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rinhaler · 7 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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hakuheartsoul · 29 days ago

Text

rainy daze ✧ yoon keeho

✧ pairing: keeho x afab!reader

✧ summary: you don't fear much, but there are a few things - storms, for one, and also unnecessary feelings. enter yoon keeho, someone you've known for a long time and makes you question where you stand, but there's one small problem: he's your little brother's best friend.

✧ genre: childhood friends, fluff, smut, some angst sorry in advance)

✧ rating: 18+ (mdni!)

✧ word count: ~14.8k (oops)

✧ content warnings: attempts at humor bc keeho is funny irl, mentions of thunderstorms/lightning, 'oh no there's only one bed' trope, mentions of ✨feelings✨, dirty talk, hair pulling, leaving marks/biting, oral (m and f receiving), face-sitting, face-fucking, hand-holding (important), cum eating, irrational decision making

hi!! i’m still pretty new to writing for piwon and i'm so excited to be participating in the piwontober 24' event hosted by @kisseobie and @sxfterhearts.

i'm writing for Day 29 in which the prompt was age difference/teasing/forbidden with keeho. special thanks to @sunflowerseob, @strawberry-seob, and @leepace for being some of the most amazing friends and fellow writers out there ❤️

also am planning to turn this into a series sooo… pls look forward to that if it happens 💜

“Keeho, I’m serious.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself tighter, as if it would somehow shield you from becoming more drenched. The rain that poured down wasn’t at a storm level yet, but it was still enough to leave you soaked since you had no umbrella or jacket to help.

“Yeah, I know you are, but so am I,” Keeho responded, still cruising along at the slowest speed you figured a car could go. He drove his car on the road alongside you as you walked on the sidewalk.

“Is that how the saying is supposed to go?”

You couldn’t see it without bending down to look through the open window, but you just knew Keeho smirked.

“It is now if that’s what you want.”

You rolled your eyes. “What I’d really like is for you to leave me alone.”

You heard a small chuckle. “All these years and you’re still a terrible liar.”

You groaned. “What do you want from me?”

“To get in the car,” He phrased it almost like a question, like he was confused that you didn’t agree it was the most logical answer.

“Why?”

“For starters, it’s raining and you have no coverage to keep you from getting soaked. Two, you’re trying to go home which is several blocks away and you’re trying on foot, which isn’t safe just so you know.”

If he wasn’t driving you figured he’d probably be listing off reasons on his fingers to better prove his point.

“Three, you’re upset. Need I go on?”

“How do you know I’m ‘upset’,” you asked him in air quotes before quickly putting your arms back around yourself. “And how does getting into a car fix that, exactly?

“Well, the car can’t help with you being upset probably, but getting into the car is a good first step.” His tone was teasing before it shifted into something more serious. “And I saw you at the party, arguing-“

You couldn’t help the scoff that escaped your mouth. “Of course. I should’ve known.”

Despite saying it quiet enough for the rain to drown it out, Keeho still heard you somehow.

“Should’ve known what?”

“My brother put you up to this, right? He forced you to come look for me because I left.”

It was Keeho’s turn to scoff. “You know, contrary to what you may think, I’m not always at your brother’s beck and call.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” You tried to speed up your walking, hoping that was the end of the conversation.

Keeho accelerated slightly, first going past you and slowing back to a speed that matched yours.

“What did you mean by that,” he asked.

“Oh, come on, Keeho. You know that you guys have been inseparable since we were all kids and I don’t really think college has changed that.”

To your surprise, Keeho laughed. “God, as smart as you are, I’d have thought you’d know better by now.”

It was your turn to be the confused one. “Elaborate?”

“If we were as inseparable as you say, don’t you think your brother would be my roommate? We’d be sharing the same space, right? If we really have to be together all the time.”

Keeho had a good point (but you’d never tell him that). Your brother still lived at home with your parents, claiming that it was less expensive that way since apartments were ‘overrated and not worth it’ in his words.

So yeah, come to think of it, you actually hadn’t seen him and Keeho hanging out in person a lot lately.

“We aren’t kids anymore,” he continued when you hadn’t responded. “And you shouldn’t treat me like one just because you're older.”

You weren’t backing down. “3 years is still a pretty big gap-”

“Oh sure it is - if I was 17 and you were 20. I’m 23 and you're 26, there’s really no need to consider age in the equation at all.”

You sighed loudly, finally turning to face the car. Keeho hit the brake and leaned forward with his body angled over the passenger seat so he could see you better.

“Where are you going with this? Or is it all just mindless chatter?” You were still stalling for time before you’d probably cave and just get in the car; questions were your best bet for that right now.

That signature smirk was slapped across his face. “Always assuming I’m up to no good.”

“Keeho.”

“Look, I came after you because I saw you both arguing and you stormed out, clearly not doing well. I’m your friend too - or at least, I’d like to believe I am,” he cut himself off for a moment, almost like he wasn’t sure how to continue. “And I care about you. Honestly right now, I couldn’t give any less of a fuck about what your brother thinks.”

Well that certainly threw you for a loop.

“Why?”

“Why what,” he asked, leaning more across the seat where you could finally see his face, clearly illuminated by the streetlight you had stopped under.

“Why me over him? Isn’t he the one you’re loyal to?”

Keeho groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “For the love of- would you please just get in the car? I can tell you anything you want to know, just please stop standing in the rain getting fucking soaked.”

Again, he made a good point. And now that he’d stated he wasn’t doing this for your brother (jury was still out on if you believed that or not) you figured it wouldn’t do you any harm to get in the car.

A loud crack of thunder overhead made your decision for you, causing you to nearly fall all over yourself to get into the car. You landed in the seat with a wet thud, cringing instantly at how your clothes were clinging to your skin.

Keeho let out what sounded like a content sigh. “Finally.” He turned up the heat in the car and put it in park.

“Don’t want you getting sick, if we’re still able to avoid that at this rate.” He picked up your hands that were in your lap and held them up to the vents on the dashboard.

“You were rubbing your hands together outside and they feel like fucking ice so hold them here for a bit.”

“Is it really a good idea to stay parked on the street?”

Keeho shrugged. “Not a big deal. This street doesn’t usually get too busy at night, and they can just go around me.”

You nodded at the reasoning as you slowly started to regain feeling in your hands again. Another boom of thunder made you jump, which unfortunately for you did not go unnoticed by Keeho.

“You still scared of thunderstorms?”

His tone was light so logically you knew he was genuinely just curious. However, you were very defensive about this subject in particular, so you weren’t taking it that way.

“Yes. And don’t you dare try and tease me about it.” You crossed your arms and looked out the passenger side window.

Keeho chuckled softly. “No judgment here. Of all the things I want to tease you about, your fears aren’t on that list.”

That got your attention.

You turned to face him again, noticing how he had unbuckled his seatbelt so he could angle himself more toward you.

“What was that?”

“What was what,” he asked, smile stretching across his face again.

“That you just said, about teasing - what was it?”

“Hmm, not sure I know what you’re talking about. Maybe you misheard?” His eyes crinkled with the force of his smile and it almost made you crack.

“Wow, skipping straight over teasing and into gaslighting territory. I expected better from you, Keeho,” you tossed the ball back into his court, anticipating he would go even further.

“Ok whoa, first of all, I would never gaslight anyone, ever. That’s shit’s awful. Secondly: why do you wanna know the ways I want to tease you?”

Wait. Pause. Hold it.

“First, it was things you wanted to tease me about. Now it’s the ways you want to tease me?”

Keeho’s ‘oh shit’ expression almost made you laugh.

“Which one do you want to explain first because I’m gonna need clarification.”

“Oh, well, um I guess, uh…” Keeho stuttered. “Fuck, I don’t know how to talk myself back from that, actually.”

You didn’t hold back your laughter then. “Ok fine, pick one and explain that one to me.”

He tapped his chin. “Yeah, I can work with that. Ok: the things I want to tease you about. You ready?”

You nodded, trying to shrug off the thought that you were hoping he’d tell you about the ways instead.

Keeho leaned closer and it suddenly felt like he was very much in your space. It also felt like you very much did not mind that.

He smirked, looking way too good for the proximity he was in.

“Everything.”

That one word alone changed the trajectory of your entire night then, and you knew it.

Keeho knew it, too.

“Well? Is that a satisfactory enough answer for you?” Keeho was still smirking as he leaned back into his seat and away from you, letting you breathe properly once more.

“Um, y-yeah. That’ll do for now, even though it’s vague.” You started off weak but ended it strong, still trying to keep up the banter you two had going so you could hopefully avoid… whatever direction this was heading in.

You could practically feel him rolling his eyes. “I really never can win with you, can I?”

“Nope, I’m a hard one to please.”

Keeho just stared at you for a second before he nodded in acknowledgment.

“Good to know.”

“Wait, what-”

Keeho interrupted you before you could finish. “So, where am I dropping you off? I’m not sure where you're staying these days, but I could take you to your parents’ place if you want.”

“Please no, anywhere but there.” The chance of running into your brother again tonight - despite it being highly unlikely since he usually crashed at the parties he went to - was not something you wanted to risk in the slightest. Your parents were the reason you were in this mess in the first place, making you find your brother and attempt to bring him back since he wasn’t supposed to be out while ‘grounded.’

And yes, if anyone asked your parents, they’d say it was completely fine to ground a 23 year old for misbehaving. You couldn’t argue with that sometimes, because your brother could really get up to some heinous shit.

Maybe that’s why Keeho hasn’t been around him as much…?

“Say no more, parents’ house is a no-go.” Keeho paused, almost looking shy for a moment. “I can take you to your place then, if you don’t mind me having the address.”

You wouldn’t mind giving Keeho your address, but the thought of going home right now also didn’t seem too appealing.

Apparently you took too long to answer because Keeho started backtracking. “Or we could just stay here in the car, whatever you’re most comfortable with.”

Not missing the opportunity to tease him again, you jerked your thumb toward the window and settled for saying “So if I’m most comfortable with walking in the rain-”

Keeho pressed something on his door.

“Keeho… what did you just do?”

“Activated the child locks.”

“Child… child locks? What happened to ‘we aren’t kids anymore,’ hm?” You were trying so hard not to burst out laughing at his attempt to keep the situation in his control.

“Whatever keeps you in this car and not getting ill from the rain is something I’m willing to use.”

You chanced opening the door to see if he truly had pressed the child locks, and you were mildly surprised to see the door opened with ease.

Keeho was quick to grab onto your arm closest to him; not forcefully at all, but enough to stop your movement and have you close the door again.

“Ok so maybe it was the window lock instead, but I’d really rather you just let me drive you somewhere so you don’t have to walk and I know you’re safe.”

Before you could even formulate a thought about how to respond, a roar of thunder followed by a long streak of lightning made you curl into yourself.

“Hey, it’s ok, you’re ok,” Keeho tried to comfort you with a pat on your shoulder. He kept his hand there and the touch was somewhat calming.

”Thank you,” you answered in a small voice before you cleared your throat. “Um, I actually kinda don’t really want to be alone tonight with it storming like this so if it’s ok…”

As you trailed off, Keeho buckled his seatbelt and pressed the brake again to shift the car in drive.

”Buckle up and we’ll head to my place.”

The air in the apartment was chilly, making you shiver even more once you stepped through the door. Cold air mixed with being soaked to the bone was not what you’d call ideal conditions, that was for sure.

“Shit, my roommate probably turned the AC way down before they left. Stay here, I’ll go fix it real quick.”

Keeho placed a hand on your shoulder briefly as he walked past you. It was just the barest of touches, but you found yourself shivering once again.

Must be the AC. That had to be the only explanation.

Keeho was back in front of you just as you heard the AC clicking off. He smiled like he was proud of what he’d done, and you smiled back in thanks.

“I appreciate it,” you rubbed your hands along your arms to try and facilitate warmth - unfortunately to no avail.

“I appreciate you actually listening to reason and coming back with me.”

You rolled your eyes. “So where am I gonna be staying tonight?”

Keeho’s hint of a smile dropped slightly. “Oh, uh… I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

The poor boy looked like he needed help coming up with an answer so you decided to give him grace this one time.

“A spare room? A couch? An air mattress, maybe?”

Keeho rubbed the back of his neck as he contemplated the options.

“Our air mattress is busted so that’s out. The only other room in here is my roommate’s and he’s gone for the weekend, but I don’t think you’d like sleeping there very much. He also probably wouldn’t be too fond of the idea…”

You scanned the area until your eyes landed on the couch against the wall in what looked like the living room. “What about there?”

Keeho nodded but was frowning. “That’s a place, yeah. It’s just very uncomfortable and I want guests to enjoy themselves when they’re here.”

You clutched your chest in feigned hurt. “But I thought we were friends? Now I’m just a guest?”

Keeho smiled, catching on. “Nope, you’re definitely at the friend level. So your comfort matters even more to me because of that.”

Well, shit. You talked yourself into that one.

“So I’ll take the couch tonight and you can have my bed, if that’s cool. It’s clean - I promise.”

You didn’t doubt it for a second - you’d never known Keeho to just leave messes lying around - but you didn’t want to kick him out of his own bed.

“Keeho, I can have the couch, I swear it’s fine-”

He shook his head with finality. “I’m not having you sleeping out here all night when you’ve already been through enough as it is. Speaking of,” Keeho trailed off as he scanned your figure. “You're still drenched.”

“Oh,” was your brilliant response.

“If you, uh, want to take a shower or something, you can. I can grab a towel and whatever else you need?”

“Sounds great except I don’t have a change of clothes,” you shuffled your feet a little, noticing how water seeped out and onto the floor. You felt bad for that now as well.

“Oh, right. Well, you can… borrow some of mine? If you’re ok with that?”

The offer made you smile. “Yeah, I think that’ll work.”

Keeho gave you two thumbs up, something you knew he did when he was feeling a little awkward about what had just happened. “Got it, yeah, so I’ll just um… go get everything set up for you. The shower is in my bedroom, but there’s a door so it’s not just open or anything-”

You could see him spiraling in real time, so you reached out to touch his arm to get him to stop. “Hey, look at me for a second?”

Keeho looked at you and you could see how he was breathing a little faster from the rambling he’d just done.

You gave him a reassuring smile. “Thank you. Seriously.”

Keeho’s eyebrows unfurrowed and he seemed visibly calmer. “Right. I’ll uh, I’ll be back.”

You waited for Keeho to finish up in the bathroom, choosing to take in your surroundings now that you were by yourself. The apartment looked about like what you’d expect from Keeho, and it got you wondering if his bedroom would be the same-

“Everything’s all set up now,” Keeho returned with a grin. “You can go whenever you want and I’ll just stay out here or something.”

”Sounds great,” you made one move with your foot and immediately winced at all the water that started dripping onto the hardwood floor underneath you.

No way in hell were you tracking this through the carpet. You’d rather go home than do that.

”Um, Keeho?”

”Yeah, what’s up?” His back had been turned to you while he was looking for something in the kitchen area.

”I, uh, I don’t really know how to get to the bathroom.”

”Oh right, duh. It would help if I told you. My bedroom is the first door on the right down that hallway.”

”Um, well what I mean is,” you watched him walk back over to where you were standing. “I don’t want to get water everywhere.”

Keeho looked like a lightbulb just went off in his brain. “Oh shit, yeah, that would be kinda bad. Uh…I could carry you?”

”I mean,” you kept your composure despite the offer making your face heat up, “I’m not opposed necessarily but wouldn’t that still drip water onto the floor?”

“Good point. I mean, the carpet shouldn’t get that messed up…maybe.”

”How about instead,” you braced yourself for the words that were about to come out of your mouth, “I can take my shoes and clothes off out here? Just the outer layer that’s soaked.”

You were looking at the floor, cheeks burning hot and the suggestion that you came up with. Keeho didn’t say anything for a moment, and when you finally glanced at him it looked like he was trying to restart his thinking process.

”Oh um, yeah, sure, if that’s how you want to do this. I’ll just, uh…go get the towel I laid out for you.”

He practically jogged to the bathroom to retrieve the towel, making you giggle at the action.

Within a few seconds he was back, towel held in a firm grasp. “Here, I’ll go uh- I’ll go back in my room and stare at the wall. Like, the other wall. Not the wall connected to the bathroom. Um, anyway, just… come through whenever you’re ready.

Keeho didn’t even give you a chance to respond before he was walking back to his room. He shut the door almost all the way behind him, leaving it cracked the smallest amount.

With Keeho out of the room, you got to work stripping down. Thankfully, your bra and underwear weren’t too terribly wet, so you could put them back on underneath his clothes when you were done with your shower. You left your shoes, socks, and drenched layer of clothing by the door to the apartment, piling as much of it onto the doormat as you could.

Once you had the towel wrapped tightly around you, still over your undergarments, you walked over to Keeho’s door and knocked on the wood twice. Keeho mumbled some sort of affirmation and you went inside.

True to his word, Keeho was facing the complete opposite way of the bedroom door and the bathroom. You didn’t see light from his phone or anything, so he was likely just sitting there staring at the wall, like he said he would. He fidgeted a small bit once he could tell you were in the room, shifting his weight from one side to the other where he was sat on his bed.

You couldn’t help but smile. The way he was going out of his way to make sure you were as comfortable as possible tugged at your heart a little bit, but you tried to ignore it.

This was your baby brother’s best friend. A friend who is even younger than your brother (although not by much). The last thing you needed was to get caught up in something with Keeho that could wreck both your and his relationship with your brother.

More for Keeho’s sake, really, since you were more distant with your brother these days.

Did you think Keeho was cute? Absolutely. Did you guys get along pretty well? You do, and have for a long time.

Was it worth it to see if there could be something more?

That was something you’d wondered a few times before and may never get the answer to.

Before you could self-reflect more on a currently non-existent problem you proceeded to the bathroom to take your shower.

You didn’t look to see what clothes he laid out for you until you were done, noticing as you exited the shower that he left you a large red t-shirt and a pair of dark basketball shorts.

The shirt fit fine since you preferred oversized shirts anyway for sleeping. The shorts, though… they didn’t have a tie or anything so the waistband was a little loose, meaning there wasn’t really a way for you to keep them on comfortably.

Were you really about to step back into Keeho’s bedroom looking like you have nothing but his shirt on? Well, yes.

No time like the present and all that.

You knocked on the bathroom door to signal to Keeho that you were about to come out and once he let you know it was alright, you took a deep breath before you turned the door handle.

As soon as your eyes landed on him, your mouth went dry.

Keeho was sprawled out on the bed, changed into a pair of gray sweatpants with a black tank top. His dark hair, tinted with blue highlights, was still a little damp from the rain, by the looks of it. He had one hand behind his head while the other was in front of him, scrolling away on his phone.

You remembered the day you saw his new blue hair look for the first time - you only went mildly insane.

And now, with all of this combined, he looked…a lot better than you’d anticipated, that was for sure. Of course, the last time you’d seen him in any form even close to this was…well, never, actually. At least not since you two grew up.

When you shut the door back behind you Keeho finally looked up. His eyes met yours and he suddenly dropped his phone. It landed on his chest before sliding down onto the bed, forgotten.

“Oh, uh, hey.” He cleared his throat and tried to avert his eyes. “How was the shower? Find everything ok?”

You giggled as you walked over to the bed. “Yes, thank you. I found all the essentials easily since they were all in one convenient place.”

“Right, I forgot I put them there, ha. Anyways, I’ll just um,” Keeho jerked his thumb towards the door, “go so you can have your privacy.” He phrased it like a question.

“Do you want to go,” was your response.

“Do you want me to go?”

“Keeho, it’s your place. I’ll do whatever you want me to.” The words tumbled out before you could realize what you’d just implied.

You could’ve sworn you heard Keeho mumble ‘fuck’ under his breath before he gave you an answer.

“What I want is for you to be comfortable. And since it’s still storming, you’ll probably feel better in here because it’s louder out there with the couch being by a window.”

Shit, you’d forgotten about the storm momentarily. “Makes sense,” you responded, looking out of the doorway of Keeho’s bedroom.

Keeho sat up straighter to push himself off of the bed. You definitely weren’t watching the way his arm muscles flexed with the movement. “I made some tea while you were showering; if you want some, it’s in the kitchen. I left out a cup for you but please don’t feel obligated.”

You felt a lump form in your throat at how nice he was being. This is what you’d been missing out on for a few years because you counted him as ‘off-limits’ before?

“Thanks, Kee. I might grab some before I finally fall asleep.”

Keeho smiled brightly. “Been a long time since you’ve called me that. I’ve missed it.”

You tried to remember the last time you’d referred to him like that and figured it had to be since before he left for college. So, yeah, it had been a while.

“Well, I’ll be out there if you need anything,” Keeho continued, walking over to where you stood. At the same moment, a roaring crack of thunder sounded overhead, making you jump and start to fall over.

Keeho being Keeho, of course, was there to catch you instantly. He wrapped his arms around you and embraced you in a hug. You were shivering and he could tell, so he held you tighter.

You decided to say fuck it and just go for it.

“Kee?”

“Hm,” he hummed in response. You could feel the vibration of the hum throughout his chest since that’s currently where your face was.

“Would it be alright if you…stayed with me? At least until the storm subsides?”

You felt Keeho stiffen somewhat before he relaxed again.

“Yeah, whatever you need. I can like, grab a chair or something and set it in here-”

“Don’t be silly,” you pulled back so you could smile at him. “Your bed is big enough for the two of us, don’t you think?”

Keeho looked taken aback. “You sure that’s ok?”

“Wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t.”

“Cool, yeah, cool. Ok so let’s just- yeah.” Keeho led the both of you back to the bed. “Take whatever side you want.”

You laid down in the middle of the bed and stretched out just to be difficult. “What about here?”

Keeho finally cracked a smile, and you were thankful to see it. There was a sort of tension that had settled in the air since you first asked him to stay, and you were trying to dissolve it as soon as possible.

“Don’t think you’ll want half of me on top of you later so that might not be the best place.” Keeho gently nudged your leg so he could get onto the bed. You rolled over to give him more room, laying on your stomach now with your eyes closed while you sighed deeply.

When you finally opened them again, Keeho was looking at you - well, rather, he was looking at a part of you. Up until that point, you’d been completely unaware that moving made his shirt ride up your thighs.

“Oh shit,” you quickly moved to pull his shirt down in the back. “Sorry, the shorts didn’t fit so I just figured I’d go without.”

“Huh?” Keeho looked up at your face, almost like he was dazed.

You laughed. “Eyes up here, Kee. And what I was saying is your shorts were too big so I left them off. Hope you don’t mind?”

“You have no idea how much I don’t mind,” he smirked at you and suddenly, the tables didn’t seem to be turned in your favor anymore.

You quickly turned your head the other way so he couldn’t see the way your cheeks started to flush. “Right, well, glad we cleared that up! Goodnight then.”

Keeho laughed, the sound quiet but still comforting. He grabbed a blanket that was at the edge of the bed and draped it over you. “Night.”

You felt Keeho shift on his side, thinking he probably turned the opposite way as well. There was a lamp on his nightstand that he hadn’t turned off yet, and it was the only thing still really providing illumination in the room.

It wasn’t even 5 minutes later before you felt Keeho shift again and softly call your name.

“Yeah,” you responded as you turned to face him. He looked…nervous.

“This is a safe space, right?”

You chuckled. “I don’t know, it’s your room so you tell me.”

Keeho groaned. “I didn’t mean it as in the physical space - although it is safe in here, don’t get me wrong-”

“Kee, focus.” You interrupted his spiral again, not wanting him to overthink and back down from whatever he was trying to say.

He took a deep breath. “Right, ok. Can I say something blunt?”

Your heartbeat quickened, not sure where this was headed. “Yes?”

Keeho moved closer with a smile, tugging slightly on the end of one of your sleeves - one of his sleeves.

“I gotta say,” he trailed his eyes up your figure, starting from where you caught him looking earlier. “You look really fucking good in my clothes.”

You stopped breathing for a second. This is the closest Keeho had ever really come to flirting with you. The most he’d done in recent years since you both became adults is tease you relentlessly, but you always shrugged it off as he just liked to get on your nerves (endearingly).

You regained your composure, trying to look unaffected when you answered him.

“Do you say that to all the girls you manage to get into your bed?”

Keeho wasn’t phased. “If I’m being honest-”

“Because it won’t work on me. I’m different.” You almost cringed at hearing yourself say those words even though you meant them in a completely other context than you hear most people use it in.

Keeho stared at you more intently this time. “What I was going to say,” he felt the fabric of the sleeve again between his fingertips, “is no, I don’t just say that to ‘girls I get in my bed.’”

“But you’re right about one thing, “ he continued, face lit up beautifully by the warm glow of the lamp beside him, “you are different. And that’s why I’ll say it to you.”

You’d started leaning closer to him as well without realizing it, his touch through the shirt driving you crazy. “Keeho, where are you going with this?”

He smiled, full of reassurance. “Wherever you want.”

You ached to cross that line, to break that boundary. But something was still keeping you back.

“What if what I want isn’t right,” your voice came out small.

Keeho’s smile faded. “What do you mean by not right?”

You sighed. “I’m older than you, for starters. And I know you don’t typically go for people older than you.”

Keeho tilted his head at your admission. You figured he never knew you still kept up with him outside of the times you actually saw each other in person, and he didn’t know that your brother let that particular bit of information slip once in conversation.

“Keeho would never want to date you - he probably sees you as a hag. He wants someone younger, so don’t even try.” The words from your brother still stung today, and what’s worse is they were completely unwarranted. All you’d done is ask how Keeho was liking college, and your brother just blurted out that in response.

“Also, and more importantly, you’re my brother’s best friend. That’s like…some kind of betrayal or something.”

“What is, what betrayal are you talking about?” Keeho looked like he was really trying to understand, which made this conversation much more difficult.

You steadied yourself before you finally gave him your answer. “The way I want you.”

Keeho closed his eyes like he was trying to gather his thoughts. His hand dropped from your shirt. “Unbelievable.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I was hoping that one day, you’d stop seeing me as a kid or just an extension of your brother. I wanted you to see me for me, because I’ve only ever seen you that way.” His eyes were open again, and they looked full of purpose.

“Keeho, what-”

“My point is, whatever you think about me because of my age and me being friends with your brother: don’t.” This was the most serious you’d ever seen him. The usual teasing, easy-going Keeho was nowhere to be found right now.

He reached out to rest his hand against your cheek. You leaned into the touch, welcoming the warmth that he radiated.

“I want you. And I’m not afraid to say that. There’s something there, I know there is,” Keeho kept going. “And I’ve known that for a while, at least on my end.”

“How long have you known,” you asked him with curiosity, but the way his hand moved from your cheek to the side of your neck really wasn’t helping you’re trying to stay calm during all of this.

Keeho hummed in thought. “Probably since right before I went to college.”

You gasped. “So when you were…”

“17. And you were 20. I knew that back then obviously there was no way - but I’d always hoped that one day maybe there’d be a chance.”

This information hit you like a tidal wave and threatened to pull you under. Keeho had been crushing on you for at least 5 years, and you had no idea to what extent until now.

All those times you thought he was just being ‘flirty’ he may have been actually flirting. You always shrugged it off before because why wouldn’t you?

He called your name again to pull you out of your thoughts.

“Need you to talk to me. I can’t read your mind,” his eyes had softened while he was talking to you. “Which is probably a good thing because I don’t know if your brain ever shuts the fuck off.”

You scoffed and shoved him playfully, his hand never leaving the side of your neck while he tried to dodge you.

“I…don’t really know what to say right now. I had no idea you felt that way- or at least that you felt that strongly.”

“I know,” Keeho answered dramatically. “I can’t tell you how frustrating that’s been over this last year especially. None of my pick-up lines worked on you and it had me like ‘damn, is my game really that bad?’”

You started laughing. “Oh my god, no, it’s not that. I just always thought you were teasing me.”

“I was! In a flirtatious manner!”

“I see that now,” you countered. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.”

Keeho rolled his eyes. “Look, the past is the past, what matters is right now. And right now,” he continued, rubbing his thumb along your neck while the rest of his hand stayed in place, “I need to know what you want.”

A spark of desire settled in your core. You wanted Keeho. But you were still worried.

“If you decide you don’t feel the same,” Keeho went on before you could respond, “I can turn over and we can forget this ever happened. Well- you can forget this ever happened. I don’t think I’ll be that lucky.” His sweet smile then almost broke your heart.

Your words were failing you, so you did the only thing you could think of: you moved closer. You were directly in each other’s space now, and the movement made Keeho’s breath hitch.

“Do you want this,” Keeho said, just above a whisper. “Do you want me?”

You nodded before you could give it too much thought. The grin that lit up Keeho’s face made everything worth it.

“Then, can I kiss you?” He was still talking quietly, his lips close enough that the barest of movements would have closed the distance.

You moved to nod again but Keeho shook his head. “Words, baby. Need to hear you say it.”

“Please,” you answered, ready to cross that point of no return.

He smiled and leaned in. There was no turning back.

Keeho kissed gentler than you were expecting. The way he always threw himself into everything he did is also how you thought he would start off with this, but he was set on taking his time. His lips moved against yours slowly, almost like he was trying to commit how you felt to memory. As if he may not get another chance like this and wanted to make the most of it.

Kissing Keeho felt good. It felt great, even. But most of all, kissing Keeho felt right.

You tried to wrap your arms around his neck but had some trouble due to the angle. He took the hint to resituate the two of you, all while his lips never left yours. The new position had Keeho hovering on top of you, resting one forearm on the bed while the other hand still made itself at home on your neck. When you threaded your hand through his hair, you could sense the shift.

He kissed you with more urgency now, his hand starting to wander down lower. When you felt his fingers softly brush against your thigh, you couldn’t control the noise you let out.

Keeho groaned in response. “Fuck, you sound so pretty. Always figured you would.”

He started trailing more kisses down your neck as you let out a laugh. “So you’ve pictured this before?”

Keeho looked at you with a face that could only be saying ‘Are you kidding me?’ You responded with an eyebrow raise, wanting him to answer you with words.

“Of course I have.”

Oh. Well that was a bit more honesty than you were expecting right out the gate.

“I’ve pictured this, dreamt about this…,” he trailed off to drag his lips up closer to your ear, voice lower as he continued, “gotten off thinking about this."

You gasped, feeling Keeho smile against your neck at his ability to pull another reaction out of you.

“I’d ask you the same question, but I think I already know the answer.” His tone sounded teasing, but you could tell he really was curious. You felt it was only fair to give him what he wanted.

“I…may have thought about this a time or two.”

The speed with which Keeho lifted his head almost had you reeling. His eyes were wide as he simply asked, “Really? You’re not fucking with me, are you?”

“Cross my heart.” You did the motion with your hand, drawing an imaginary ‘X’ over your chest. This was something that meant a lot to both of you growing up, and it definitely wasn’t something either of you said lightly.

At your admission Keeho dove in to kiss you again, lips moving almost hungrily, his hand now gripping your thigh.

His fingers moved subtly but still didn’t inch higher yet, despite how much you wanted them to. It dawned on you then that Keeho may be hesitating.

“Kee?” You pulled back from him and placed a hand on his cheek, watching as he evened out his breathing from the attack he’d just launched on your mouth.

“Is something wrong,” you continued, since you wanted him to feel comfortable if either of you were going to do anything even remotely past this point.

Keeho shook his head but his eyes said otherwise. Before you could ask him to elaborate, he beat you to it.

“It’s not that something’s wrong. Things couldn’t be more right than they are now, in my opinion.“ His last sentence was almost mumbled out, like you weren’t supposed to hear it.

“I just… need to know. Before this goes on.” His tone was serious, eyes set again with determination. “What does this mean to you?”

The question took you off guard. “What do you mean?”

“You know how I feel, what this,” he gestured between the two of you in the little space that was still left, “means to me. I need to know if it’s the same for you.”

You weren’t sure how much of you ‘knowing how he felt’ was true, because you’d just learned recently that he had a crush on you. Initially, you thought that maybe this was just about sex and not much more than that, crush be damned. Keeho just seemed like that might be what he preferred - no attachment, no feelings.

For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even know if he was dating anyone. Hell, he hadn’t even asked you if you were dating someone.

You both had just kinda jumped into this because the moment felt right, but you were having second thoughts now.

“Wait,” you tried to lean back and put more distance between the two of you. Keeho looked hurt for a moment but masked it quickly - something you knew him to (unfortunately) be good at. His hand left your thigh and he waited for you to go on.

“Are you involved with anyone?”

“Involved?” Now Keeho was confused instead. “Involved like- oh. No, I’m not. The fuck?”

You almost raised your hands up in defense but thought it better that you didn’t. “Just making sure! I wasn’t sure what your relationship status was these days.” You crossed your arms and looked to the side.

Keeho called your name to pull your attention back to him.

“Do you actually think I would have driven beside you on the sidewalk during a thunderstorm, let you stay in my apartment, and initiate any of this if I was dating someone?”

He had a good point. Even still, it’s always good to check.

“Before you answer, it’s a trick question because yes, I would do those first things without hesitation because I care about you. What I wouldn’t do,” Keeho moved closer, once again limiting the distance that kept you apart, “is this.”

He tilted your chin upwards and his lips brushed against yours softly. It was just once, but once was enough to convey what he was trying to say.

“And I didn’t think to ask you the same because I knew as soon as I was blunt with you I‘d find out. There’s no way you’d be down to mess around with me while you’re not single.”

Another good point from Keeho. He really was throwing you for a loop tonight.

You swallowed audibly, his stare making you feel squirmy. “Right, ok, um- glad that’s settled then.”

“You still haven’t answered my question, though.”

You knew he was right, you couldn’t keep avoiding it. But what did this mean to you? The only thing you could think of at the moment was what finally ended up leaving your mouth.

“I don’t think it means the same to me as it does to you.” It was like you could physically feel Keeho deflating in front of you. “But… that doesn’t mean it can’t with time.”

Why were you telling him that - what purpose did it serve other than to give him hope?

Before you could think about it too much, you watched as Keeho smiled so wide that it looked like it almost hurt. One day you might feel bad for the emotional whiplash you were putting this boy through, but today was not that day.

“I can work with that.” The words barely left Keeho’s mouth before he was again on top of you, now holding himself up with his forearms on either side of you. He was caging you in now, the only sound between you two being both your slightly accelerated breathing.

Keeho didn’t waste anymore time, moving in to kiss you with what seemed like all the feeling he could muster. His tongue slipped past the seam of your lips and you granted him access easily, just as eager to taste him as he was you.

Your hands flew up, one landing on the side of his neck while the other cradled his face. Keeho let out a small mmph against your lips at the movement, the sound sweet to your ears. It had you wishing to hear more, to hear every kind of sound Keeho could make with his pretty mouth.

Your lips still moved in sync with each other as you felt one of Keeho’s hands traveling down. It flitted across your ribcage on its way to its destination, making you move ever so slightly underneath him.

Finally, Keeho reached what he was looking for, still kissing you the entire time he’d been searching with his hand. He had a fistful of the shirt now in his grasp, pulling it up some at the bottom.

“You wearing anything under here?” Keeho sounded out of breath as he playfully skimmed his fingers along the hem of your - his - shirt. “Or was your intention to drive me crazy guessing the whole time?”

“Seems like a good idea to find out, hm?” Giving back what Keeho was dishing out; this you could do. As long as that was where you drew the line and you didn’t get too involved or too attached, you could do this and not overthink it.

His hand started to travel underneath the shirt, the touch light but purposeful, and within moments he had one of your thighs shaking at the sensation. You wanted to cover your face once you saw Keeho’s smirk but in your current position that proved impossible. So instead, you turned your head as far to the side as you could, making him laugh at your stubbornness.

“C’mon, baby, don’t be that way. I love seeing the effect I have on you.” He placed kisses on your neck before continuing, going all the way up to your ear. “And besides,” he tugged on your earlobe with his teeth, “there’s no way you can’t already feel what you’re doing to me.”

You shuddered as Keeho ground himself against you so you could feel how hard he was. The movement also caused him to groan right beside your ear, clearly taking him by surprise.

“Fuck, ok I didn’t think that through at all but you get my point. Guess I just can’t think straight when you’re under me like this.”

If this man didn’t stop talking to you like this-

You needed to shift this more in your favor.

“What about if I’m on top of you instead?” You asked him so sweetly and the way his eyes briefly closed didn’t go unnoticed by you.

The way Keeho scrambled to lie flat next to you on the bed had you laughing. He didn’t give you long to collect yourself though before he was tugging on your arm to pull you up on him. You situated yourself to where you were straddling Keeho, his hands immediately falling to your waist as if he was afraid to let you go.

The large tent in his sweatpants was hard to miss. You wanted to tease him more since you were the one with the upper hand now, so you very lightly brushed against him. Keeho’s hands gripped you harder, and you weren’t sure if it was involuntary or more of a warning.

“Is this ok?” You had to check before going further; despite all the moves he’d been making on you that you’d been reciprocating, neither of you had actually mentioned moving past this point yet.

“Is this ok,” he echoed your question. “You’re asking me if this,” he squeezed your waist for emphasis, “is ok?”

You simply nodded, skin starting to feel hot from his touch even if it was still just through the shirt.

Keeho chuckled. “What kind of fucking question- of course it’s ok! If you’re good, I’m good. So,” he moved your hips for you, making you brush against him again, “shit, what’s it gonna be?”

You took his hands that were still wrapped around you and placed them under the shirt you were wearing, right above your hips. Before he could even register what happened you leaned forward, feeling him harden even more underneath you.

“Whatever you want,” was your response as you captured his mouth in a heated kiss. Keeho’s hands traveled up and splayed across your back, pulling you in as close as you could get. You rubbed against him from your current position - still straddling but bent over on top of him - and you felt as his fingers started curling against your back. It was almost like he wanted to scratch down your back but was thinking better of it.

The little noises he let out against your mouth were driving you insane. At some point all of your movement had shifted you downward somewhat, and soon enough you felt him right against your core. The sensation was a lot stronger than you were expecting since you both were still clothed, and you couldn’t help the blatant moan that escaped your lips.

“Fuck,” Keeho pulled away from kissing you so you both could catch your breath. “Need that, more of that please.”

“What - this?” You were still moving your hips so you made sure that the next sound you let out was right by his ear, completely uninhibited. Keeho jerked underneath you, making him rub right against your clit through the thin layers of clothing that separated you.

Keeho tugged on the bottom hem of the shirt. “Can I?”

You sat up so he had better access to remove your shirt, leaving you in only your bra and panties once he tossed it aside. The way his eyes widened dramatically caused a funny feeling to flutter through your chest. He looked you up and down, hands on your legs moving mindlessly as he did.

“Wow,” Keeho sounded stunned. You tried not to let it go to your head, even though your face was heating up. “So much better than in my dreams.”

That made you laugh. “Glad to know I exceed expectations.”

“I knew you would. You’ve always been the type to blow everyone away.” Keeho’s smile and praise were making your chest feel odd again, like your heart was trying to do flips.

“Can’t believe I get to see you like this,” he pulled you closer and placed a kiss right above your collarbone. “Feel you like this,” his hands were on your back again, this time sliding up to where your bra could be unlatched.

A quick raise of his eyebrow was enough for you to know what he was asking. You nodded and he went to work, having a little trouble with the hooks at first, making you giggle at his focused face.

“Let me,” you offered as you reached behind yourself and undid the hooks in one seamless motion.

“What the fuck, how did you do that,” Keeho just kept staring at you baffled as you slid the bra straps down your arms. “No, seriously, how is that possible?”

You shrugged as you were holding the bra up by its cups now, not ready to reveal to him just yet. “Years of practice. It’s really not that impressive.” Before Keeho could protest, you asked another question since your curiosity was now piqued. “Wait, have you- have you never seen someone do that before?”

Keeho looked like he was actually thinking back on it. “Well…not that I can remember. But I also haven’t ever paid that much attention before.”

“Your usual hook-ups aren’t like this?” Kind of a weird question for you to ask the man you were currently trying to hook up with, but what’s the harm in asking, right?

“My usual hook-ups aren’t you.”

Oh.

That’s-

“Oh,” was your brilliant response. Keeho just smiled.

“Are you done asking me about my previous sex life now, or is there more you want to know? Curious about my stroke game, maybe?”

“Why are you like this,” you groaned, making him laugh. One of his hands rested soothingly against your thigh as he waited for your next move.

“Dunno - but you love that I’m like this anyway, so clearly it’s working.”

Since you couldn’t really argue with that, it was time to continue your mission you’d started before embarking on this small side quest.

“I’m not about to be the only one topless here.” You had removed one of your hands to grab at his tank top but the other one was still holding your bra in place. “Gonna help me change that?”

With no hesitation, Keeho did the stupidly attractive thing that guys do when they pull their shirts off by reaching behind them. You were met with the sight of Keeho and his bare chest within a moment, and honestly you weren’t sure what amount of time you would’ve needed to prepare for it.

Keeho was fucking hot. Full stop. You’d be crazy to deny it, no matter how much you didn’t want to inflate his ego.

You must’ve been ogling at him because soon enough he hit you with a “Like what you see?”

That smirk of his was lethal if you looked too long, so you rolled your eyes instead and placed your hand on one of his pecs. As you started to drag your hand down, you noticed how the speed of his breathing increased.

“Sensitive much?” You lightly brushed against one of his nipples, his movement then answering your question.

“Y-yeah, maybe a little bit,” Keeho was trying not to crack. “Also how is this fair now?”

You knew he was referring to your bra, so you let it drop. Once your chest was free, Keeho wasted no time in cupping one of your breasts.

“Pretty,” he mumbled as he squeezed one, cocky smirk plastered on his face as he continued. “What was it you said earlier - that you’re a ‘hard one to please’? Why don’t we test that theory?”

He gently closed his mouth around one of your nipples, keeping his eyes on you the whole time. He flicked his tongue against it, making you almost cry out at the feeling. Your hands flew to his hair, tugging ever so slightly like you were trying to keep yourself grounded.

Keeho lapped his tongue around you a few more times and you started squirming in his lap. The way you were rubbing right up against him fueled you to try harder, each move pulling you closer to the point of no return. Your panties were soaked and clinging to you, meaning you could really feel him almost as much as you would if your last bit of clothing were gone.

“Kee- Keeho,” you moaned his name when you felt one of his hands brush against your inner thigh. The resulting grunt he let out had you moving faster in his lap, eager to coax more sounds out of him.

He pulled off of you then with a small pop, lips still wet with spit as he stared at you.

“Fuck, I was not ready for that, holy shit.” Keeho ran a hand through his hair, brushing it out of his face before it fell back into place. The black and blue strands were even more captivating up this close, with the warm light from the lamp washing over the both of you. “Never knew my name could sound so good coming from someone else.”

“You wanna see if you can make it happen again,” you taunted him as you placed both hands on his cheeks to pull him in for a kiss. You felt his smile against your lips, enjoying the peaceful moment before a spark of pleasure shot through you.

Keeho was grabbing a bit rougher at your breast now than he had before, brushing your nipple with his thumb while you kissed. “Don’t worry,” he added as his unoccupied hand started moving closer to where you wanted him most. “I have no doubt I can make you say my name again.”

He stopped at the edge of your underwear, silently asking you again with his eyes if he could continue. You gave him another nod, probably a bit too eager if his chuckle was anything to go by.

Instead of going up under the clothing like you expected he might, he stroked against the outside first, placing pressure amongst one of the wetter spots.

“Shit, can already tell that you’re soaked. Maybe I do have some game after all,” Keeho was egging you on as he placed more pressure and moved his fingers in a circular motion. Unfortunately for you, it was right on your clit, so the stimulation was overwhelming.

“I swear to god if you don’t stop talking about your game-” you cut yourself off with a moan.

“What was that,” Keeho’s tone was so hot, you couldn’t even be bothered about him teasing you this way. “I couldn’t hear you over how much game I have.”

“Keeho,” you whined out his name, starting to grow impatient. You almost thought you could feel him twitch underneath you, but that would’ve been hard to tell since he was still wearing sweatpants.

“There she is,” he said it like he was praising you for doing a good job on something. “My name sounds so pretty when it’s coming from you.” He trailed kisses down your neck, stopping once he got to your breast again. A devious smile before he gave your nipple another small flick with his tongue.

“Can’t wait to hear you scream it later,” was the only warning you got before Keeho started making you see stars.

He pushed your panties to the side and shoved two fingers into you from the jump, the slide easy because of how absolutely fucking drenched you were. His other arm closed around you, pulling you closer which in turn pushed his fingers further inside. That combined with the way he was ravishing your breast - sometimes even biting your nipple gently - had you approaching your high much faster than you’d like to admit.

How was this man making you fall apart with just two fingers and his tongue? You hadn’t even seen his dick yet and here you were, shaking and moaning in his lap like you had absolutely no control over it.

The power of Keeho, you guessed.

The way he curled his fingers inside of you had you trembling, sounds kept tumbling out of you and mingled with the ones you could barely hear coming from him.

“Kee- Kee, wait.” You hated to stop him but you refused to cum like this. You needed something more - even if you weren’t sure what it was that you needed.

Keeho stopped moving his fingers but kept them inside of you, making you clench around them. He pulled his mouth off of you and answered with a “Hm?”

“Don’t wanna cum so soon,” you were slightly breathless. The way his face lit up at your words made that feeling in your chest constrict again.

“Wha- already? Wow, I’m doing way better than I thought I would at this point.”

That got your attention. “How did you think you were going to do?”

Keeho opened his mouth, shut it, then paused before he opened it again. “I don’t know, I never thought I’d get this far.”

He didn’t give you long to ponder over the familiar quote before he slowly started pumping his fingers in and out again, this time adding a third one to the mix. You’d thankfully calmed down some but he’d have you at the brink again in no time if you didn’t stop him.

“Keeho-”

“I’m right here, baby. Need to know what you want me to do,” a rough kiss before he continued, “how you want me to make you cum.”

You were about to put a muzzle on this man if he didn’t stop saying things that made your heart beat at an irrationally fast pace.

“I don’t know, just- not like this. You pick,” you handed the control back over to Keeho before realizing what you’d just done.

“You sure you want that?”

You nodded, eyes shut as you clenched around his fingers again. He slowly pulled them all the way out, leaving you immediately missing the feeling of having him - well, a part of him - inside of you.

“I just want you,” your eyes opened again as you answered him with conviction. “You choose, Kee.”

Keeho gulped. For the first time that night, it looked like he was at a loss for words. Instead of offering you an answer, he chose to put his fingers in his mouth. Keeho closed his eyes as he tasted you, the sight mesmerizing as he appeared to get lost in it.

“Fuck, you taste so good. God,” he lowered his voice as his eyes travelled down to where you were now uncovered, “it would fucking drive me crazy if I had it all the time, I’m calling it now.”

The idea flashed through your mind for barely a second before you were shoving it down into the deepest crevices of your brain.

Did Keeho want to do this again? Furthermore, did he want to keep doing it? Was this really the good idea you thought it was before all of this started kicking off?

Keeho’s voice pulled you out of your nearly-started spiral.

“Hey, you good there?” He was waving one hand in front of your face. “Was it what I said?”

“No, I’m good. Just wasn’t expecting that.” You tried to give him a reassuring smile, but you weren’t sure if he believed it or not.

“Sorry, I get kinda stupid with the shit I say when I’m pussy drunk. But also - I meant every word.”

This man was going to be the death of you somehow.

You tried to change the subject. “Aren’t these pants uncomfortable?” You palmed at the bulge that was straining against the fabric, resulting in an immediate reaction from Keeho.

“Fuck, ha, I mean they’re not the most comfortable, if you wanna take ‘em off we can-”

You shimmied back some so you were more-so straddling his thighs instead of his lap. With one more nod from Keeho you started to pull his sweatpants down by tugging on the waistband. You thought you had at least another layer of clothing between you and his dick after that but surprise, surprise.

Keeho was going commando. The small gasp you let out made Keeho cover his face with his hands for a second as he groaned into them.

“Care to explain?”

“Ok look, I thought I was sleeping on my own so I decided fuck it, why not. And then when you asked me to stay with you, I never thought this of all things would happen so it’s not like- I definitely didn’t plan this if that’s what you’re asking-”

You wrapped a hand around him to get him to stop and he shut up instantly. The power of that move might’ve gone to your head a little bit.

It dawned on you then just how big Keeho was. Like - he was packing. Talk about exceeding expectations. You could fit your whole hand around him, but you felt the fullness when you started stroking him.

“Fuck, uh, ok uh, do you want to do this or-” Keeho’s tongue darted out to lick his lips. “I was trying to make you cum so like, don’t worry about me, ha.”

“Well I’m not going to be the only one cumming, I can assure you of that.” You picked up your pace a little bit, relishing in the moan Keeho let out.

“Fuck, fuck, ok. Ah-”

With every sound that escaped Keeho’s lips, you could feel yourself aching to be full again. For now, though: this was way more entertaining.

“You’re so sensitive,” you said it more to yourself than anything else, but Keeho still heard and scoffed as if to say ‘No shit.’

“Yeah, the girl I’ve had a crush on for who knows how long now has her hand wrapped around my dick, nothing to be sensitive about at all.”

Ouch. Your chest was doing the flippy thing again. You didn’t get a chance to respond before Keeho’s hand was wrapping around yours, making you stop your movement.

“Kee?”

“Can we, um- listen, you can totally say no, but I wanted to… try something.” Keeho was throbbing in your hand as he spoke, and you thought then that there probably wasn’t anything he’d suggest that you wouldn’t be down to at least consider.

“Depends on what it is, but probably yes.”

Keeho blinked in surprise. “Oh, shit. Well, wasn’t expecting that before I’ve even told you, but- ok, here goes. Can you move up a little for me?”

You did as he asked, now back in your original spot on his lap, his dick basically trapped under where you sat. He placed both hands on your hips and tried to move you forward some more. Confused, you went along with it until you were almost sitting on his chest.

“Keeho, what-”

He laughed, squeezing now at your thighs instead of your hips with how far he’d managed to push you up. “Was wondering how long it’d take before you figured it out.”

You had indeed not yet figured it out. “Okay…?”

Keeho smiled. “God, you’re adorable.”

His next response was not quite what you were expecting (although it definitely made sense in hindsight).

“Wanna sit on my face?”

“O-Oh,” was all you could think to say at the moment. “I mean… yes?”

“Sounds a little too much like a question rather than a confirmation for me. Need to know what you want, baby.”

There he was with the pet name again. His voice was comforting, though, and it gave you the courage to finally answer for real. “I want to try.”

Keeho grinned and you were so fond of this man. “Come on up here, then,” he patted the top of his chest, letting you know exactly where he wanted you to sit.

Face-sitting wasn’t something you’d ever really been super excited about. One, because you’d never really had an enthusiastic partner for that kind of activity before and two, the idea made you nervous. Do you sit down completely? Are you supposed to hover? What the fuck do you actually do-

“I can hear you overthinking from down here,” Keeho so helpfully supplied. “Once you’re up here, I’ll handle the rest.”

You trusted him. This was Keeho; he had no reason to lead you astray on this. Especially since it looked like he was vibrating enough with excitement from you even entertaining the idea in the first place.

You managed to get your soaked panties off without much trouble before you scooted closer to where he had indicated, hovering over him at first. Keeho gently lowered you down, wrapping his arms around the outside of your thighs once you were seated. His fingers were just barely able to touch your inner thighs from this angle, and you knew he would probably use that to his advantage if he could manage it.

“Hey, relax. Can feel how tense you are.” Keeho placed a kiss on the inside of your thigh that he could reach, the action making you shiver in his hold. “I do need you to come up a little more, though.”

“Are you sure?” The nervous tinge to your voice couldn’t be helped.

“Yes, baby. How else am I gonna get to taste you properly if I can’t get my mouth on you?”

You took a deep breath before moving again. Your thighs were caging in Keeho’s head now, and the gaze he held was absolutely predatory. This man looked like he wanted to devour you and you just might fucking let him.

If this was the only night that you could have with Keeho this way, you’d better make it count.

“Let me know if you wanna stop at any time.” Keeho gave you one last sweet smile before his tongue slipped past your folds.

Now, you weren’t expecting to be disappointed by any means - Keeho was clearly skilled if he’d suggest something like this. You anticipated it would feel good and maybe change your opinion on the whole act itself.

What you didn’t expect was for Keeho to have you shaking on top of him in less than a minute. Every single reaction your body was having, he knew just how to counter it.

Didn’t know what to do with your hands? Keeho placed them in his hair, even tugging a little for you so you knew he didn’t mind. Didn’t want your hips to move too much and cause you to shift too far up? Keeho had you, making sure you stayed in place where you could still grind against him without moving too far. The way he ravaged you had you falling apart in the best way possible, and his commentary didn’t do much to help that either.

“Taste so fucking good,” Keeho spoke in between licks, making sure to not to deprive you of him for too long. “My dreams were never as good as this, shit.”

“You’ve - fuck - dreamt about this?” Your hands were twisted in his hair, each tug pulling a soft moan from him underneath you, and you could feel the sound against your core.

“I’ve had dreams of you doing so many things that it’s actually a little embarrassing,” his words were slightly muffled but you got the gist. “So: I’m pleading the fifth on that one.”

Your laughter that started quickly formed into a sharp gasp. Keeho’s tongue was now inside of you. You could feel him tracing it along your walls where he could reach, not even daring to look down and see how close to you this had made him. It felt like he was leaving handprints on your thighs now from how hard he was gripping you.

You chanced looking down to see if your suspicion was correct and nearly came on the spot. Keeho’s fingers were holding onto you so fiercely that marks had already started forming.

Looking at his face proved to be even more lethal: Keeho looked like he wanted to consume you, to eat you whole. His siren eyes burned into yours, holding your stare while he left you craving more. You saw as he made a show of showing you his tongue before he started focusing on your clit.

“Keeho, fuck, Kee-” you were full on grinding against him now, his tongue flicking your clit at a faster pace after your reaction. One of your hands left his hair to be placed on the wall in front of you; you didn’t trust your legs not to give out any second now, so you needed all the stability you could get.

“That’s it, baby,” Keeho’s breath sounded labored as he spoke. “Keep going. Use me, make yourself feel good.”

Holy shit, the mouth on this man - both verbally and physically. You couldn’t tell which one was able to fuck you up more when he was using both tactics at the same time.

Everything continued the same way for a bit with Keeho alternating between his tongue tricks. At one point, though, he took you by surprise by biting down on the inside of your thigh.

“Fuck!” Your eyes had been closed at that point so you quickly looked down to see what the hell had gotten into him. The bite didn’t hurt really, but it definitely caught you off guard.

He was smiling, lips and chin absolutely covered. “Wanted to see you,” was his simple response. “You haven’t looked at me in a while, need to know I’m still doing good.”

“Fuck, so good, feels so fucking good, Kee,” you wanted to reassure him, but the absolutely heavenly moan he let out in response gave you a power trip like no other. You were still looking down at him, biting your bottom lip now to try and stifle your own sounds so you could hear more from him.

Apparently you didn’t have to wait long, because soon enough Keeho started getting louder. You could feel each one of noises against you as he tried to continue licking your clit. His eyebrows were furrowed and his eyelids kept fluttering shut before he attempted to train his eyes on you again. It looked like he was losing a little bit of his rhythm - it still felt fucking otherworldly (no, you were not down bad, not at all) but there was definitely a slight hitch in his motions.

Then you were able to pinpoint the reason why. One of Keeho’s hands was missing from its rightful place on your thigh, and you could feel movement from behind you that you hadn’t noticed before. You turned your head as much as possible to see that Keeho was jerking himself off at the same time as he was eating you out. Your hand that was still twisted in his hair gripped harder, making him groan and start to stroke himself faster.

“Oh fuck.” Something about that entire scene was enough to almost throw you over the edge. You were shaking so much now that you were a little shocked Keeho hadn’t asked you to hop off his face yet. If anything, you spurred him on to press himself closer to you, adding more force with his tongue and a pressure to your clit that hadn’t been there before.

The new pressure, his noises rising in pitch, and his continued staring at you like he wanted to wreck you was what finally got you there, too fast for you to even try and give him a warning. All you could do was moan out his name, relishing in the way his eyes rolled back at the sound.

He kept up his ministrations throughout your orgasm, only stopping when you whined from the sensitivity. You tried to move away from his face but his hand that was still holding onto you grabbed your leg harder.

“Please, fuck, don’t-” Keeho gasped, still stroking himself. “Don’t move yet. Just- stay here.”

“But you haven’t-”

“I know, ah, it won’t take long now though. Especially seeing you,” he broke off to moan and kick his head back, “like this.”

You thought about it and almost gave in to what he wanted, but you wanted to do more than just sit there and let him continue to do the majority of the work.

“Kee?”

“Shit- yeah?” His fingers were digging in the flesh of your thigh, the feeling still somewhat managing to arouse you after you were still coming down from before.

“Let me help. Please?”

“God, not the begging- you are helping, way more than you think. You don’t need to do anything else, baby.” Keeho smiled from underneath you.

“But what if I want to do something else,” you tried using your most seductive tone, hoping it wasn’t too much. Keeho didn’t seem put off by it in the slightest, so you kept going.

“Ha, well, I’d probably let you do whatever you wanted to be honest.”

You filed that info away for later - if there ever was a later.

“What if I wanted to suck you off instead?”

Keeho stared at you like you’d grown another head.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard that right- you wanna do what?”

You giggled. “Gonna let me make you feel good, Kee?” You accentuated your words by sticking your tongue out at the end. His eyes widened when he finally seemed to get it.

“Oh what the fuck- yeah, no, that’s uh, sounds great actually.” Keeho was panting in between every few words, clearly close but still holding on. Which was great for you, because if you didn’t get this man’s dick in your mouth soon, you were probably going to scream.

Keeho helped you lift yourself off of him, being careful to not fall as you moved down the bed since your legs were still wobbly. You pulled his sweatpants the rest of the way off, letting Keeho watch you as he continued getting himself off.

As you settled yourself in between his legs, you wanted to tease him a little bit. You gently stroked along the inside of one of his thighs, mostly because you wanted to see if it’d make him squirm, but also as a little payback for what your own thighs had been through. “How’s this, Kee?”

The reaction was immediate, his thighs tensing under your touch. “It’s, uh, yeah.”

“Let me know if you wanna stop at any time,” you repeated his words from earlier as you took him into your own hand again, moving his away. It landed limply beside him on the bed, but you wagered that soon it would be occupied with something else.

You wasted no time in running your tongue along his cock, taking notice of which places seemed to be most sensitive (luckily for you: the answer was all of it). Once you finally wrapped your lips around him, Keeho let out a punched sound that turned into a groan.

“I’m not gonna last long at all, shit.” Keeho tried to look at you but his head was immediately falling back onto the pillow. “Can’t look at you, really fucking want to, but I wanna last longer than 5 seconds.”

“That’s ok, baby,” you tried out the pet name on him this time, loving the way he twitched in your hand. “Do what feels best.”

“Fuck, uh- are you sure?” Since you didn’t have your mouth back on him yet, he chanced looking down at you again. He fared a little better this time but not by much. “I can sometimes get kinda, uh, carried away.”

“As in…?” You wanted him to be the one to say it. You wanted him to tell you what he wanted, or better yet, show you what he wanted.

Keeho got the hint, finally placing one of his hands in your hair. He gave it a small tug, almost experimentally, and smirked at the small gasp you let out.

His other hand wove its way into your hair, and you felt him twitch again.

“You ready?” He looked like he was about to explode from holding himself back. You responded to him in the best way you could think of: you opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue as much as you could.

Keeho’s eyes rolling back were the last thing you saw before he guided himself back into your mouth. His pace was fine at first, but it picked up in speed rather quickly, his hands tightening in your hair as he controlled everything that was happening.

“God, I can’t-” you heard him gulp for air, “can’t believe I’m actually doing this with you. To you.”

You moaned around him, the vibrations flowing through his cock and making him cry out in return. He started pushing you down further, making you gag now but never pushing too far for it to be a problem. Your throat constricting around him must have been what he needed to finally let go, because after that it was just unfiltered thoughts from then on.

“Look so fucking pretty like this, letting me- ah, letting me f-fuck your face.” One of his hands detangled from your hair so his thumb could brush across your cheek, catching a tear you hadn’t realized was falling down. “And you’re crying too, holy shit-”

If you had the energy you honestly probably would’ve tried getting yourself off again because seeing Keeho fall apart like this was one of the hottest things you’d ever seen. But you wanted to focus all your attention on Keeho. Nothing on the brain, just Keeho.

He moaned loudly when you hollowed your cheeks more around him. “Just wanna- ruin you, wanna wreck you for anybody else.”

Oh. Where was that coming from all of a sudden? And why did you like it so much?

“But I also, fuck, wanna take care of you.” A harsher thrust this time, making you gag hard enough to almost choke. The panic that seized you for the briefest of moments - you didn’t know if that’s what caused it, or if it was his words.

He wanted to take care of you? What the fuck did that even mean?

Before you had much time to contemplate it, Keeho started moaning more frequently, barely able to get full words out now as his high was approaching.

“Fuck, I’m- close. Close, so if you don’t want me to cum in your mouth, ha now’s the time to m-move.”

You squeezed his legs as if to encourage him to just let go. Your only goal right now was to swallow down everything this man was about to give you - moving was not on your list. Keeho’s hand that had left your hair was now gripping the bedsheet, making a flexing motion every few seconds like it wanted something different to hold onto.

In a daring moment of bravery, you reached up one of your hands to intertwine with his own. What you heard in the next few seconds would likely stick with you the rest of your life (and probably haunt your dreams very often).

The moment your fingers were laced with his, Keeho’s head snapped up and he looked at you with wild eyes before drifting his sight to where your hands connected. You gave his hand a light squeeze and that was it. The sound he let out was almost loud enough that you mildly worried about him getting a noise complaint, but you also decided you didn’t give a shit, not when he sounded like this.

“Ah, I’m cumming, oh my god, fuck,” was the only warning you got before warmth flooded your mouth. You tried your best to swallow everything, but there was so much that some unfortunately spilled out of your mouth. Keeho continued making noise throughout, a mixture of something that sounded like your name with the moans that you were now - slightly - used to.

You decided to spare the poor man and not push him to the brink of sensitivity like he’d done to you. Plus, you needed to get the rest of his cum down your throat so you had other matters to attend to.

When you were done cleaning your face of any remaining cum, you licked around your fingers to get every last drop. A soft ‘shit’ got your attention and you looked up to see Keeho staring at you.

He had managed to push himself up to where he was sitting now, back against the headboard. “That’s so hot, what the fuck.”

You giggled before shrugging. “Be a shame to let all that go to waste, don’t you think?”

“Uh, I can’t really think much of anything right now other than just ‘what the fuck,’” Keeho’s smile was a bit lopsided and he clearly looked like he was still recovering.

Against your better judgment, you crawled back up the bed to where you were beside Keeho. He gave you a confused look but his gaze softened when he saw you lifting one of his arms. You rested your cheek against his chest and his arm was around you. He started tracing soothing patterns on your arm as you shifted yourself to get comfortable.

You’d already crossed a major line - what was a little cuddling gonna do to make it worse?

Pushing that thought away with all the others you’d smacked into some other regions of your brain, you noticed when Keeho wrapped both arms around you, enveloping you in his warmth. You could’ve fallen asleep right then and there - had he not placed a kiss on the crown of your head.

“This ok?” His voice was low, soft. You wondered if you maybe even detected some nervousness.

“It’s nice,” you answered truthfully. You’d probably hate yourself in the morning, sure, but why try to cut this feeling short now? You finally allowed yourself to wonder what it would be like if you actually gave all this a chance.

The more you thought about it, though, the more you felt something akin to ice flowing through your veins. You felt frozen, stuck - like what you were doing now was wrong and should definitely not be happening. You made up your mind that once Keeho was asleep and you could move freely without waking him, you were getting the fuck out of there. You weren’t sure how long you’d been laying there before Keeho spoke up again.

“Hey,” he muttered, “I’m glad you stayed tonight.”

Another icy shard in your chest.

“And not just because - well, you know - but because I know you’re safe and not outside scared or freezing in the storm.”

“Me too,” you again answered him truthfully, because you meant every word. You were glad you stayed and you wanted to continue to stay. But all the alarm bells going off in your head were starting to win out over rational thinking.

You needed to get out of here. But you couldn’t leave now. Not when Keeho would know.

Not when he would know that you weren’t able to let yourself feel for him the same way he felt for you.

“Hey, Kee?” You somehow managed to talk around the lump in your throat.

“Hm?” He sounded like he was dozing, and you could tell from the slow way his chest was rising and falling that he was content.

“I’m not sure if I can sleep like this,” you lied. “Would it be ok for us to sleep how we were planning to in the beginning?”

“Yeah, whatever you want. As long as you’re comfortable.” That same lazy smile was waiting for you when Keeho lifted his arms. He helped you get back on your side of the bed (you weren’t going to think about the implications of that right now) and even got the blanket from earlier to drape over you again.

“Tea is still in there if you decide you want any,” Keeho yawned as he laid down and shimmied under some of the blanket so you both were sharing. “It’s not going anywhere, so just get some if you want. But also,” another yawn, “it’s not required during your stay.”

“When did this suddenly become a hotel,” you tried to joke, but it didn’t quite land. Thankfully, Keeho was too close to sleep to really notice. All you got from him was a soft chuckle before he breathed deeply.

“Goodnight. I’m right here if you need me.” Keeho told you this as he was turning to face the other way, probably trying to make sure you weren’t overwhelmed after everything that had just transpired.

“Goodnight,” you responded barely above a whisper. You almost didn’t breathe for the next few minutes, straining to listen for the moment that Keeho was sound asleep. After you heard him snoring softly, you waited a few minutes and started moving slowly toward the side of the bed. When you finally deemed it safe enough, you got up carefully and placed the blanket back down without causing too much movement. Keeho didn’t even budge, and the last look you threw his way was enough to plunge that icy dagger further into your heart.

You gathered up all your clothes as quietly as you could. As much as you hated putting your soaked clothing back on, the idea of staying in this apartment any longer made you feel worse. You ordered an Uber while you were trying to get back into all your clothing, thankful that there were still some running this late.

The doorknob leading out of the apartment felt cold underneath your hand when you went to turn it, the sound suddenly so loud in the otherwise peaceful, quiet room. You opened it without thinking too much more on it and closed it as softly as possible beside you. Once you were far enough away from the apartment, you just started running.

You needed to put as much distance between you and Keeho as possible, and luckily for you, your Uber pulled up right as you were making your way down the corridor that led outside. You got inside the car and inhaled shakily. The last thing you could think to do to try and put this behind you for now was take out your phone and send a single text to Keeho.

[you] 2:34 AM: i’m sorry.

i am also sorry, dear reader - there will be more to come for these two though! thank you so so much for reading, i hope you really enjoyed it~ 💜

(stormy divider used in this post is from HERE)

#piwontober24 #keeho x reader #keeho smut #p1harmony smut #p1harmony fluff #keeho fluff #keeho #p1harmony fanfic

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mossfrg · 1 year 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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randombush3 · 8 months ago

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a sense of coming home

ona batlle x reader

summary: part two of this! ona and you are (frustratingly) still just friends

words: 6.5k (i have NO idea why i waffle so much but lets pls allow it)

warnings: there's like five secs of smut at the end

notes: this has been the most self-indulgent fic i've written because this is how i met my gf and so i am glad to show you a nice happy ending

again, the quote is from 'this side of paradise' (said gf's fav book - i don't recommend however because the protagonist is a twat)

also i didn't proofread bc i am exhausted and i am hungover and i am very ready to go to sleep (#globetrotting is not for the weak) x

There is something difficult about forcing oneself back to their toxic roots. Ona discovers as such as she presses her body into a temple of meaningless sex, but she does so because she is a driven person. Ona is determined to get over you, once and for all, except she’d quite like to stay friends (hence why she agreed when asked). She also thinks it would expose her to fall out because her feelings shouldn’t have existed anyway, so she technically shouldn’t be heartbroken?

Anyway, Ona rampages through Manchester! They appreciate her accent – some even ask her to speak to them in Spanish when she is three fingers deep inside of them, to which she obliges with little fanfare – and it isn’t like the city lacks queer women. It is a super solid way to keep her busy, to tear her attention from hungrily checking your Instagram whenever possible.

It’s also what lands her with coronavirus. She’s embarrassed to admit just how many people she has come into contact with when the club doctors ask her questions over the phone.

You send her a lovely message after hearing she is yet another fallen soldier.

Ona is at home, isolating, and you are apparently trapped in Spain, unable to get into Italy. You haven’t quite made it to your parents’ house since your flight was supposed to depart from Madrid. “How come you’re not on the phone to one of your ‘connections’?” Ona asks suspiciously, wondering why this call has lasted longer than ten minutes. “Surely someone knows someone else and they can get you back home.”

“I’m hardly out of my depth in my own country,” you remind her with a twinging sigh, pained that she has suppressed all memories of your childhood. “It’s not like I don’t speak Spanish.”

“Didn’t you get rid of it in your head to make space for Italian and English? Oh, and French too, right? That’s where the fashion weeks are.”

You laugh at her pride for knowing something about your job, but it is not to ridicule her. “I am speaking to you, aren’t I?”

“In Catalan,” she points out. “Forget Spanish, but don’t forget Catalan.”

“I can’t. It’s the language everyone uses to tell me about how fucked you’ve been lately.” You take in a deep breath, uncomfortable with Ona’s silence but knowing your piece needs to be said. “Are you aware of what happened a few months ago? Why I missed the wedding?” One of your friends met her dream man and he whisked her off to Menorca for a small ceremony. Only the people she loved the most were invited, which included your childhood friend group. “We were in New York, a whole bunch of us. It was late but the show had been a big deal so we went out to celebrate, and… these ‘friends’, these people, they aren’t the same as you and me. Most of them are English, you know, and they come from very fancy schools where addiction is normal. Two of them ended up in the hospital that night – the bag hadn’t even made it round to me by the time they’d dropped. I know it seems far-fetched, but all I’m trying to say is that addiction has consequences. Bad consequences.”

“So you’re not on my side?” Ona isn’t taking this too seriously. A few people have joked about her questionable new hobby, but no one has made it seem so dire that they have needed to get you involved. You who, of course, Ona will listen to.

“I am always on your side.”

That is her main take-away from the conversation, Ona chooses, when it ends an hour later. She swoons, meaning the last twenty women have been a waste of time, but she also tortures herself into ignoring the potential problem. Being a sex addict would be embarrassing, so she won’t be.

Though your subtle shaming for her abundance of quick-fix flings is hypocritical, Ona would also hate for you to see her that way. You can avoid commitment all you like, but she is determined to be different to prove to you that she is a viable candidate, should you wish to stop stringing her along. It’s probably toxic; it probably means that you are both clinging onto a friendship that should either end or be labelled something else. It probably is the push and pull that has kept you interested, Ona thinks, because she knows that you like the chase.

However, as much as she’d like to be freed of whatever game she is caught up in, she can’t seem to let you go like that.

…

The next time Ona and you have a proper conversation about something other than how your love lives have been stunted or how people back home are not as successful as the two of you is when most of the restrictions have been lifted.

You waited out the pandemic in Vilassar de Mar, much to your annoyance, but now that you can travel again, the first person on your mind to visit is your childhood best friend. You’re not as close as you used to be, having drifted further during even more years apart, but it does not dull your love for her, nor hers for you.

Ona has changed her mind about Manchester and is forcing herself to like it. It works enough for a visit from you to be the last thing on her mind, and so she slows her response time down until the next arranged date to see each other in person is all set for the summer before the Euros in England.

You’re not quite home but you are in the country, and, with the pre-Euros camp in two days, Ona is spending the final few hours of calm left before the storm in the comforting presence of her mum and dad.

And… you, apparently.

“You weren’t supposed to be here yet,” is Ona’s greeting when she opens the front door.

Your smile is wide and genuine, and you are holding a gift bag in one hand. There is a nice bottle of wine in the other. “Not even an ‘hola’?” When no reply comes, you swallow the emotions that have arisen; the ones that are maybe, just a little bit to do with how soft Ona looks with her hair down. And the slope of her jaw. And the ghosts of defined biceps that bulge even when she isn’t flexing her arms. “I’m dropping by to see your parents. I thought you were in Barcelona with your footballer friends.”

“You visit my parents?” asks Ona curiously.

“Of course.”

With that, you side-step her and call out to her mother, announcing both your arrival and your desire to hand them their gifts. Dinner is just about to be served, and Ona is soon tasked with setting another place at the table for you as though the last ten years had never happened and your friendship hadn’t lost its innocence.

Maybe it would be better for Ona to not know what it feels like to kiss you, to touch you, to – dare she think it – love you. It would certainly make things less painful, and would have saved her from catching at least one illness and spending a good amount of money on Ubers to escape from random apartments. It would make it easier to listen to you talk about your life in Milan, where you seem to exist in a bubble of incredibly attractive people who are desperate to hold hands and form a raft.

“Modelling can be brutal,” you agree, nodding at Ona’s father as you follow on from his concerns about your career. He voices them regularly; whenever you see him. Ona realises you have spent a lot of time with her parents without her. “It gets quite competitive between the girls so I’ve been somewhat avoiding them. They’ve brought in someone new, scouted from Germany, I think, and I’m a little worried that I’ll have to switch agencies if they start prioritising her.” You glance at Ona, wanting to know if she is listening, hoping she is. You wish that she were as good at suppressing her feelings as you are. You wish she didn’t look at you like you hung the moon, because you know that you have to tell her you have hung it for someone else. “I’d move tomorrow, to be honest, but I’ve started seeing this guy and he’s convincing me to stay in Milan.”

“The minute he is your boyfriend, you bring him here,” commands Ona’s mother in a tone she hasn’t yet used on her actual daughter (said daughter has never mentioned anyone before). “Show us a picture of him! Is he a model like you?”

He is, and if Ona holds her fork tighter after she sees the photo you pull up, that is her business. You secretly take in her clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows, and this might be the worst thing you have ever had to do. To see her so defeated, so hopeless, is upsetting, especially since you are harbouring the same feelings. However, you are able to admit when it is time to throw the towel in, and you can no longer live like this.

Ona is too perfect for you. She is driven, hard-working, and funny. She likes to nutmeg little children on the street, and she likes to buy them an ice-cream if they slip a goal past her, slotting the flat footballs into imaginary nets and celebrating as though they have just won the Champions League. She knows a lot, more than she thinks she does. She cares about people, but sometimes it manifests in anger, in frustration.

Any aspect of her is an aspect that you could love, and that is reason enough not to. Because how can you allow yourself to taint such perfection?

But, in this unspoken rejection, the compliment is obscured from the recipient’s view. All Ona sees when you gush about how he buys you flowers and takes you out to dinner, is a burning, bright question. It flashes red and yellow, both as a warning and cry for attention. How can she compete if you don’t even recognise her as a competitor?

…

“--And then they proceeded to finish a film they were halfway through as if it were the most normal thing ever,” Ona rants the minute she hits the concrete of Las Rozas, walking into the facility with Aitana and the other girls who travelled with her from Barcelona. Only the midfielder has been gracious enough to listen to the entire monologue, but the others joke that that is because Ona’s emotional state has led her to spiral in her native language. It is forbidden for them to openly speak Catalan in the Spanish camp, according to Jorge Vilda, who loves to hurl a ‘we can send you back to where you came from in an instant’ their way if he so much as hears a ‘bon dia’. Naturally, Aitana doesn’t give a fuck about the rule, although Ona chooses to believe that she is listening because she cares.

“Are you done?” Aitana asks thoughtfully, sucking on her bottom lip as she tries to absorb her friend’s crisis and formulate a valid, sensible response. The two have known each other for a while now, and Aitana remembers a time when Ona was relentlessly teased by their older teammates for being in love with her best friend. It is clear to her that those feelings never ceased, though she has heard through the grapevine (Leila Ouahabi) that you are now a model and you live somewhere in Italy. You’re part Italian, is what Leila also claims, having professed your ethnicity to a small huddle of fellow gossipers one day in the gym at the Barça training facility.

“No! Nothing is ever done with her. It’s viscous and it continues in a horrid cycle that has me flapping around in circles like some idiot. I am one of her boys.” Ona groans dramatically, the sound perhaps a little too loud. A few of the girls in front of them turn around to see why a cat seems to have been strangled, but they quickly lose interest when they see it is just Ona and her disastrous situation. “Do you know how fucking humiliating it is to be one of her guys? I am a professional footballer! I play for Manchester United, one of the most historic clubs in the world, and I am about to represent my country in a major tournament. I am successful, Aita, and yet I am still not enough for her.”

“Maybe she only likes men.”

“A man has never made her scream like I have,” she bites back. Aitana blushes, but Ona is too far gone in her rage to hear her crudeness nor preserve her friend’s sanity. “She’s been like this since she decided she was gay! Isn’t that hilarious? ‘Ona, I think I’m gay’, she said. I know lesbian breakups can be hard, but there is no way my cousin fucked her up to this extent.”

“I can’t help you with this, Oni,” Aitana laments, sorry to have to confess this to her friend. “I think you need to talk to her about it. A proper conversation to fix long-term issues, not like the ones you obviously had when agreeing to stop having sex and things like that. Only she knows what she’s thinking.” It is definitely not the advice Ona wants to hear, but she cannot deny the midfielder’s wisdom. “But for now, we focus on winning.”

…

You are more than a little confused.

To start from the beginning, Ona’s cousin fucked you up. She broke your heart, and that first impression of dating girls was incredibly traumatising. With girls, you don’t just kiss and sleep with them, you get close – really close – and then when you break up, it is like you have lost both a girlfriend and a best friend.

Men are a lot simpler. Men like you and they aren’t shy about it. They can sometimes be just as cruel, but you have never felt invested enough to care too much.

Some nights, you don’t fall asleep, tossing and turning between your sexual identity, aware that you don’t need to label it but desperate to… discover yourself. If you don’t understand that part of you, how will someone else? How can you be loved? How do you even know who you want to love you?

For as much as Milan is great, it definitely doesn’t help you with your crisis. Girls in Milan like to do what they want. It is not uncommon for the models to kiss each other in clubs, in front of appreciative male gazes or not, and then reveal their engagement to their future husband the very next day. It’s easy to be drawn into such a bubble, but the minute you step out of it, you are hit with the real world.

It’s what makes the pandemic so distressing for you personally, because you are forced to live like normal people for some time. Your eyes are held open and the question is shoved down your throat, and it really doesn’t help that Ona’s cousin never moved out of Vilassar de Mar.

She sees you one day, saying hello from a suitable distance as you pick up milk as per your mother’s request. “I heard you’re modelling?” she asks with no agenda, no seductive glint in her eye. You notice the ring on her finger, and she feels the heaviness of your staring. “Oh, I got married a year ago. Did Ona not tell you?”

You realise that you and Ona try to avoid talking about anything other than the love interests you have. “No, she didn’t. Congratulations, though. She’s a lucky woman.”

“You don’t have to pretend you’re happy for me,” laughs the woman opposite you, amused and somewhat apologetic. “Look, I’m really sorry for how I acted when we were younger. I was definitely not the most mature person out there, and I know I hurt you.”

“I cried for months.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. You suck in a deep breath, trying to hold the memories of your pain at bay. “The first breakup is usually the worst but at least it gets better, as you probably know.”

She looks at you expectantly, awaiting your confirmation. It never comes.

“I haven’t dated another girl since,” you tell her, sounding rather detached from yourself.

Her eyebrows furrow and she is clearly frowning behind her facemask. “What about Ona? I thought you were together when you lived in Madrid. It takes more than a friendship to do what you did.”

You were originally going to go to university in England. It was your dream, and Ona wasn’t entirely aware of the situation because you hadn’t wanted to tell her you were leaving. Then she was sent out on a professional contract to Madrid, and it wasn’t like you were the only one leaving.

Ona’s cousin, years ago, had suggested that you go to Madrid if you wanted to get away from Vilassar de Mar. “You’ll be close enough to come home when you’d like, but not so close that you’ll feel as though nothing has changed,” she had said.

No one had known about your offers in England aside from your parents. And Ona’s cousin, who’d only found out because you had called her, drunk on celebratory champagne, because you had to tell someone.

“You gave up a dream for her because you didn’t want her to be alone.”

“I moved to Milan. In the end, she was alone.”

“You sound like you regret it,” she replies, nodding once at you to bid you farewell and then heading over to a woman who is standing with a puppy in her arms. You watch as she pulls down her mask and kisses her wife, her eyes shining with love and happiness, and your blood runs green with jealousy.

You hate Ona’s cousin for devastating you once more.

Do you regret it?

It’s unclear.

You try to make sense of it when you don’t hesitate to fly back to Italy the minute you can, going home to lick your wounds at Ona’s non-committal response to meeting you when you are in London the next month. It hurts that she is no longer at your beck-and-call, but you are somewhat happy for her. You know that lines have been crossed and that she has suffered for it. You know that you are probably the one at fault here.

This time in Milan, you don’t fight it as much. You kiss other girls and let them go home to their boyfriends; you submit to the thing you had convinced yourself you would never become.

As you drive yourself deeper and deeper into your stereotype, the thought of Ona gets pushed away and newer, more culturally-acceptable fantasies come to mind.

It takes a photoshoot for him to ask you out on a date.

It takes returning home and gaining the approval of Ona’s parents (who are far more open than your own) for you to agree to be official.

You don’t ask Ona what she thinks. She’s busy, you reason, because she is representing Spain at the Euros. She won’t care who you are dating and she certainly doesn’t need it rubbed in her face.

There are many reasons why you go out with him.

One is that you do like him; he’s nice, he’s funny, he treats you well. (He’s not Ona.) Another is that rent is going up and him sharing the load is helpful. (He’s not Ona.) There is also that he is very popular within the agency, and your chemistry on camera is enough to keep your jobs rolling in and casting directors satisfied.

He’s not Ona. You know that.

That's the whole point.

If he were Ona, you’d be deeply in love with him. If he were Ona, you would never leave the house, never leave his embrace, never leave the little bubble created when it is just the two of you and no one else. If he were Ona, you would be excited about the conversations he gently guides you into; marriage, children, where you are going to live one day. You’d miss him more when he isn’t here. You’d care.

But you just… don’t.

Another year passes, more Ona-less than the last, and then she is suddenly coming back home to Barcelona, a medal around her neck and word of a relationship floating above her head.

You could ask her about it if you wanted to because she is still one of your closest friends, but the truth is, you really, desperately don’t want to hear it. While Ona has been falling in love with someone else, you have been proving your stupid feelings to yourself.

The act (your current relationship) lowers enough for you to go home for Christmas. You leave Milan as though fleeing from a hurricane, and you refuse to control the damage until you have entered the new year. Your parents aren’t entirely sure they want you moping about the house, confused how someone so successful can revert to a moody teenager the minute they are back in safe territory, and they heavily encourage you to accept an invite that was extended out to you a few months ago.

Your friends are going skiing in Andorra, and they’d like for you to come with them.

“Ona won’t be there,” one of them regretfully informs you. “She said she doesn’t want to make things weird. She has a girlfriend – or, I don’t know, a talking stage. She wants you to have fun.”

“But Ona and I are friends,” you try to explain, feeling exposed by the look of pity she gives you; the same look someone receives when they find out their ex has gotten married or something similar. As a defensive mechanism, you hastily pull out your phone and dial her number. Everyone watches you, now uninterested in their food as you dine and plan your holiday.

Ona picks up on the third ring, escaping her dinner with Lucy and rushing into the cool, nighttime air of Barcelona.

“Hi?” she says – asks – with raised eyebrows, wondering if you’re in danger.

“You’re coming skiing with us, aren’t you?”

Your friends hide their laughs behind their hands, surprised by how firm your tone is. You do not need it for Ona, because she does anything you say regardless, but they enjoy seeing this side of you. This is someone who has had to fend for herself in a foreign country.

Removing the phone from her ear for a moment, Ona sighs, disappointed in herself.

“Yeah, of course. I’ve missed you, you know.”

…

Skiing is not something Ona is really allowed to do. As a footballer, her legs are what pay her wage. Career-destroying planks of metal are not the best way to spend the dying embers of the year. She knows that. She does, she swears, but she is so eager to go that Jonatan cannot crush her dreams. He tells her, “if you get injured your contract will be reviewed, Ona Batlle,” and she promises him that it won’t happen. Nothing bad is going to happen.

It will be the first time she has spent more than a day with her childhood friends, and she is unbelievably excited.

Lucy finds it adorable and makes it known, helping her pack for her trip, versed in what to bring because her sister skis or something like that (Ona can’t really focus on her almost-girlfriend's monologue). Lucy likes Ona a lot, and it makes her stomach flutter when she thinks about Ona and her friends talking about them. She’s sure her feelings are reciprocated, and she cannot wait for Ona to return to her in the new year, all smiles and lingering hangovers, and ask her to be her girlfriend. Officially.

Your friends convene in the centre of Vilassar de Mar with two cars between you. There are ten people coming.

Someone, most-likely trying to keep the peace, instructs Ona into one vehicle and you into the other. The drive isn’t too long, but you suppose that the tension is uncomfortable for those who aren’t accustomed to maintaining a friendship despite the weight of it.

It’s five days, and you are determined to have fun.

Ona is naturally good at this, although she claims it is her first time. You, living in Milan, are just as advanced.

By the third day, the both of you agree that going off together to do some of the harder runs will be harmless. Spending the day together won’t feel like a date or a romantic holiday. Watching Ona glide over the compacted snow won’t be attractive, watching her cocky smirk as she scales the bumps along the side of the piste won’t do anything.

It won��t. (It does.)

And it just has to be the third day that someone pulls out two bottles of tequila and a drinking game that is going to ensure every single one of you is off your face by midnight.

In rooms opposite one another, you and Ona call your respective partners and tell them about how great a time you are having, actively avoiding telling them about who you spent the day with as though it counts as cheating. It doesn’t, technically. Nothing has happened. But, still, it feels intimate and secret; forbidden.

Then, there is a shout that rings through the house. Everyone comes to the table; the party has begun.

Ona finds out that she is absolutely terrible at drinking games, and loses in every way possible.

You find out that she is still just as touchy when she is drunk.

Your friends try not to comment on it, all having agreed upon yet another passive role in such an irritating situation. Their non-interference almost ceases by the time Ona climbs onto your lap, head turning as she whispers something into your drunk ears, making you laugh privately. In fact, someone has to hold someone else back before they shout at the two of you to make out or break up.

But it’s not really necessary, their prompting, because it hits a certain hour and… nothing else matters anymore.

Ona has been touching you the whole night and you have finally reached your limit.

Boyfriend be damned, you lead her to your bedroom.

She asks you many times if you still want this, and you cannot think of anything to say other than ‘yes’.

You’re not as drunk as she is, and you both know that, but everything feels so perfect and right.

When you wake up the next morning, your anger is more at yourself than the sleeping woman beside you, but she is an outward target for such a boiling emotion and it just makes things easier.

“Ona.” You shake her awake, not caring for her hangover. “Ona, I can’t believe we’ve done this.” She rubs her eyes, dazed and confused for a moment but coming to her senses soon enough. “I have a boyfriend, Ona, and… I don’t like you like that.”

It’s not true.

It’s really, really, really not true, but the fact that you have said it is enough for Ona to leave your room with the intention of never seeing you again.

She gets the train back to Barcelona, turning up at Lucy’s flat in floods of tears, and barrels straight into those strong arms with the intention of never mentioning what she has done.

…

You break up with your boyfriend a month later. Or rather, he breaks up with you, tired of being messed around, tired of your hesitation to fully commit.

The break-up is not the most upsetting thing you’ve been through, but your ego is a little bruised.

You try to make it look like you are having a great time in Milan, even though the agency has once again discarded your file and overlooked you for shoots you used to book in an instant. You try to seem like things aren’t falling apart, but it’s of no use when your father calls you and tells you that your mother is ill.

It isn’t cancer but it’s similar, and you know that you need to come home.

You pack your bags and leave without a second thought, because maybe Madrid was far enough. Maybe there is a reason Ona signed for her home club again and most of your friends still live relatively close to their parents.

Maybe you are not meant to be separated from those you love, because running away is futile if you are always going to end up together again.

In Barcelona, a modelling agency eagerly draws up a contract with you. Although you are from there, your career being based in Milan previously creates an international allure about you (or so they say), and you are assured that work is going to rush towards you as though someone has just knocked down a dam.

Your job is secured, your mother begins treatment, but there is something you cannot shake off.

It hurts to think of Ona, to think of how you left things, but it helps, too. Seeing her face in your mind is comforting. You hear her voice as you drift off to sleep, and you let it soothe you in your dreams.

“Ona has a girlfriend,” her mother tells you when you next visit them. Her frown is unexpected because all she has ever wanted is for her children to be happy and loved. “It’s not right, it doesn’t feel right.” You begin to shrug your shoulders and crawl into your shell, but she interrupts your thought process; “I think you should go see her.”

“Why?”

The woman rolls her eyes. “Just do what I say.”

You nod because she is so scarily sure about it, and you… It’s hard to believe, but you call Ona.

She picks up.

“I was sorry to hear about your mum.”

“Don’t worry. She’s fine.”

“Are you back at home?”

“Yeah, I am.” You pause. “Well, not quite. I’m living in Barcelona.”

Something fizzes in the air; pops, crackles.

“Need me to show you around the city?”

And it’s Ona, so how could you say no?

…

Your visit goes very well.

She takes you out to dinner and shows you around her neighbourhood. She introduces you when she runs into people she knows, and she is insistent about dragging you to her football match on the weekend.

Everything is seemingly forgiven and Ona is intent on integrating you back into her life.

She wants you to feel at home, though she knows you should already, and she wants to lessen the stress of hospital appointments and death and, if not death, then a difficult recovery.

You are sitting in her apartment – now devoid of all signs of Lucy – on her comfortable sofa, watching something together after a day of walking around and sealing up the cracks that formed in Andorra.

Sitting leads into cuddling and then into wandering hands that eagerly roam underneath layers of fabric.

Ona’s breath hitches as you brush the hard lines of her abs, your hands particularly drawn to them and just how strong she has become. “You must have only felt them on men,” she offers as an explanation. “How many have you slept with in comparison to–?”

And your hands stop.

“Sorry,” Ona mumbles, seemingly upset at her outburst. “I’m just curious. I can’t work you out.” She can’t quite look you in the eye, mainly due to the logistics of your position, but she isn’t sure she wants to see the truth attached to her statement.

You question if that’s a good thing, the fact she needs to ask; the fact that she has no choice but to communicate. It was going to happen sooner or later. “A few,” is what you settle on. Ona leaves it at that, carefully pulling the hair tie from your plait, unravelling it with one hand as the other rests against your stomach in an embrace. You smile. “You’re not going to ask who?”

Her fingers stop for a moment. “No.” She speaks so quietly, her voice almost a whisper in your ear. “I don’t care about them.” You relax into her more, feeling her against your back, feeling the softness of the blanket against your feet as it hangs at the edge of the sofa.

“Who do you care about, then?”

“You.”

Carefully, both her hands hold your hips and she sits you up, smiling as she does. You tell her she’s showing off, she replies that you are always showing off. To that, you brush those hands from your sides and lean down to kiss her, more decidedly for once; more in control. It’s a surprising feeling for both of you, the forcefulness. Urgency. Not unfamiliar, but unexpected for this time on this day.

The last time you kissed Ona, you had a boyfriend.

Your mouth goes to her neck as soon as she decides that she wants her hands back on your hips, pushing you down into her lap. It’s now a competition, you think. She’s quickly coming completely undone by your kissing and biting, but you are not ignoring the feeling as she makes you grind down, makes you need that friction. “Fuck,” you moan in her ear. She grips you tighter.

You start to pull off her shirt having had enough of the grey between you, asking if it’s okay, if she’s sure she isn’t too tired. Her reply is, “take it off, god,” and then the removal of your clothes that get thrown just shy of the wine glasses set out on her coffee table. Leggings aren’t the most practical for impromptu sex, but she’s quick and smooth and someone who has definitely done that before.

With your bare chest on display and almost nothing between Ona and you, she lifts you up for a moment with the intention of flipping the two of you, getting you on your back. You pause for a moment, trying to decide if she’s doing it because she wants to or because she thinks that’s the only way to do it, but her hands are moving now, up your sides, round the front of your chest and you relax. She laughs quietly, amused, because the tension dissipates, dissolving like sweet, sweet sugar in hot coffee as soon as your legs wrap around her back.

Ona asks before she does it, picking you up and laying you back down without needing to part her lips from your own. You watch her as she sits up, body in between your thighs. “You’re going to just stay there?” She shakes her head. “I can top,” you tease, a stark contrast from how it was the last time you did this. Ona doesn’t like being told she can’t do something. However indirectly.

“Yeah?” You nod, biting the smirk out of your lips. “I don’t care.”

You are in the process of rolling your eyes when her cocky mouth is put to good use. Your underwear was taken off at some point earlier — you hadn’t realised. Ona’s head moves between your legs, up and down, your hand that isn’t holding onto the sofa in her hair, the soft waves lacing between your fingers.

She’s good at it; thorough, practised. Her tongue circles your clit for a moment before dipping into your entrance. Something about the cockiness of her movements, her tongue, her hand rubbing between her own legs, makes everything more surreal, more blissful. She moans softly, lips kissing their way up your body, hands no longer focused on herself. Instead, they take the place of her mouth, two fingers inside you as quickly as it takes for her to ask if you are okay to carry on. Your reply (“yes”) is cut off quickly by her mouth on yours, tongue swiping at your bottom lip in another question of permission. You can taste yourself on her.

At her command, you sit up, letting her pull you back onto her lap as she sucks at your neck. “Don’t leave any marks,” you warn as her teeth pull a whimper from your supposed stoicness. “I don’t want the makeup artists asking questions.” It comes out too late, because you feel her teeth graze your collarbone quickly, not painful, no, but something that feels so, so good. “Ona.” She sighs in disappointment and adjusts where you are in her lap, so your legs are either side of her thigh.

You find yourself rocking slowly, letting her savour your breasts between her hands and her mouth. She whispers that she wants to see you come, that you don’t need to hold back – not with her, not ever – so you start grinding down, harder, faster. Her hands drop back to your hips, guiding your movements, forcing you to slow down when she feels everything building up. Each time, you let out a “fuck” and attempt to go against her grip to get that friction. “Not just yet,” she mutters, no longer touching you anywhere other than where her hands meet your hips and her thigh presses between your legs.

“Fuck off, Ona,” you breathe, frustrated. “When, then?”

She slows the pace even more. “Can you last a little longer?” You look at her face, brushing away the strands of hair that have fallen over her eyes, ghosting your fingers along her cheek, running your thumb along her lips. She smiles again, eyes creasing slightly.

As her hands drop to cup your face, you say, “you’re beautiful.”

Ona blushes.

You look down at her exposed cleavage, nipples pebbled against the sports bra that is unusually low-cut. It might border on intense staring as you begin to grind against her with the intention of actually getting off now. She laughs, saying her eyes are higher up than that, but going back to her trail of kisses along your jaw nevertheless.

For what seems like longer than a few seconds, the build up finally stops, the tower toppling over in a rush of pleasure. Ona’s hands move your hips as your head drops to rest on her shoulder. She talks you through it, telling you that you look so pretty, telling you that she’s so turned on.

And that’s when she whispers it.

It has taken years to get to this moment, many of them filled with unnecessary suffering.

It has taken years but it does not matter.

Ona tells you that she loves you and that is when you have finally come home.

#woso x reader #woso #randombush3 #barca femeni #woso imagines #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle #ona batlle smut

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marc-spectorr · 10 months ago

Text

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 · 5 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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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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pnrfru · 1 year ago

Text

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 · 25 days 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 · 9 months ago

Text

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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