doing until you’re right in the middle of it.

One second, you’re holding onto Poe—feeling some of the tension in your body seep out upon seeing that he’s okay, he’s unharmed— and the next, your lips are on his, soft and warm. Exactly the way you had imagined they would feel.

Poe doesn’t kiss you back right away; it is the only thing that snaps you out of this haze. Have you misread him all this time? He’s a major flirt, but you thought he was genuine with you. A knot of confusion and embarrassment forms in your stomach. How could you be so wrong? How could you have fucked things up?

You immediately pull away, taking a few stumbling steps back. Poe looks at you wide-eyed, mouth slightly open, but he doesn’t say a word. You glance down at your feet, not wanting to see his expression as you fumble out an apology.

“I-I’m sorry, Poe. I don’t know… I was just—”

You are interrupted when Poe lets out a breathless chuckle. He closes the short distance you had put between the two of you, his hands cupping your face, fingers stroking your cheeks ever so gently.

“Don’t be sorry,” he whispers. “I wasn’t expecting you to do that. It did feel very nice, though.”

Poe’s breath fanning warm over your skin causes yours to hitch. Before you can respond, he slowly leans in and recaptures your lips in a sweet kiss. Your heart stutters and skips for a whole new reason now. Something more electrifying replaces the fight or flight sensation surging within you, making you light-headed in the best possible way.

The kiss abruptly ends at the sound of dried leaves rustling and branches snapping from different directions. You notice faraway lights becoming brighter, no doubt more stormtroopers closing in on you and Poe.

“I’d like to keep kissing you, but we gotta go,” he laughs, nodding towards the ship. “The sooner we get back, the sooner we can go on our date.”

You grin in agreement and place your hand into Poe’s hand. Being with him makes you feel alive, like you can handle almost anything the universe throws at you. You could get used to this.

“Take me home, flyboy.”

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron #oscar isaac x reader

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nightcolorz · 7 months ago

Note

Have been actually shocked by the takes of Louis and Armand’s relationship dynamic that I have been seeing in which people act like Armand’s subservience is manipulative and evil.

As someone who was also a victim of grooming in my youth (though obvs not like Armand level of traumatic events bc good lord that boy cannot catch a break) I always found Armand to be a really compelling character, and I loved how they were handling the psychological impact of his abuse on his relationships within the show and they all felt very relatable to a degree. I was like mind blown by the way they handled how Louis and Armand’s pasts related to each others and thought it was super clever and it made me go “holy shit” in a way that a tv show hasn’t made me go in a long time. Though I can see where some of the takes are coming from, it has been really disheartening as a victim of grooming to see people dismiss Armand’s behavior when he’s with Louis as purely a form of manipulation on Armand’s part or a fun silly sex thing 😭😭😭

YES ANON FR!!! also very disheartening and genuinely offensive to me how some ppl talk about Armand and his trauma (also am a victim of grooming lol). I’ve talked about this before, but the way ppl r saying with their full chests that Armand is being manipulative in his trauma responses is like actually fucked up, and it’s low key triggering to me 😭. Just bcus armand manipulates ppl doesn’t mean he is *always* manipulating ppl omfg 💀💀 some nuance pls I beg of u.

to me it seems very clear that Armand falls into subservience and behaves as the victim bcus the abuse he experienced was the closest he ever felt to feeling like he understood what he was doing and understood what he was needed for. For a lot of victims of grooming their abuse can cause them to feel safe in those types of abusive dynamics bcus it’s familiar to them, which def seems to be how it is for Armand. Armand feels constantly lost and confused and by being a slave again he returns to a time where he knew what he was, when he had someone there to tell him what he was. And it comes off very clearly to me that Louis sees this in Armand when Armand tells him about his trauma and (as he’s also in a vulnerable position) realizes that he can use Armand’s pattern of submitting to servitude to his advantage. Which!!! That is objectively fucked up im sorry 😭 and I’m tired of being in a fandom where ppl r acting like just bcus Louis is a likeable sympathetic character and Armand does mistreat Louis also, that means Louis isn’t capable of mistreating Armand. Bcus it sounds like when ppl make those excuses that they r saying sexual exploitation like that is ok 😭. Just bcus Armand agrees to and participates in it doesn’t mean Louis isn’t knowingly exploiting the trauma of a vulnerable person 😭 and it doesn’t make it ok. Like we can find it fun and sexy, but the “face down in the coffin” scene was still borderline non con sensual 😭 yknow what I’m saying? You can like Louis as ur fav and discuss how Armand is shitty to him without acting like it’s ok for Louis to pretend to be Armand’s abuser as he orders him around like an animal so he’ll do what he wants. This is an incredibly complex dynamic with two very fucked up characters who hurt and abuse each other out of fear, and some of u can’t handle that nuance 😭.

and I understand not being able to grasp the nuance of Armand’s character, it took me like a year to fully wrap my head around him. He’s got a lot going on and it’s hard to understand why he behaves the way he does, especially if you haven’t experienced sexual trauma or grooming. But just like, y’all have to remember that it can come off as pretty shitty and bad faith to interpret a character like this as always being evil all the time. Ur reducing someone very complex and ur making some borderline offensive (also borderline racist but that’s a different rant) implications

thank u sm for the ask anon ur so right and I relate so hard to ur annoyances ❤️❤️

#armand #interview with the vampire #iwtv #amc iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #the vampire armand #armand iwtv #loumand #louis de pointe du lac #iwtv amc #iwtv season 2 #iwtv s2

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kxmisato · 1 year ago

Text

♡ AUTUMN — DAN HENG

↳ characters : exbf!dan heng x gn!reader

↳ genre : fluff, like a pinch of angst

↳ synopsis : after receiving a text from your ex-boyfriend’s little sister asking to hang out and accepting, you go over to their house. there’s no way you’d see him again, right?

↳ note : opera house by cigarettes after sex (he is so bf, so autumn time bf, so fall time.)

bailu ♡ (dan heng sis):

y/n are you busy

i miss you a lot

can we hang out

you:

hi bai

bailu ♡ (dan heng sis):

you:

i miss you too and no i’m not busy, i’m on fall break

idk if we should hang out though,

i don’t want to make dan heng uncomfortable

bailu ♡ (dan heng sis):

who cares about him !!

i’m talking about you and me

not him

he STINKS

you:

LOL

ur so cute bailu

but you shouldn’t say that about ur brother

he cares about you a lot

bailu ♡ (dan heng sis):

ya but

i’m mad at him

bc you guys broke up

you:

we both agreed to break up bailu

we just got busy with midterms

bailu ♡ (dan heng sis):

do you still love him?

you:

dang

right into the deep questions, huh bai?

bailu ♡ (dan heng sis):

IM SORRY Y/N

you:

LMAO

it’s okay dw

yeah i still do love him

bailu ♡ (dan heng sis):

then will you get back together?

pls get back together

i miss you

you:

i would like to get back together but i don’t know if he wants to

i miss you too

bailu ♡ (dan heng sis):

can we please hang out

we can do it when he’s not home

i will text you when he leaves the house

i think he’s going to the library today

okay?

you:

okay bai

but i think you should tell him before i come over

bailu ♡ (dan heng sis):

fine

i will see you soon !!

i’m sooo excoted !!!!

excited* !!!!

you:

me too!!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

though bailu said that she would tell her older brother, she in fact did not. about half an hour after she had sent ‘he’s gone !!! come over FAST !!!’ and made your way over, you heard the front door to the house unlock.

internally you were hoping it was their mom coming home from work, but a sliver of you also hoped it was dan heng.

even though your break up was a mutual one, it still stung, bad. the two of you agreed to try and avoid each other on campus, thinking it would make things easier for you but instead it made you feel emptier.

someone who you had talked to everyday for 2 years had become a stranger in the matter of seconds, he was a part of your routine and you were a part of his, the sudden removal of each other made it hard to accept.

which is why you were hoping it was him walking through that door. then when it was, that pinch of excitement you had quickly faded into anxiety as your stomach dropped when his face came into view.

it was the first time you had seen him in 7 months, he looked the same. same blue eyes, same beauty mark on his neck, same brown hair, but a bit shorter, did he get a haircut?

“oh.” is the first thing he said when he seen you.

oh? really? ‘oh’ is all you’re going to say?

“bailu, you said that you told him that i was coming over?” you turned to the girl.

“o-oh… i did? i must’ve forgotten to ask…” she stumbles out, pink flush creeping it’s way up the back of her neck to her cheeks. “i was going to ask him but he was already in his car when i was going to…”

you sigh, “it’s okay bai, i’m not mad at you. i think i might just leave though.”

“what?! no! please don’t leave, i’ve missed you so much, y/n.” there’s a tremble in bailu’s voice. “please.”

“you can stay,” dan heng interrupts. “i don’t mind.”

“you’re not uncomfortable?” you ask, looking up hesitantly. though you’re exes, you still care and respect him.

“yeah, it’s okay.” he gives you a quick smile. “i’ll just be in my room.”

“oh, uh, okay, thank you.” you sputter, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

“no problem.” he says, and as you turn back around to look at bailu, you hear his feet pad heavily down the hall.

“you can’t do that again bailu, okay? i’ve missed you too, but it’s not fair to dan heng to have me be here without him knowing.”

“okay… i promise i won’t do it again. i just really missed you.” she mumbles.

“i’ve missed you too,” you sigh lightly and then change the subject. “so what movie did you want to watch? i think you’d like the princess diaries.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

during the first half of the movie, bailu was enthralled by it. but once you had been watching for half an hour, bailu let out her first yawn. then five minutes later, she let out another one, and then ten minutes later, she was passed out on her end of the couch.

you looked over and smiled at her sleeping form, then got up and covered her with the throw blanket you were occupying.

you stretched lightly, feeling the need to straighten out after lounging in the same position for a while, then picked up your empty cup of tea on the coffee table and made your way to the kitchen.

everything in the house was the exact same, considering how long you and dan heng have been broken up for, regardless if it’s felt like longer than it has been.

family photos litter the walls, photos of bailu and dan heng when they were babies, wedding photos, and dan heng’s graduation photo. you were in that photo, wearing a matching cap and gown with him and cheesy smiles.

making your way into the kitchen, you rinse your empty cup with water and think about why that picture was still up.

why didn’t they change it out?

too lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear dan heng’s footsteps head towards the kitchen until you heard his voice.

“oh. sorry, i’ll just come back later.” he says, and goes to turn around.

“no! sorry, no it’s, um, it’s okay. i was just putting my cup in the sink. besides it’s your house, i’m just a guest in it.” you rush out.

“ah, okay,” he replies, making his way past you and grabs a glass out of one of the upper cabinets. “you know you’re not just a guest, right?”

“what do you mean?” you turn and ask, wanting to look at his eyes but breaking eye contact as soon as his eyes met yours.

“my mom and bailu love you, you’re basically family to them.”

“oh, but aren’t you uncomfortable?” you ask, though you wanted to also know what you were to him. were you family to him too? does he still love you?

“no. i’m not.” he says matter-of-factly.

“really?”

“really.”

“...”

the silence between the two of you was deafening but oddly, it wasn’t uncomfortable. it almost felt like the two of you had never broken up. like you were just talking in the kitchen during winter break as you had before, and it not being 7 months since the last time you talked.

“...i–” you start.

“can we talk about something?” he interrupts.

“yeah, what is it?” you ask.

dan heng gets up from where he was leaning against the counter, making his way over to the sliding glass doors to the backyard. “do you mind if we talk out here?”

“no, not at all.” you say.

dan heng motions for you to head out first, and you mumble a quick ‘thank you’ as you step out of the doors, with him following close behind you.

as you walk out, you’re met with the crisp autumn air. the coolness brushes against your cheeks as your eyes settle on the falling leaves of trees in his backyard.

he closes the doors as you sit down in one of the lounge chairs on the deck, then he makes his way over to sit in the one across from yours.

“so…” you play with the hem of your sweater, “what did you want to talk about?”

does he want to talk about us?

“i.. uh…” he starts. “how have you been?”

how have i been? that’s what he wants to ask?

“i’ve been fine, i guess? what about you?”

“i’ve been,” he clears his throat. “fine too. how were your midterms?”

“they went okay…?”

this is weird, you think.

“that’s good. i’m glad they went well.”

then the same silence from before is back, but this one is awkward, deafening. it takes up the air of the conversation and feels suffocating.

“so, what did you want to ask me, dan heng? or did you just want to catch up?” you question.

instead of answering your question, dan heng remains silent, his eyes meeting yours and then immediately looking away.

you let out a sigh as you stand up from where you were seated. that slightest bit of hope you held onto for the conversation about your relationship quickly dissipated.

“i think i’m just going to go, it’s getting late anyways and bailu has school tomorrow, right?” you say and walk to the sliding doors. “could you let her know that i paused the movie when she fell asleep? i don’t want her to wake up and get upset thinking that she missed the rest of i–”

“i’ve missed you.” he finally says.

you turn to look at him again, his back is facing towards you and his head is hanging low.

“what…?” you mumble quietly.

“i’ve missed you, and i think that we should try again.”

“really?” you say in disbelief. he had seemed so unbothered when he seen you for the first time earlier today. you had thought that you were the only one affected by seeing each other for the first time in months.

“i’ve been thinking about you non-stop since we broke up. and not being able to talk to you, see you, touch you, was horrible.” he breathes out. “i tried to stop thinking about you, but wherever i go, i get reminded of you.”

you walk back over and stand in front of him.

“i’ve missed you too. so much.” you admit.

“i’ve wanted to call you so many times, i’ve wanted to see you so badly. see your mom, bailu, you. i missed you so much, dan heng.” you croak out, feeling the sting of tears in your eyes as you try to hold them back.

dan heng stands up, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulls you closer. he rests his head in the crook of your neck, refamiliarizing himself with the smell of your perfume.

vanilla and cashmere, like always for the fall time he thinks.

when his arms crept around your waist, yours wrapped around his neck and you melted into his warmth again, it contrasting to the cool air of fall.

your hands play with the bottom locks of his hair as he pulls you impossibly tighter against him, afraid that if he lets you go, you’ll never come back.

when you pull back, you study his face again. the same blue eyes, same pouty lips, same beauty mark on his neck. the same dan heng.

“i like your haircut by the way” you giggle and a light smile spreads across his lips.

“yeah?” he says.

“yeah, it suits you.”

#— kxmisato’s works #dan heng #dan heng star rail #star rail dan heng #honkai star rail #star rail #dan heng x reader #dan heng x gender neutral reader #dan heng x y/n #dan heng x you #dan heng fanfiction #star rail x reader #star rail x you #star rail x y/n #dan heng fluff #star rail fic #honkai starrail

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rodolfoparras · 1 year ago

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Price and Soap have such a chokehold on me right now 😫😫 Like both of them are so hot but they would treat their s/o so differently (imo)

Soap would be so touchy and sweet. Whenever you’re together, he always needs to be touching you. Whether it’s a hand on your thigh while sitting with the rest of 141, or him laying his head in your lap while y’all watch a movie. I hc Soap at like early to mid 20’s. He has such a high sex drive. He’s always up to fuck when you’re alone. It’s basically like rabbit mating season if you’re both horny. He’s also just very needy. Maybe he wants you to ruin, at least, one of his holes, or he just wants his boyfriend to hold him after he comes back from a mission.

Price on the other hand, not the complete opposite, but different. Price has more experience because of his age (mid to late 30’s), so he’s not as touchy or needy as Soap, but if he’s deprived of you because of work or something, this man devolves and becomes the most desperate man. Price won’t beg, it isn’t in his nature, but he’ll definitely make his intentions and wants known. Putting on the cologne he knows you can’t resist. Purposely bending over to show off his ass. Wearing less and less clothes around the house. He’ll always deny that he wants you, but once you give it to him, he’s chanting your name like a prayer.

I’m sorry for ranting. These men make me realize how gay I am and I’m so downbad for them (can I be 🤠 anon?)

First of all pls don’t apologize for ranting I absolutely loved reading and you can def be 🤠 anon that’s a cute one🥹

Second of all I absolutely loved this bc I love talking about how different price is compared to the rest of the boys when in a relationship

Bc for example soap can be touchy and kissy and need ppl to know that you’re his and he isn’t sharing while price rarely gets jealous someone has to literally be like I want to take you out on a date for him to react and even then he’d stand off to the side rocking on his heel and pretend he isn’t listening in

I also think that soap and price are equally touchy but in different ways soap is like a toddler who’s enamored with a baby kitten he wants to hug and squeeze you and sneak up behind you wrap his arms around your waist etc

Now price id def would say he isn’t touchy but that was until I saw a compilation of him somehow always fist bumping the boys or giving them a friendly pat so let’s say you’re heading out for a mission price is giving your hand a firm squeeze you’re coming back alive and well on the heli he’s giving you the biggest bear hug to exist when in company he’s got a hand on your thigh but no one else can see from the table that’s blocking the view always makes sure to sit next to you in the car he doesn’t touch you or anything it’s just nice to feel your body heat next to him. Also I absolutely agree that price won’t beg hes been in the game long enough to know how to play his cards right he knows how to rile you up what to wear what to do but also what to say you know usually when he speaks to you and you’re in public its very low pda being shown in the conversation but when you’re alone and he’s horny you can be like “are you hungry?” And he’s like depends are you on the menu?

#alec answers #🤠 anon

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obsidianpen · 7 days ago

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I ADORE YOU

Weres my vape boo?

Saying spend too much time who?

You’re best mom, whoo!

Um u don’t have to post this but I just wanted to say I grew up with a stay at home mom and it was the greatest thing in the world. My mom had four kids in 6 years and somehow found time to watch the sopranos full series. And I wish she had more time! Like she was the hardest working most beautiful women ever and all I wish now that I’m an adult is that she had more fun because I got enough of her. Not that I’m upset I had sm time with her bc she was the bestest part of my childhood but every mom deserves time for themselves. I love my dad and he worked so hard to supply the family with money. But my mom worked tiredlessly to make sure that money was enough for medical care, food, home needs, school, etc. She made sure every dime was well spent while when she asked by dad to go get food he’d pick up 6 Pringle cans and a bag of onions. She is an extremely talented women who during her middle 40s stopped realizing that (she was also in the art field). Idk that one commenter really made me be like wtf (no hate i think they meant well) Because pls pls pls never loose ur love for writing. Not even for my own benefit, but bc I love woman who are dedicated to their interests. Because moms are the hardest working most important individuals (you are literally creating and then raising the next generation) and because moms deserve to have a life outside of their kids and husbands. I think moms are the most important people in society and I’m proud of anyone who can just call themselves a mom.

Sorry for the rants, you don’t need to respond I just wanted to say I love my mommy despite all her faults. Girl idk your faults but u seem like a good person which makes you a good mom and kids r so resilient. I don’t remember anything other than the fact that my mom tried. And that’s what’s most important. If moms loose sight of their interests (which happened to my mom), when their kids are older, they won’t know what to do with themselves. Normalize women not becoming an extension of their husband (not that I would ever suggest this happened to you but I just think it happens too often) Again sorry for the rant, I just hate the way society views women as baby carriers and nothing else. WOMAN DESERVE HOBBIES! So never ever ever feel bad about taking time to write. My sibilings and I always encourage our mom to draw and express herself and wished she did it more.

well this was an interesting rant/post!

To be clear, and i know you weren’t saying this was true of me, but it should be said - I have never once viewed myself as an extension of my husband, so no worries there, lol. As for being a stay at home mom… I did go back to work nearly full time for a bit, and it was rough. We moved across the country so he could take a job so I could be home with Bebe. It was a choice we both agreed on. I personally love being home with him. This is a season of life; I’m basking in it.

I’ve never felt guilty for taking time to write. Granted, i do it almost exclusively when he’s asleep, but still.

I think some reframing can be helpful. I don’t view myself as an extension of anyone, but at this stage in his life, I sort of view my Bebe as an extension of me, if anything. He’s still so young that he needs me 24/7 (even when he playing independently, can’t take your eyes off these guys for a mo). And that’s fine. Bebes are only bebes once. I don’t know any parent who’s ever looked back and said, gosh I wish I would have spent less time being present with my kiddos when they were young!

I’m also not someone who would ever have to worry about ‘what to do with myself’ when my kid gets older. I have plenty of ‘hobbies’ and look forward to being able to pick things like glass up again. However. I would wager that any mom/parent etc that finds themself at a loss for what to do with their time later in life got that way because hobbies were a luxury they could not afford to have while doing all the child rearing and domestic labor and perhaps also working a job job. Yes, women - and everyone - deserve to have hobbies. But no one needs to be guilted for not being able to maintain them in a society as demanding as ours when you are simply trying to be a good parent and make ends meet. You say you ‘encouraged (I assume this was meant to be past tense, as in during your childhood as well) her to draw more.’ I might be making some unfair assumptions here, but maybe she could have if someone else was helping her? Encouragement does not do the dishes, clean the house, do the laundry, make the meals, get the groceries, take the kids from here to there, run the errands, blah, blah, blah, blah. I’m sorry but I really disliked the way that was worded! It implied that if was your moms fault for not keeping up with drawing, despite being ‘encouraged.’ I bet she wishes she could have done it more too, but I also bet that when she had to make the choice between ‘get shit done’ or ‘quality time with kids’ or ‘draw’, she chose option one or two most of the time.

as for me, I love drawing too, and I can’t WAIT until my kid can draw. Some of my fondest memories with my dad were when we had ‘drawing contests’ and would sit and draw the same thing together, sometimes for hours (strangely, I always ‘won’). My dad was no artist mind, but it was fun, and it’s where I started to learn to really look at things. I’m super excited to be able to teach my kid how to draw when he’s young. This Bebe is going to know how to cross hatch and shade with charcoal before kindergarten haha!

So I guess I’ve just responded to your rant with some ranting of my own! Sorry if I’m super off base with any of my comments. I think we should normalize letting moms - and all parents - make the choices they want to make that’s best for them and their family.

#Rant

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judeswhore · 1 year ago

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bestie! trent and reader are facetiming before bed as usual and she casually mentions that she’s going on a date with a guy and trent is taken aback cos she doesn’t usually date. anyway the call ends and he starts spiralling and suddenly gets in his car and drives 2 hours to turn up at her door and confess his feelings and he’s like pls don’t go on that date tmoro it’ll be a mistake and i’ve come all this way cos i needed to tell you in person that i love you. i feel like trent is the type to show big displays of affection

the second u mention the date there’s this obvious shift in trent’s attitude like he’s suddenly so blunt with u and just doesn’t seem to wna talk and a few minutes later he’s telling u he needs to go bc he has to be up early and ur all??? bc he’s being so abrupt and it’s not like him at all bc usually he’s begging u not to end the call bc of how much he misses u. so ur really confused but ur saying ur goodbyes and being all “i can call u tomorrow tho right? before the date? i know i’ll be stupidly nervous and u always help” and ofc he’s agreeing bc he’s ur best friend but at the same time that’s the last thing he wants bc he doesn’t want u going on the date at all and he hates the thought of bigging u up to go out w some random guy when it should be him.

he’s just having this absolute meltdown for the rest of the night bc he’s in love with u for gods sake and he doesn’t know how u don’t see that and he feels literally sick over the fact u might get with someone else. and he’s not even thinking when he’s climbing into his car and driving to ur house even tho u live like two hours away. it’s just after midnight when he gets to u and ur so confused and a little concerned when he knocks u out of bed and u find him on ur doorstep, immediately panicking thinking somethings wrong. but he’s shaking his head and backing u into the hallway all “u can’t go on that date tomorrow” and ur all??? cos what??? and he’s not even giving u the chance to speak bc he needs to get everything out before he loses his nerve again. tells u it’ll be a huge mistake and that he can’t watch u with anyone else bc it’s supposed to be him and he’s just shaking his head with this little laugh all “i’m in love with u and it’s so ridiculously obvious but u just won’t see it! i don’t want u to go on any dates unless it’s with me, it should be me ur nervous to go out with” and ur just watching him all wide eyed and slack jawed bc why has it taken him this long to tell u how he feels? when you’ve been waiting years for him and he’s never given any indication that he wants u as more as a friend. just smacking his chest with this little glare all “didn’t anyone ever tell u it’s rude to make a girl wait so long? you’re an idiot” and now he’s confused bc does that mean ur not gna go on the date? that u feel the same way bc ur still glaring at him. going on to be like “why did u have to wait until someone else asked me out to realise how u felt?”

#trent rambles🍒

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pleucas · 3 months ago

Note

this is said with no malice towards you i love your art!! i like you!!

also not capitalizing chuuya's name even tho i have better humor than this

this is going to be loooong but i never read a more stupid ask….

i don’t hate skk bcs i use my brain and see that they’re actually good and a fun ship when someone isn’t ruining it. what i hate is most skkers being unfunny towards Dazai and the continuous mischaracterization of him just to make chuuya look better (mostly chuuya stans but also dumb Dazai stans are guilty of it)

and no Dazai isn’t the worst and chuuya doesn’t deserve better in fact i think yall can’t handle a person with mental illness and a fake persona he clearly put on people always demonize him so i think saying he’s the worst and chuuya isn’t proves my point. they both EQUALLY did the same bad things Dazai isn’t more toxic than chuuya it’s more like Dazai is the one who’s going back to a toxic ex (mind u chuuya was ready to hurt or maybe even kill some of the ada members people Dazai obviously cares for)

the skk hater? who loves chuuya and hate Dazai because they know chuuya’s character will never be as important or as impactful on bsd universe as Dazai’s noted.

if you love chuuya and hate Dazai your opinion about Dazai is immediately invalid like i think they just know no bsd character can be better written and more interesting than Dazai he's what keeping bsd good (and Fyodor i liked him in the last chapters even more)

imo if chuuya keeps appearing he'll just get boring🤷‍♀️ because most of his storyline is over

Dazai on the other hand always entertaining and deep and there’s a reason he’s involved in everything and never forget everything he did for chuuya stormbringer would be nothing without Dazai helping chuuya from the shadows and chuuya knows it but i guess people will still makes him the bad person in skk when he’s the one trying to change and be better person

also Dazai is someone who’s storyline is still on going as well as we know almost nothing about his past or what actually goes on in his brain i can say three things about his backstory and that’s it.

sorry for rumbling i can’t take that level of stupidity

pls don’t block me im not evil…..

holy shit we got cross-ask beef. this is insane

i'm gonna lowercase Both their names because i think this is the reasonable next step. LOL. & i'll also ramble a bit to match ur freak!

i will strive to clarify that me agreeing that dz=worst chuuya deserves better was, as i specified, "on a generalized scale" — on a very, very, VERY surface level this is a jokey way i've seen a lot of skkers talk about their relationship. more of an inside joke atp ig? idk. srry if that wasnt clear

but i do think it's valid to dislike a ship because you don't like one half of it. i totally get how dz's character can piss ppl off, esp if ure missing lns and mangas (which rimu wasn't, but they watched the anime first so the precedent was set). i found the first part of their thesis to be pretty funny actually, just (again) taking it at face-value.

it's also understandable that they try and dissect dz then miss the mark by a mile LOL. but again, can't be blamed if you hate the guy and thus don't read into him too much, which i think is a reasonable way to consume media... probably more reasonable than me. hence why i didn't respond with my own thesis paper. overall idk man it's not that deep, i've been having fun with rimu and i'd advise y'all to also be silly w/ ur Budgeted RPF Dead Author Yaoi, it'll make things a lot better

abt what you've said, i think dz and chuuya can't exist as true characters w/o each other, unless you fundamentally change their truth. a lot of their good & bad (& inbetween) sides are exposed through their relationship, which i believe is asgr's very interesting way of employing "show-don't-tell." i don't think chuuya's storyline is over, because dazai's isn't, and vice versa. this doesn't mean i don't think they have their own arcs, just that these arcs Must involve the other — if dz's main conflict is good/bad + the mafia, chuuya is his biggest amiable tie to it, and if chuuya's conflict is his self + power, dz must be there for corruption. there's more to say there, but again i don't want to feed rimu's claims of us all being dormant essayists LOL

we got dz glazer and rimu, D1 dz hater. and cheese anon.

#casasks #rimu saga #am i instigating???? i cant tell #but this is really entertaining idk is that evil of me #bsd is fucked up cuz all these takes are lowkey valid and back-uppable #asgr the absolute mastermind that you are

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pnrfru · 1 year ago

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Kinktober Day 1; First Time

a/n; hi I’m dee, welcome to my first ever kinktober lmfao (pls dont grill me, I’m trying my best haha)

the prompt for day 1 is ‘first time’ and I’m really loving dbf!joel so thats basically what i wrote lol. this is in a universe when the outbreak doesn’t happen bc I’m not writing angst (yet lol) and also, lets be real, you n me probably wouldnt survive an apocalypse…

anyway!!! pls enjoy n feel free to leave constructive criticism <3 I’m always trying to improve hehe

ps: I’m only posting these because jenni gave me $10 and I’m very easily influenced lol

God damn Joel Miller and his beautiful face.

He doesn’t say anything though, he just bends down to you again and captures your lips in an intoxicating kiss, this time not holding himself back as his hands roam your body.

Warm hands draw senseless lines along your hips and back, curling around your shoulders before travelling back down to gently grab your waist. You moan into his mouth and grind into his hips.

Despite his cool demeanour, you feel his hands tighten ever so slightly on your waist.

As you pull away to point this out, he decides this would be a perfect time to push his knee between your thighs and pull your pants down ever so slightly so he can draw more senseless patterns across your waist.

Instead of muttering a witty comment, your brain short circuits at the new sensations and you grab onto his shoulders and whimper quietly.

If Joel’s groan is any indication, you think he likes your reaction.

♡︎ ♡︎

Joel Miller. Your dad’s best friend since before you were even thought of. The man who taught you how to fish. The man who helped you pass 9th grade math. The man currently sitting in your kitchen drinking a beer and smiling at you with that lopsided smirk and those crinkled eyes.

The man you can’t seem to take your eyes off of.

You smile softly back before his eyes wander off again and you try to regulate yourself, reminding your thoughts that he’s minimum twice your age.

You shake your head a little, turning to grab some finger food that your dad had scattered through the kitchen to “celebrate the favourite child coming back for the summer”.

You weren’t really the favourite, your brother was, but your dad did the same thing for him and your mom had always told him off for picking favourites so he did the same for you.

Speak of the devil, your brother rounds the corner and snags your plate before you can even think of telling him to piss off and mooch off of someone else for a change.

“Thanks, piggy.” Is all Damien says as he meanders outside and greets the other guests. You sigh and grab another paper plate, grabbing some other things.

“What’s that about, kid?” You jump at Joel’s voice, having completely forgot about his existence during the interaction.

“Dames’ just a scab, always steals something when he’s here.” You try to sound disinterested but Damien is a professional at getting under your skin and sinking his disgusting little scabby hands in there.

“Should tell him off for that. Not nice ‘n’ shit.” This time the comment is directed to your father, you think, when you hear said man snort and sigh.

“He’s jus’ playin’, it ain’t anything big ain’t it?” You turn around and agree, not having the will to fight the losing battle against your father anymore.

“At leas’ tell him to get his own or something-“ Joel is cut off with a wave of your father’s hand, a common gesture when he’s getting annoyed.

“Fine. Not anythin’ I can do, though.” Joel snorts as the older man grumbles his way outside, making his way to his son and beginning to “scold” the man-baby.

You smile your thanks to Joel, who just returns it and gestures vaguely to the seat next to him at the kitchen bench.

Joel always looks out for you, after all he has Sarah and knows that your dad tends to be a bit misogynistic at times. He’s always been protective and understanding when you’d come crying to him and Sarah at early hours of the morning, always there to offer a cup of hot chocolate.

“Thanks, Joel.” Is all you can muster as you reminisce. He huffs a sound you take as agreement and finally sit yourself down next to him.

“‘course, kid.” Joel says into his tiny sandwich, a hint of a grin dancing on his lips. A dramatic heave leaves your lips at the word “kid” before you can stop yourself. The second you realise, though, you cover your mouth and laugh a little.

It’s always been a pet peeve of your’s, being called “kid”. Even though, to Joel, you were, it still bugged you a little.

“What? I say somethin’ funny?” Joel laughed dryly, turning to look at you and you sputter for a second when the sun hits his face just right and he just looks so beautiful and god would he just shut up!

“Is it ‘cause I said kid? Y’know you are jus’ a kid, yeah?” Now it’s your turn to laugh dryly. You ignore the comment and turn back to your food. You aren’t a kid!! You’re in college!! You can legally drink (in other countries).

Joel laughs it off and turns back to his plate when you suddenly have the perfect idea to show him you aren’t “just a kid”.

Does it involve a bit of moving and showing off your ass? Maybe. But you’ve worked hard on your ass on the gym, maybe it was time someone finally appreciated it.

That’s when your cue falls, literally. Joel drops his fork and you take your chance.

“I’ll get it!” You say it a little too enthusiasticly but you really couldn’t care less because the look on his face when you bend down and show off everything your mama (and those damned squats) gave you, is worth everything in the world.

“Feelin’ a little clumsy today, Joel?” It’s cheesy and later you throw your head back and forth to cringe but in the moment it makes Joel’s face go a shade of red and it makes your heart swell.

“Yep.” Is all he can force out as you sit back down and grin to yourself. Perfect plan is in action. Absolutely no flaws. Except you are so horribly and terribly wrong.

You get up to wash your’s and Joel dishes a little while later, leaning on the bench in just the right way to show off your ass while not being too obvious when Joel pushes his way into your personal space.

“Can I help you-“ The question get cut off quickly when you feel something very warm and very hard pressing to your side. Crimson paints your cheeks when you realise it’s his cock straining against his jeans.

Joel doesn’t say anything, he just lightly pushes you so he can face you properly. He gives a quick scan, making sure everybody is busy before leaning into your neck and whispering in your ear, “What was that, kid?”.

“I’m not “just a kid”.” You mimic his previous sentence. You meant for it to sound more powerful and assertive but it tumbled past your lips before you could put any oomph behind it.

Joel shakes his head, stepping closer if that’s even possible and traps you between him and the hard wall behind you that you only just noticed.

The wall seems to slip your mind, though, as Joel cages you in with an arm to the wall.

“Can see that now. Do you usually bend over like that in front of boys or is that jus’ a “me thing”?” He emphasises the words and watches your face closely as you fumble around in your brain for a response.

“It’s just a you thing… I promise.” You mutter. He seems satisfied with your answer because he brings a hand to your chin and gently lifts your face to look at him properly.

“Good. You don’ mind if I kiss you then, do ya?” His question darkens the blush on your cheeks but you can’t answer when his damn hand is burning your face like that and when his chest is so close to your’s and when-

“Asked a question, doll.” Is all he says before you’re grabbing his shirt and kissing him as hard as you can and moaning softly into his mouth.

If the motion took him by surprise he doesn’t show it, letting you kiss him and slowly exploring your body with his calloused hands. He pulls away for a second to look around before diving back in.

You gasp when he properly pulls away, taking a step back and grabbing your wrist softly.

“Can’t do this here, doll. Cm’here.” Before you know it he’s dragging you into the bathroom and locking the door behind you both. A smile cracks on your face as you watch him and the way his body moves.

“This ain’t smart. Y’know that, yeah?” He sounds a little worried, and you know why. Your dad has never been too big on you dating boys, let alone an older man, let alone his best friend. You nod, looking deep into his eyes to show you’re sure.

He nods as well before grabbing your waist and picking up where he left off. In the kitchen, you had just been kissing with closed mouths, soft but with a hint of hunger, but now that you were alone, Joel was lightly prodding his tongue into your mouth and you felt blood rushing to your lower belly.

Would this be a good time to tell him you’re a virgin?

You let him explore your mouth, trying your best to follow his lead but failing miserably. You know this because when he pulls away he looks confused.

“I’ve never- I mean I’ve kissed boys before but not- not like- well you know it’s all-“ Joel cuts off your rambling with a snort, shaking his head a little before turning back to you.

“Oh darlin’, am I your first? Fuck.” The stress in his voice is faint but it’s there, hiding behind those perfect teeth and a pang of guilt pummels through your body.

“We still can but I know it’s um… I mean- I know what I’m doing! Just never gotten the chance…” You trail off the end of your sentence. You get the feeling Joel doesn’t really care. But he lifts your head to look at him once again and that feeling dissipates into warmth in your belly.

“Don’ care what ya have ‘n’ haven’t done. Do ya want to now? With me?” He sounds almost like he’s insecure, you think. Like he’s suddenly realized how this would be your first time, and it would be with someone like him.

But that doesn’t bother you at all, in fact you prefer it this way. Being with someone you trust and find to be quite charming. It gives you butterflies to even think about it.

“Yes. Of course I do, Joel! Why would I have kissed you otherwise?” You both laugh softly, letting the awkwardness fizzle away.

“Jus’ thought you’d want someone more, y’know,” he gestures vaguely up and down your body, “your age.” You snort in response before leaning up to kiss his cheek.

“They don’t know what they’re doing. Neither do I but, I want someone who can teach me, not someone who has to learn with me, you know?” His eyes crinkle as he smiles a little wider, making your heart swell and heat rush to your lower body once more.

God damn Joel Miller and his beautiful face.

He doesn’t say anything though, he just bends down to you again and captures your lips in an intoxicating kiss, this time not holding himself back as his hands roam your body.

Warm hands draw meaningless lines along your hips and back, curling around your shoulders before travelling back down to gently grab your waist. You moan into his mouth and grind into his hips.

Despite his cool demeanour, you feel his hands tighten ever so slightly on your waist, and you smile to yourself.

Instead of muttering a witty comment, your brain short circuits at the new sensations and you grab onto his shoulders and whimper quietly.

If Joel’s groan is any indication, you think he likes your reaction.

“So pretty, baby.” It’s only three words. Words you hear seperately almost every day. Yet when he tips his head to your ear to whisper them as his hand inches lower in your panties, you feel your muscles clench and butterflies fill your stomach.

Joel leaves an open-mouthed kiss right below your ear as his hand finally makes contact with your cunt and you can’t help but bury your head into his shoulder and cry out.

You’ve touched yourself plenty of times, but the way he’s building you up makes his touch feel electric, and the way he’s circling your clit so softly is giving you a sudden urge to bite his head off so he’ll do what you want him to.

The thought soon simmers down as he starts sucking a hickey into your neck and his fingers dance delightfully around your entrance.

A muffled, “Joel, please,” falls past your lips and into his flannel. He begins his gentle, open-mouthed kisses along your neck and jaw again at your words. He doesn’t let up on your cunt, though.

“You feel good, doll?” His accent is getting thicker, you notice, and it fuels the fire in your belly. You nod enthusiastically and you see the hint of a smirk dance on his lips.

All he does, though, is continue his light touch around your clit and entrance. You groan in annoyance and watch his mouth curl into a full smirk.

“You enjoy this don’ ya?! You’re evil, Joel!” He just laughs at your accusation, his fingers still just sort of satisfying. You groan again and decide you’ve had enough of his teasing.

You angle your hips just a little when he starts circling your hole again and sigh contently when you feel one of his fingers finally push into you.

Once again, Joel’s face stays the same, but you can feel his surprise on your thigh, a small twitch of his cock. He must be bored of his teasing because he follows your lead and starts pumping his finger into you.

You moan and feel yourself clench around his finger, effectively pulling a soft groan from Joel’s lips.

“Fuck me, Joel. Stop teasing and please fuck me.” You plead with him, and smile widely when he pulls his hand from your panties.

You smile to yourself, both of you are too impatient to play games with each other.

Joel squats and pulls your shorts and panties down with him, helping you step out of them. He stares up at you, the way his eyes bore into you like you’re his sole purpose in life almost makes you forget where you are and what you’re doing.

You don’t miss him stuffing your panties into his back pocket, though.

“You have to give those back to me, they’re one of my good pairs- oof!” He stands to his full height before you can protest any more and roughly kisses you once again.

You smile into the kiss, enjoying his change from ‘cool, calm, and collected Joel who builds things’ to ‘horny, desperate, Mr. Miller who steal panties’.

Before you can say any of this, though, Joel is picking you up and wrapping your thighs around his waist. The feeling of his tattered jeans under the skin of your thighs sends a shiver up your spine.

Joel fiddles around and ends up holding you up with one hand. If you weren’t hot and bothered before, you definitely are now.

“That’s hot.” Is all you can muster, his attractiveness is fogging your brain so you don’t immediately register his laugh. Or the distinct clink of his belt being undone. Or his grunt when he bends slightly so he can pull down his boxers. But you do feel when his cock nudges at your entrance and you fight the urge to moan at just the thought.

“You’re sure about this? Ya really want-“ You groan at his question and cut him off by sinking down onto his cock. You don’t get far though.

Usually when you touch yourself, you only use two fingers and that seems to suffice.

You failed to take this into account when attempting to sit on his cock.

He’s much bigger than your two fingers you’re used to so you only get about an inch in before you whine in pain and regret trying to rush things.

“‘m not stretched ‘nough.” You say through your teeth, whimpering softly while you adjust to his size.

“Darlin’, you should’ve let me do this bit, hm? ‘re you alright?” Concern is etched deep into his features as he asks you and you feel your heart swell again.

“‘m fine. Jus’ gimme a minute.” He nods quickly and lets you settle yourself.

After a few beats you test the waters and sink yourself down a little further.

The stretch of him burns still, but it subsides much quicker and you moan in spite of yourself.

“Feels good. Don’ hurt as much.” You slur, gripping his shoulders a little tighter as you inch yourself a little bit lower.

He rubs your skin and mumbles sweet nothings as you slowly, slowly, push yourself further onto his cock until finally you’re seated flush against his hips.

You sit there for a while, allowing everything to adjust. The pain gradually blossoms into pleasure and before you know it, you’re pulling yourself up and pushing yourself back down.

You both moan in relief and you stare into his eyes to ground yourself.

His eyes crinkle in the way you love best as he smiles at you. He’s so fucking gorgeous.

“You feel fuckin’ amazin’, doll. Wanna give me a go?” His smile is soft and you trust him so you nod, relaxing into him as he readjusts his grip on your ass.

He gives an experimental thrust, watching your face as your eyes roll back and you open your mouth slightly to let out a small sound.

“Feel good, doll?” He sounds genuinely curious so you force your jumbled thoughts into a half-coherent, “myeah..”. He hums in approval before fucking up into you in a consistent rhythm.

He fucks you nice and deep, reaching places you’ve never reached with your fingers. You try to voice this but it only comes out as blabbered praise of his cock.

He slows down (barely) for just a second to whisper, “shhh. Gotta be quiet, hey? Don’ want anyone to walk in on this.” and pushes your hair back delicately as if he’s not rearranging your organs in your guest bathroom.

You agree, though, and close your mouth to try and keep your moans in. Joel hums approval once again, adjusting his hips slightly so he hits that spot deep inside you. Your bulletproof plan of ‘maybe if I close my mouth I won’t alert everyone that I’m currently having sex with a man the age of my father’ immediately crumbles when he repeatedly hits your g-spot and draws stars into your vision.

He’s quick to shut you up, though, wrapping his hand tightly over your mouth without missing a beat. You make a mental note to tell him that the way he treats you like you weigh nothing is definitely the hottest thing ever.

You want to tell him now but there’s some things preventing that, like his cock in your cunt, and his hand on your mouth, and the fact that everytime you breathe, all you can smell is him and it sends you over the edge.

His smell - sandalwood, you think. probably a cologne that someone got him as an afterthought - encompassing your every thought is all you can think about as your orgasm hits you.

Your muscles squeeze his cock and you can hear his groan in response.

He fucks you through your orgasm, much slower and much more deliberate than just a minute ago, and stops once he sees you calming down.

He sets you down softly, but keeps holding you up when you almost fall to the ground immediately. You’re busy trying to keep yourself from folding in on yourself that you dont notice the cum staining your leg, nor do you notice Joel staring at it and blushing profusely.

“That was.. wow.” You finally manage to hold yourself up and look into Joel’s eyes, smiling brightly. He returns the smile but only breifly because he’s once again leaning down to kiss your lips.

Although, this kiss is gentle, no hunger or lust overpowering the kiss. It’s innocent and warm and it makes your heart melt.

“Did ya enjoy yourself, doll?” He’s smirking so you know that he knows exactly what you’re going to say, even before you can think about a response.

“Yes. Definitely. Please do that again.” He laughs softly, grabbing your long forgotten shorts and handing them to you.

“Of course, sweetheart. Anythin’ you want. But we gotta, y’know.” He gestures vaguely to the bathroom door and you finally notice the broken lock and the gaps between the door frame.

“Did anyone hear?! Shit! I’m so sorry Joel-“ He cuts you off with a snort and pulls the door closer to him.

The gaps disappear when he does and you blush, realising he had held the door closed the entire time.

“S’alright, we jus’ gotta be more careful if we make this a uh, a thing, y’know?” He lets go of the handle and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

You button up your shorts and look up at his face, watching his eyes stare anywhere but at you and taking note of the red dusting his cheeks.

You giggle quietly and kiss his cheek as you wiggle past him towards the door.

“I don’t usually let boys fuck me stupid and then never let them do it again. Text me tomorrow, I need help finding a summer job.” Your confidence even surprises you as you walk out of the small bathroom and make your way back outside.

You greet some guests, faking laughs and making small talk when you finally catch Damien and steal your food back. He groans and you just flip him off, walking over to the bench near the barbeque and sit down.

This is the point in time when you remember Joel Miller still has your panties shoved deep inside his jeans.

Your face flushes pink and your eyes scan the yard, finally landing on brown eyes that stare back at you.

He smirks and waves politely before turning and talking to someone.

You can see the corner of your panties sticking out of his back pocket and curse anyone and everything you can think of.

All you can think about is tomorrow and how you’re going to ride that man until-

“Dad says it’s my food. Give it back.” -and you’ve given up on trying to enjoy the party.

Fuck Joel Miller.

Literally.

#joel miller #joel the last of us #the last of us #dbf!joel #pedro pascal #pedro pascal as joel miller

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fushitoru · 3 months ago

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hello bestie happy dhanteras!! hope ure doing well 🩷✨

i know im super late to this bc you’ve probably already decided whether to make bridgerton!gojo a virgin or not but i feel making him a rake or atleast giving him a fuckboy phase will add depth to his character 😭

like he’s only had rough sex before to cope w stress but with the reader, for the first time he makes love and thats when he realises how something slow and passionate (which he previously believed to be boring) can feel so good and pleasurable and he’s just so so whipped when he realises what love does to you like sex + romantic feelings involved is just so intoxicating to him that he just can’t get enough of her (this is so cheesy sorry jdjdjdh) and it’ll make sense for him to open up the reader, who’s a lot more innocent and unaware, to a whole new experience and help her explore it kinda like how simon did with daphne.

also rake satoru whos probably a regular at brothels and just visits it out of habit again but for the first time he hesitates to sleep w another woman bc he cant get the reader out of his mind (PLS SEE THE VISION JJDJDJ)

anyways im sooo sorry for annoying u with this huge rant 😭 i just think it makes sense for a man from regency era to have atleast some kind of experience but anyways i loooove ur story and ur writing so so so much i’ve reread it like 4 times already thank you sm for writing a bridgerton au 💗💗

AHH LATE TO THIS but (late) happy dhanteras and diwali!!!

honestly...i'm still really conflicted and haven't made the decision. but i really like this idea --- the fact that he thinks it's nothing special but reader---on wedding night or before---makes him realize that this is something new. it goes along very well of how bridgerton!gojo has been characterized---as someone who thinks love is bs and that there's no space in marriage for it. this could extend to sex as well.

one thing, however, that i've already stated is that gojo kind of has a contempt for brothels and doesn't visit them often. but your suggestion could easily extend to it by saying that he goes to brothels when he's REALLYYYY stressed.

so imagine he's stressed because he's realized he loves reader, tries to go to a brothel to get her out of his mind, and she's the only thing he can think about...poor him T-T

BUT AHHH thank u nonnie for this ask <333 i love the rant and i think i agree with you in that it makes sense for him to have some kind of experience. we'll see when we get there.....

i might just leave it vague/not addressed at all bc im a pussy

#aashi answers #bridgerton!gojo

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love-kurdt · 11 months ago

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This is Me Trying (Mike's Version) (byler): 1

word count: 6,469

warnings for this chapter: lots of sexual content!! underage drinking, mentions of drug use, roofie mention bc college, internalized homophobia, maaaajooorrrr depression. this is semi-autobiographical so pls be kind <3

in short: if you are emotionally or mentally vulnerable, please dni.

If someone were to ask me what time it was, I wouldn’t be able to tell them. First off, I would look down at my watch and realize that said watch was not on my wrist. I would then ask myself why my watch was not on my wrist, then I would remember, oh yeah, Will has a matching one, and I was dead to Will, so I didn’t wear the watch anymore. Time was just a construct, anyway. In the end, I’d probably mess around with the person asking and say some shit like, “It’s 420:69.” I was drunk, though, so I was allowed.

I was at some frat party, spending what was my last official night as a student at the University of Indianapolis with the brotherhood of Alpha Lambda Dickhole. I was seated on some musty couch, stained with whatever the fuck that was, with an empty glass resting between my legs and a bottle of whiskey in my hand. I’d given up some time ago on trying to pace myself. Some kind of synth-infused rock music vibrated across the floor, and I could feel the bass reverberating in my bones, which would normally make me want to get up and dance, but I wasn’t particularly in a celebratory mood; I was only halfway through my sophomore year, and had just dropped out.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen this coming. I had been spiraling for a long time. It all started over summer break between my senior year of high school and my freshman year of college. I never even wanted to go to college in the first place. What was the point of spending tens of thousands of dollars on a creative writing degree when I could just freelance and eventually get published? But my father insisted that I at least attend a state school with cheaper tuition, claiming, “You can’t run on ink and espresso, son. You have to put in the work and have the credentials to show for it.” On the bright side, it was a miracle that Dad had enough confidence in me to allow me to pursue writing at all. But I was on thin ice with my father, had been for years, so I agreed to at least think about college.

My friends chose their respective schools fairly quickly; Dustin had gotten in with a full ride scholarship to Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Max and Lucas went to UCLA as sports science and physical therapy double majors, El went to Vanderbilt University in Nashville to pursue a degree in therapy, and Will… Will went to Chicago. Which school he went to, or if he went to college at all, I didn’t know. To study what, I had no clue. Where he lived within the city, I hadn’t the slightest idea. That’s what happens when your ex-best friend up and leaves without so much as a “goodbye.” I considered the day Will left to be the day my world stopped turning and time froze. So I took off my watch and hid it in a shoebox under my bed with the rest of my mini-shrine.

Dr. Owens and his team had arranged government-mandated counseling for all of those involved in the Vecnapocalypse. A year in, though, I didn’t see a point in going anymore. I was healed. I was fine. I was ready to move on with my life. Well, everyone else in the Party was ready to move on. Why wouldn’t I be? It probably hadn’t been the best decision on my part to stop going to therapy, but without Will in my life, I didn’t have much of a reason to stay in Hawkins at all, and I really didn’t feel like dredging up my past once a week to pick apart as if I were in an anatomy lab practical. Besides, I didn’t feel like arguing anymore with my dad. So, I begrudgingly packed my bags and headed to Indianapolis, killing two birds with one stone.

When I got to campus, I was assigned to dorm with this guy named Elvis (yes, as in Presley). Aside from his stupid ass name, Elvis Kuiken was a good roommate. He was a senior who kept to himself most days, when he wasn’t working. He was clean, at least by my standards (which were on the floor, literally and figuratively speaking), and he was also part of a fraternity. He’d always bring me along to parties, all in the name of the formative freshman experience. What this “experience” primarily entailed, I came to find out, was alcohol. Weed, too, no doubt… but extra emphasis on alcohol.

I didn’t want to admit it, at least not to others, but I became a lot more withdrawn since my falling out with Will. I wasn’t as outgoing, as daring, or as extroverted as I used to be. I was used to being an outcast of sorts, so not much changed there. Except now, where I used to have the confidence to at least approach people and introduce myself– “Hi, I’m Michael! Do you want to be my friend?” “Yes.”– I couldn’t do that anymore. It was like my communicational skills had completely disappeared. But during my first party, I took a shot of tequila and must’ve made at least ten acquaintances within the three hours I was there. If only Troy could see how popular I was now. He’d piss his pants… again. It was like a light flickered on in my head; the more I drank, the more sociable I’d become. I took this epiphany and ran with it.

One time back in— September?— or something, I had been at a party for a few hours, and came up with the idea to try every single type of liquor to ever exist. I picked up a shot glass and stood at the counter for a good fifteen minutes, downing shot after shot. I woke up the next morning with a throbbing headache, unsure of how I even got back to my dorm room. But then I looked to my right and saw Elvis’s head resting on my very shirtless, hickey-covered chest. Oh. That’s how I got home. I wasn’t able to wear any shirts with collars below my clavicle for days. I didn’t hate it, though. In fact, that wasn’t the last time my roommate and I hooked up. Stumbling through the door, making out in the dark, and whispering each other’s names into otherwise complete silence until the sun came up became a regular occurrence.

Christmas break arrived, and most of my time back in Hawkins was spent trying to avoid Will. And from the way I saw it, Will was everywhere. He was the art on my bedroom wall. He was the yellow sweater that hung in my closet, probably the only colorful item in my entire wardrobe that I hadn’t thrown out, because it was Will’s sweater. He was the shea butter soap on the bathroom counter. He was the hot cocoa mix in the kitchen cabinet. He was the D&D box buried underneath my bed that I neglected since Eddie’s death in 1986. He was the Party. So I didn’t leave my basement for the entirety of mid-December to the beginning of January, with the exceptions of family dinners and sleep. I won’t lie, I was a little bit ashamed of how I’d handled things with the Party. I definitely shouldn’t have iced everyone out. My friends made various attempts to get the Party back together, and always invited me, but I’d always have some kind of excuse as to why I couldn’t hang out with them. They eventually stopped calling.

One Saturday afternoon, I was sprawled out on the couch watching Star Wars: Episode VI– Return of the Jedi, and Nancy and Jonathan came barrelling in through the basement entrance, practically swallowing each other whole. I missed the feeling of being in love. I’d cleared my throat when it started to get a bit too steamy, causing the lovebirds to jump apart in shock. Nancy smoothed her skirt while Jonathan lifted a hand into the air to greet me. I nodded back in acknowledgement. This silent interaction had me wanting to crawl out of my skin. All I wanted to do was ask Jonathan about Will; how Will was, what Will was doing, if Will had met anyone, if Will remembered me. It was like Jonathan could read my mind, because he said, completely unprompted, “He still thinks about you, Mike. He hasn’t forgotten you.” I actively committed those words to memory.

I ran into Joyce during a last minute school supplies shopping trip to Melvald’s on my way out of town. It was bound to happen at some point, what with Joyce owning Melvald’s now. I’d expected it to be awkward, but was proven wrong when Joyce practically jumped the counter to engulf me, her honorary third son, in a hug. She’d pulled me all the way down to her level, so I was bent at almost a 90 degree angle, but I didn’t care.

“How’ve you been, sweetheart? How’s Indy treating you?” she asked. That was a loaded question. It would be spectacular if your son hadn’t left, but whatever.

“It’s treating me well, I’m mostly taking my gen eds right now, but I’m always writing my own material when I’m not in class,” I grinned, trying my best to not let it look fake or forced. Joyce seemed to buy it.

“I’m so glad to hear that. You know, I always knew you were going to become a writer,” Joyce smiled, and I nodded, staying as neutral as possible. I knew where she was going with this. “I remember it as if it were yesterday,” bingo, “that in the mornings after your sleepovers, you and Will would sit at the dining room table with your eggs and maple syrup and work on your comics for hours. Do you remember that?”

“Yeah,” I replied wistfully, “I do.” I glanced down at my shoes, trying not to let any tears escape. The amount of crying over Will that I’d done just within the time I was back home was pathetic. But Joyce didn’t seem to mind in the least, because she reached up and ran her thumbs over my cheeks, where a few stray tears had traveled down against my will.

“Oh, honey,” Joyce held my face in her hands, eyes filled with compassion, and pulled me into another hug, holding me close. I had always loved Joyce, but this mutual understanding led me to reserve a special place in my heart for her.

We engaged in a little more small talk before she personally walked (dragged) me through the store with my shopping list to retrieve the items I needed. When she checked out my items at the counter, she grabbed a pen and post-it note, wrote something on it, and handed it to me. I held it up to eye level with a shaky hand.

“That’s Will’s phone number, he’s at the American Academy of Art,” she whispered. My eyes widened, and I breathed, “Thank you, Ms. Byers. So much,” before heading out the door to my car. I sat in the parking lot for a solid fifteen minutes, causing myself to fall behind schedule, but I had Will’s phone number. That was a good enough reason to be late, in my book.

After what felt like a fucking eternity, I was finally able to return to campus. I’d set my suitcase down next to my bed, and took a minute to collect my thoughts prior to unpacking. All of a sudden, Elvis clumsily tripped over his own feet through the door, sheepishly grinning at me, having just been startled. I felt a blush rise to my cheeks, followed by a quiet, “hi.” Seconds later, we were all over each other.

It was around this time that I finally came to terms with the undeniable fact that I was exclusively attracted to men. I’d always believed my sexual preferences existed as a strict ratio of 70:30, with 70% being women and 30% being men. I’d always been aware of my attraction to guys (Will); I’d been sure of that for as long as I could remember. The confusing part about it all was when El came into the picture, and everyone and their mother expected us to start dating. I was, like, twelve at the time, so of course I went along with what everyone else wanted. That backfired majorly when El confronted me with tears in her eyes, asking, “But… you don’t love me anymore?” and my impulse response was, “I don’t even think I loved you romantically to begin with.” It took a long time for me and El to repair our friendship following that conversation, and to help me bullshit my parents into falling for some half-baked reason as to why my “sweetie pie” and I broke up so suddenly.

When I started my… situationship with Elvis, though, I began to question my 70:30 ratio. Elvis, to put it simply, was hot. He was taller than me, just by an inch, but it didn’t stop him from calling me “short.” I found that hilarious, as I stood at a staggering six foot three. Elvis had tanned skin, blonde hair which he kept in a preppy side part, and bright eyes that captured the essence of the bluest sky. He had full lips, a chiseled jawline, and a lean yet muscular build with the likeness of a Greek statue. Elvis had the most gorgeous hands. I particularly liked when those hands pinned my wrists above my head. I also liked when those blue eyes bore into my soul in the way that only one other pair of eyes had ever been able to do within my mere eighteen years of life. And I loved when that chiseled jawline, rough from lack of shaving, rubbed abrasively against my neck.

Elvis was adamant on there being no strings attached. He made sure to remind me every time we did anything remotely sexual, but over time, those words began to lose their potency, like watering down vodka to make it go down smoother. My wide eyes and “yes, of course, I understand”s were slowly replaced with absentminded “mmhmm”s. I figured that as long as Elvis never picked up on my social cues (or lack thereof), and as long as he never knew about me secretly developing more-than-fuck-buddies feelings for him, I would be in the clear. But eventually, something in Elvis had melted away, and he started calling me “my boy,” “love,” and “sweetheart,” amongst other gross (sweet) pet names. I assumed that Elvis had caved and given up on whatever rules he’d set for himself.

Regardless of the apparent stability in our situationship, my mind dwelled in a constant state of disarray. I knew I was not straight. I wasn’t even sure if I was bisexual. I became more conscious of who caught my eye in public, and what I wanted out of the people I interacted with. I discovered I didn’t feel the same way about curves, boobs, or soft lips as I felt when I saw a pair of broad shoulders, a sharp jawline, or a tapered waistI felt different.

Part of me resented myself for being different. I hated the idea of being a target, whether it be for my family, the government, or society as a whole. I'd tried to change. I hooked up with a few girls over the course of a week, “just to see something,” but I'd spent the entire time wondering when it would be over so I could go home. All of those girls either got bored, weren’t satisfied, or got mad that I couldn’t get it up— if not a combination of all three— and left. I scared myself a little when I didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty.

When my encounter with the last girl fell through, I decided I didn’t want to live my life in sexuality limbo anymore. I ran all the way back to my dorm hall, hauled ass up the stairwell, and let myself into my room. Elvis spun around from where he sat at his desk, and could barely get out a “Hey, man,” before I was ripping Elvis from his chair and pulling him in, kissing him with all my might. It didn’t take long for Elvis to reciprocate my advances, kissing back with equal intensity and pushing me back until we hit the side of Elvis’s raised bed frame. I huffed a laugh against Elvis’s lips before hoisting myself up backwards and onto the mattress, watching as Elvis chased after me. He pushed his knee between my legs, and I took the hint, wrapping my ankles around Elvis’s hips. “I want to be with you, baby. With strings, all the strings,” I had told Elvis before pulling him down for another searing kiss, and… that was when my memory cut out for the evening.

I woke up the next morning, hangover hitting me like a truck, to see Elvis already awake and dressed, lifting boxes onto a trolley that was stationed in the middle of the room. Through squinted eyes, I noticed Elvis’s side of the room was essentially bare, save for the dorm furniture, which belonged to the school.

“What’s happening?” I croaked out, and Elvis dropped the box he was holding onto the pile with a loud thump. “Too loud. Headache,” I whispered sharply through gritted teeth.

“It always is too loud, isn’t it?” my roommate laughed wryly to himself, not making any effort to be any quieter. I sat up, rubbing my eyes and ignoring the fact that I was naked and in Elvis’s bed, the only thing that hadn’t been packed up yet.

“What the fuck, Elvis? What are you doing?”

“I’m moving out today, remember?” The two young men finally gained eye contact, and I felt my stomach drop like I was on a roller coaster. “I’m graduating in a few days and need my stuff out by this afternoon.”

Move out was today? Vecna must have been back with a vengeance, because how else would time move so quickly on its own? Sure, Elvis mentioned in passing, like, a few weeks ago, at most, that he was leaving soon. But it still didn’t make sense, because it was only… What, March? No, The Phone Call™ was a while ago. Was it April? My mom called me at least a few weeks prior to wish me a happy nineteenth birthday. Plus, weren’t commencement ceremonies scheduled for the weekend of– “What’s today’s date?”

I watched the blonde in front of me unsubtly scoff with impatience. “It’s May 1st, Mike.” I could only blink back at Elvis in response for a few seconds while I tried to process the fact that my brain was capable of skipping over whole months of my life. There was no way it was May 1st already.

“No,” was the only word I was capable of saying.

“Yet here we are, baby,” Elvis sneered as he whipped his comforter off of me, leaving me exposed and humiliated. “Time flies when you’re blackout drunk. I suggest you try and get your drinking under control, before you end up having to drop out.”

It was like Elvis was a completely different person, completely different from the man who had fucked me senseless the night before. What did I do to deserve this? I didn’t do or… say anything? Oh no. Now I knew what was going on. I drank too much, opened up, and blurted out loud that I wanted to be in a relationship with Elvis, who didn’t feel the same. my face was on fire with embarrassment.

I scrambled off the bed and ran to get dressed while Elvis pulled the last of his sheets off the cheap university mattress. He didn’t fold them, and instead balled them up and shoved them in the trash. I could barely breathe. I merely stood there and watched as my gorgeous Greek (actually Dutch) god of a roommate left our shared room for the last time. Well, I seemingly dodged a bullet. What an asshole.

I was sad that Elvis was gone, but it didn’t completely destroy me the way Will leaving did. What it most likely came down to, in Elvis’s instance, was a horrible case of internalized homophobia. I was very familiar with this mindset; I'd fought a gory, gruesome battle with my own mind for my entire adolescence, at war with myself to prevent acting upon my ever-growing romantic love for Will. But one day, my feelings finally retaliated, and my life immediately went to shit.

“What are you doing, Mike? Is this a joke?”

“No, Will, I’m in love with you.”

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. You don’t mean it.”

Comparing the two inevitably led to some old memories resurfacing to haunt me, but I felt strangely lucky. I'd been let off easily. Despite the way I stood completely stupefied in my dorm room, I knew this was temporary, and had full confidence that I'd be able to recover from this pretty quickly. Said confidence was probably the only thing that saved me from losing my mind. Well, that, and the pressure to pass my classes distracted me for a few days. Without having done much studying at all, I army crawled through my finals and barely made it out alive.

About a week later, I moved out of my dorm hall and into an apartment about two miles away from campus. It was a pretty nice place, considering the rent he (my father) paid for it. I got a job at the local coffee shop… which I lost before the month was up, because he never showed up to my shifts. I'd been shocked when Ted insisted upon co-signing the lease, because I didn’t think my dad would be willing to help me stay away from Hawkins. On the other hand, though, it made sense when Ted told me flat out that he wanted me out of the house. I didn’t blame him; I'd been referred to by my father as a “leech” on multiple occasions during my stay over Christmas break, which pretty much tracked. I felt a little guilty about that one.

I appreciated the independence, I truly did. It was a great feeling to have my own room again, to have a more comfortable desk chair to sit at while I drew up plans for a new fantasy novel starring a gay protagonist, to have a bathroom to myself, and most importantly, to have a full-sized refrigerator to fill with all the alcohol I could ever want. But sometimes, late at night, I would catch myself getting a bit too sad.

The entire summer was an endless cycle. I would wake up and make a pot of coffee. I'd sit down and write a chapter or two of my book, and stick to doing that for a few hours. I would check the time (on my wall clock, of course) and take a lunch break, which was usually a box of Annie’s shells and white cheddar. After I'd haphazardly tossed my singular bowl and fork into the sink to be washed later, I'd go back to writing. This wouldn’t last long, because I'd get distracted after smoking a joint, and probably end up staring at that one photo of myself and Will from senior year (Jonathan captured the moment: I had, by some miracle, perched myself up on Will’s handlebars, and Will struggled to hold his bike steady because I was laughing too hard) that sat framed on my desk. I'd snap out of my trance ten minutes later and mentally kick myself for staring for so long, which led to grabbing some form of alcohol and getting wasted, like all my potential. I would make one last attempt at writing and fail miserably. I'd stumble into the shower, and drag myself through my apartment until I found my bed. Most nights, I would end up crying myself to sleep, staring at The Painting™, which I'd tacked up on my bedroom ceiling as a form of self-punishment. It was a sad way to live, really. So I vowed that when the school year started up again, things would be different.

That was how I ended up at the library in late July, browsing the mythology section, squinting at titles printed on spines while my lips formed a straight, thin line. I knew I was officially a hermit when even the library gave me social anxiety. I'd just pulled a rather old looking book off the shelf when a tenor voice behind me caught me off guard.

“Never thought I’d see the day that book would leave the shelf. You must’ve had to brush off, like, a hundred years’ worth of dust just to get to the cover.” I twisted around to put a face to a voice, and was pleasantly surprised when I met eyes with a short guy (well, to me he was short; he was probably, like, 5’9”) with dyed, firetruck red hair that fell over his forehead in a sweeping motion. I liked how he wasn’t afraid to be bold.

“You’re definitely right about that,” I smirked, setting the book down and watching as the growing pile teetered from side to side on the table’s surface. I couldn’t decide where I wanted my story to go next, let alone if I wanted to continue with my current plot at all, so I'd planned on taking a bit of inspiration from… well, everything.

“So you’re into mythology?” the guy asked, and I shoved my hands in my pockets, leaning against the bookshelf as I focused my gaze down. He had pretty eyes. They were hazel, but not too green, not like–

“Yeah, I’m a creative writing major, and I’m trying to expand my horizons a little,” I replied, sitting down at the table. “Like, not to discount the genius of Tolkein, because he literally founded my childhood, but sometimes it’s good to go back to the basics and draw inspiration from there.”

The guy shrugged, and sat across the table from me. “Nothing wrong with that. I think it’s really smart, actually. Or else stories end up getting repetitive and dull.”

“Exactly!” I pointed both index fingers in the guy’s direction, as if to say, “Finally, someone who understands!” I struggled with this concept lately; the uniqueness factor. It turned out that having a male protagonist who just so happened to be romantically attracted to other males wasn’t enough reason to get a book to sell. I needed something else, something of substance, and something that wouldn’t remind readers of other books they’d previously read. “Are you into writing as well?”

“No,” the guy shyly smiled, “I’m just into guys who write about mythology.” Pardon? Was this masculine male-dude-man hitting on me? In public? I wasn’t complaining, but I hadn’t necessarily picked up on any hints. Although, the dyed hair should’ve been a dead giveaway.

“Oh. Um, I– wow, okay,” I stuttered, diverting my eyes to my books for a few seconds to process what was being said before returning to an expectant pair of hazel eyes still looking right at me. “I’m Mike, Mike Wheeler.”

“Wyatt Bowman.”

I cleared my throat. “Are you free in an hour, Wyatt?”

“Yeah, why?” Wyatt raised an eyebrow, causing me to huff a nervous laugh, tapping my Ticonderoga pencil against my spiral-bound notebook at the same speed my knee bounced up and down underneath the table.

“I just gotta take some notes from here, then I was thinking we could… hang out, or something?” I glanced up hopefully at Wyatt.

The corners of Wyatt’s mouth curved upwards as he repeated, “Or something?”

I nodded, confirming our silent sub-conversation.

“Cool. That sounds like a good plan,” Wyatt said, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table as he rose out of the seat and headed for the exit.

“Cool,” I whispered back, reminiscent of a certain afternoon in a certain town in California in a certain room with a certain boy that made me feel a certain way. But that was the past, and I believed I was ready for the future.

When I started seeing Wyatt Bowman, we’d established that our relationship would not be serious. We were, in a small amount of words, friends with benefits. And we were actually friends. We could hang out without getting all hot and heavy. And I didn’t have any objections; I actually preferred the idea of friends who sometimes had sex over the label-less, no strings arrangement that Elvis and I had. It left less room for loopholes of chronic insecurity and self sabotage. It also, in turn, left more room for exploration.

I met Wes Butler in August at my first ever visit to an actual bar. I'd been sitting at the counter with a few of my female friends (Ruby, Alexis, and Julia), and had just received one of the fruitiest cocktails I'd ever tasted when a piece of eye candy, who might as well have been dressed in nothing, lightly tapped my shoulder and asked me to dance. Of course the girls encouraged me, not really giving me an option in the matter, but hey, good dick was good dick. It didn’t really turn into much else; once we’d had a few rounds of unnecessarily loud sex in a supply closet (ironic, but typical), I bid goodbye to my friends, tossing my condom wrappers in the trash on the way out.

I met another guy, Walker Brooks, in September at an off-campus nerd rave. He looked a lot like Eddie Munson, which may or may not have been coincidental. We left the party not even an hour after it began to go to Walker’s dorm. We fucked in between Lord of the Rings themed bedsheets, and I had to endure an excruciating hour and a half of Walker speaking Elvish rather than English. Afterwards, he invited me to join the University of Indy D&D Club, of which he was, of course, the Dungeon Master. I politely declined.

On a particularly difficult October night following being roofied followed by some unwanted advances, I slapped myself awake with one hand as I unsteadily held my handlebars with the other, biking back to my apartment. My grip slipped, and the front wheel hit the curb, which sent the bike to come to a screeching halt and throw me over the handlebars, tumbling onto the concrete. Warren Blakely, one of my classmates in English 101, watched me fall, stopped me from biking again before I hurt myself even more, and asked me what exactly had happened. Once I told Warren what had gone down, he wouldn’t let me out of his sight. Over the next two months or so, Warren kept me safe and let me take control back over my own life. Warren and I had a special bond. If I didn’t still love Will, and if I didn’t have such extreme trust issues, I would have absolutely dated Warren if provided the chance. But I couldn’t, not until I got over Will, so I ended things with Warren. This specific relationship put things into perspective for me. In the end, none of these men I slept with would ever be Will Byers. So I'd either have to get over Will, or find someone better.

On the nights I wasn’t at parties, I was at my desk, writing letters to Will. It was kind of cathartic, honestly. I'd rip a piece of college ruled paper out of my notebook, just like old times, and write letter after letter saying things along the lines of:

Dear Will, I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry that I love you. I’m sorry I did what I did to you. And I’m sorry I can’t take it back. I wish we could be best friends again. I wish we could have late night walkie conversations like we used to. I want nothing more than to play D&D in the basement with you for the rest of our lives. Love, Mike

These occasional letters became a part of my nightly routine… whenever I wasn’t too fucked up to focus my eyes on my own handwriting. And recently, it was more often than not that I couldn’t actually fall asleep without drinking. I wasn’t even of legal age yet, and wouldn’t be for another two years.

I stopped attending my classes halfway through the semester, so it wasn’t a surprise when my grades plummeted. My mailbox became inundated with letters from the registrar’s office, advising me to withdraw from the classes I was failing before the pass/fail deadline, but I couldn’t care less; so, not only did I fail out of my classes, but I couldn’t even retake the classes even if I wanted to, because my record forced me into the red zone. And the entire time, I couldn’t feel a thing.

If someone were to ask me what time it was, I wouldn’t be able to tell them. First off, I would look down at my watch and realize that said watch was not on my wrist. I would then ask myself why my watch was not on my wrist, then I would remember, oh yeah, Will has a matching one, and I was dead to Will, so I didn’t wear the watch anymore. Time was just a construct, anyway. In the end, I'd probably mess around with the person asking and say some shit like, “It’s 420:69.” I was drunk, though, so I was allowed.

I was at some frat party, spending what was my last official night as a student at the University of Indianapolis with the brotherhood of Alpha Lambda Dickhole. I was seated on some musty couch, stained with whatever the fuck that was, with an empty glass resting between my legs and a bottle of whiskey in my hand. I'd given up some time ago on trying to pace myself. Some kind of synth-infused rock music vibrated across the floor, and I could feel the bass reverberating in my bones, which would normally make me want to get up and dance, but I wasn’t particularly in a celebratory mood; I was only halfway through my sophomore year, and had just dropped out.

“Hey, by any chance do you know the time?” a deep voice asked, and I lifted my gaze up from my lap to a muscular brunette. I blinked a few times in an attempt to form a coherent sentence.

“I, uh– I don’t—” I stuttered, lifting my bare, watch-less wrist up to show to the guy, who merely lifted an unserious eyebrow and chuckled. He took my hand in his and let it down gently before sitting next to me on the couch.

“It’s all good, man. I was just using that as a reason to talk to you.”

I was surprised someone clocked me that quickly. But then again, I was wearing insanely tight jeans that I'd cut right above the knee paired with a floral print shirt. I wasn’t exactly being subtle. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” the guy laughed, extending a rough, calloused hand. Did he lift weights? Or play guitar? Or both? “I’m Carter, by the way.” At least his name didn’t begin with a W. Or maybe it did, but the W was silent. Wcarter. Ouah-carter. Wah-carter. Double-you-carter. Dub-yuh-Carter. Cart… Chart… Astrological chart. I made a mental note to check my horoscope. What was I thinking about originally? I couldn’t remember.

Jesus. I was hammered.

“I’m Mike,” I replied, taking the guy’s— Carter’s— hand, but Carter didn’t shake it. He instead let our fingers intertwine, anticipatorily slow. Okay. I could be good with this.

“Do you maybe want to get out of here, Mike?” Carter asked, and I felt a blush rising to my face.

“Sure, yeah,” I breathed, and let Carter pull me up out of my sunken spot on the couch, down some hallway, and into an empty bedroom. I scoped out the place and noticed a photo of Carter with a dog framed on the desk; this was his room. I exhaled in relief. I didn’t want to have sex in someone else’s bed. Never again.

Carter pulled the door closed and locked it, turning around to face me before looking me up and down. I gulped. I hadn’t realized before, because it was so dark, but in the lamplight, Carter’s resemblance to Will was uncanny. He was a few inches shorter than me, and had a muscular build– that much I knew already. Thank god he didn’t have a bowl cut. He had a strong jawline but a subtle softness to his features. His lips were a light pink, the upper one a bit thinner than the lower one. The most similar feature they shared, though, was their bright green eyes, full of life, and something else I couldn’t name… intention? Vulnerability? Yearning?

In my inebriated state, I didn’t notice how close Carter had gotten until I felt two hands snaking their way up my shoulders and joining behind my neck, pulling me down until our lips met. I couldn’t move fast enough, lifting my shaking hands to rest on Carter’s waist, pulling him into my chest and deepening the kiss immediately. Carter was more languid in his movements, while I was more firm and calculated; this felt strangely antithetical. It probably had to do something with my increased tolerance. I knew I shouldn’t be doing this, but if there was one person who knew how to repress their feelings with a series of bad decisions, it was me. Mike Wheeler. My life was already on fire, what more could possibly happen to exacerbate the flame?

The two of us made our way over to Carter’s bed, where we quickly undressed. Carter kissed down my body, and I ran my hands through Carter’s hair. Then he went down on me without warning.

“Ah!” I yelped in surprise, my exclamation becoming a moan almost instantaneously. This was good. This felt nice. This is exactly what I’d imagine–

“Will…”

“Excuse me?”

And with that, the night was over. Carter stopped what he was doing, got up, muttered a “fuck you,” and left without another word. I felt the world zeroing in on me. I could just picture what I’d write in my next letter:

Dear Will,

I said your name while another guy had my dick in his mouth. Do you believe me now?

Love, Mike

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