#the casting kind of insults me

[driftsixfour]

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[oveliagirlhaditright]

-randomly sees a screenshot of jamie and lily from the city of bones movie, where they seem to embody jace and clary, and am once again sad that we didn't get a city of ashes movie-

[llycaons]

I saw crazy rich asians and I liked some of it but it also felt kind of colorist and the magnitude of ostentatious wealth was borderline nauseating. awkwafina was incredibly annoying even if I didn't know about her antiblackness. loved the twist at the end tho and I was definitely like 👀 about the 'family doesn't say thank you' line

[ohimsummer]

COLD SHOULDER ft. BULLY! SATOSUGU

—minors dni, dubcon, oral [f. receiving], bully!satosugu x fem! reader, nipple play, groping, kissing, fingering, clit stimulation, one pussy slap, pet names (princess, pretty (girl), baby, sweetheart, puppy), implied penetration at the end

wc 2.2k

It’s obvious that someone like Gojo feeds off your reactions. He tugs at your hair so you yell at him, gets in your face until you’re forced to push him away, and he loves, loves, loves, the back and forth bickering for those truly vile insults you always sling his way. He’s just obsessed with little ol’ you. Barely at height with his chest, can’t move him an inch even with your sturdiest push, and yet you remain combative to Gojo’s every action. Until you’re not.

“You know she’s been giving me the silent treatment these past few days?” The warm feel of Gojo’s breath skims the shell of your ear, warmth pooling in your core while you shrivel deeper into Geto’s chest. Gojo runs a tongue over your earlobe, and pulls back just enough to catch your gaze, white brows upturned into a sad pout, before whining, “I mean really, what’s a guy gotta do for a pretty girl’s attention around here?”

Your eyesight darts to anything else in whoever’s bedroom this is, hoping to find some kind of distraction to take your mind off of these two. Gojo’s hot, heavy pants are loud over the stifled bump of music in the main area, piercing shrieks and cheers of drunk and crazed partygoers who are none the wiser to your current dilemma. Large, curious hands wander beneath your skirt, toying with the snug waistband of your panties. Geto’s firm hold keeps your wrists bound at the curve of your back, leaving you at the fiendish mercy of his white-haired friend.

“Just look at you, all pretty and dolled up.,” Gojo hums, lips lingering over your neck as he inhales your scent, before teeth sink in to add another purplish mark on your skin. “Can’t keep my hands off ya, princess.”

You want to lash out at him, bite back with the heinous album of comments that have been building on your tongue, hopefully enough to bruise his massive ego. Or tell him to get the hell off of you and keep his filthy hands out of your space. And he knows it, Gojo can recognize that familiar look of fury in your eyes, and he just adores how you so stubbornly keep biting your tongue. The stronger your efforts, the higher his yearning to hear just a single word from you.

“Still tryin’ to ignore us?,” Geto chuckles into the crown of your head. “Shame, I love the sound of that pretty voice.” He fidgets under you, grinding himself against your ass, an intoxicating, herbal smell of drugs wafting off of him. “C’mon, Satoru, make our little puppy bark.”

“Gladly”, Gojo remarks, eyebrows wiggling at you before two fingers skim dangerously close to your core. A shiver runs through you as Gojo mashes firm fingers to your cunt, prodding at your throbbing entrance through your panties, rubbing them over your pussy and coating your underwear in slick. Your lips quiver, legs desperately moving to close but they’re hooked over his friend’s knees, and Gojo licks his lips at your response. He casts a glance over your shoulder, likely at Geto, before moving up an inch to your aching clit.

“Ha, you’re fuckin’ soaked.,” he laughs teasingly, pulling at the crotch of your panties and watching the dripping strings of fluid connect back to your cunt, before letting the fabric snap back into place. “Actin’ all tough, pff, whatever.”

The words ‘shut up’ graze the tip of your tongue, just begging to be said, but you refuse to give in. That’s all they, especially Gojo, want. To get some kind of vehement reaction from you, and you won’t allow them the pleasure. Not when Geto eases a hand up your shirt to free your tits from your bra, and not even when Gojo begins sliding your underwear down your legs.

You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, nibbling on the plump flesh, eyes narrowing at the sight of your panties disappearing into Gojo’s pockets before he spreads your thighs even wider. Heat rushes to your face at the knowledge that your pussy is practically on display for him. His twinkling blue eyes flicker over your glistening cunt, playful as Gojo leans in to plant rough kisses and nips over the expanse of your thighs. He spreads the drenched lips of your pussy, taking in the way you tighten and squeeze in a plea to be filled, before poking an index finger at your hole. His finger sinks right in, swallowed by your wet, greedy cunt up to his knuckle before he wiggles it around inside you. Geto takes note of your hitched breathing, how your wrists defy his grip in an effort for freedom. You catch winks of flowing black next to you, almost blending in with the dark shadows of this room, before you hear his voice low in your ear:

“Feel good, darling?”, Geto studies the flutter of your lids as his friend drives shallow thrusts into you. A long, needy whine breaks free, and he huffs a small laugh. “Mm, I know.”

Gojo sighs,“Fuck…”, totally awestruck at the way his large digit just disappears amidst the gumminess of your drooling walls. He retreats from your entrance, and both you and Geto can clearly tell he’s in love with the way your slick coats and drips down his finger. A steady fire blooms across every inch of your skin as Gojo takes the messy finger in his mouth, moaning in satisfaction at the flavor of you on his tongue. He savors the taste, eyes never leaving your own, and you watch as Gojo thoroughly licks the finger clean.

“Wanna taste?,” he asks when he’s done, pink tongue darting over his lips. “Or is that gross?”

He laughs at the scowl that forms on your face. You hate how Gojo somehow reads you so well, knows you’d call him disgusting and a pervert for what he just did. Hate how, if he didn’t know before, he definitely knows now that this is turning you on, if the way you leak fluids all down your thighs and this wooden dresser is any indication.

Geto’s pinch of your nipple acts as a distraction, pulling your attention back to his feverish, one-handed assault of your breasts. His fist clenches around your wrists, and you feel the hardness of Geto’s erection on your ass when he rolls his hips against you again.

“Mph!,” you barely stifle a whimper when Gojo lands a slap on your pussy, wetness spraying onto his flushed face. The way these two keep yanking your focus in every direction has your head dizzy.

Gojo raises an eyebrow at you. “Oh, what was that? Wanna speak up, princess?”

You give a desperate shake of your head, struggling to control the heave of your breathes as he begins massaging your clit under his thumb. “You sure?” And when you glare down at him, he shrugs. “Alright, then!”

Your eyes widen as he leans in closer, tracing over you one last time, and takes your pulsating clit between his lips, a loud whine catching in your throat as Gojo gives you a harsh suck. Head falling back over Geto’s shoulder, you arch away from his body, toes curling as Gojo laps and suckles onto the aching bud. Your jaw clenches, whimpering noises bubbling up your throat as your eyes roll to the back of your head, but you can’t help the few moans and mewls that break free.

“Ah, there it is, those sweet sounds.,” Geto muses, squeezing your wrists again in warning before releasing his grip on you. He’s pleased when you make no effort to fight back, muttering a ‘good girl’ with a pinch to your ass and trails his newly free hand up the expanse of your throat. Giving it a light squeeze, he kisses the roundness of your cheek, faintly rubbing a thumb over the tensed skin of your neck, and pulls your lips towards him. Your lids flutter open a crack, blurry image of Geto’s defined features overrunning your vision, before the soft feel of his lips covers your mind in a thick fog. Without your hands or a bruising bite to stifle yourself, the noise of your high-pitched cries easily begin to flood the room, a satisfying melody for both their ears.

“Can’t keep it in anymore, pretty?,” Gojo’s muffled taunt reaches from between your thighs, vibrations of his voice on your clit sending a twitch throughout your legs.

You can’t see him, only the mess of white hairs from the corner of your vision, but you can feel the penetration of his tongue, how it traces the surface of your walls, determined to mark every inch within reach. He uses thick fingers to bully your pulsating clit with rough circles and sharp pinches, rolling the hardened nub in his mouth between laps and broad strokes of his tongue, all of which easily drive out loud, needy whines you couldn’t even hope to hold back anymore.

“Keep making those lovely sounds, darling.” Geto moans into your mouth, sucking on your tongue before biting at your bottom lip. “Show Satoru how good he’s making you feel.”

Hot pants brush over your pussy, but Gojo continues his abuse of your clit. “Yeah, baby, talk to me, hm?”

The words, whether they were praise or an insult, because at this point you don’t know, get stuck in your throat, leaving room for only a choked sob to fall out as your hips mindlessly rut against Satoru’s fingers. Geto tightens his fist around your throat, leaving you struggling for already difficult breathes, his fingers still pinching and tugging at the pebbled skin of your nipples. The warmth in your abdomen has blossomed into a raging fire, muscles spasming as you gasp against Geto’s face, curses of ‘f–fuck–!’ and ‘shit!’ leaving your kiss-swollen lips at the sensation of your rapidly approaching orgasm.

“Hey, princess…,” Gojo catches your half-lidded gaze, tears building at the corners of your eyes. “Better talk to me or you don’t get to cum, got it?”

You twist your lips in a scowl, mind too dizzy but you know he means what he says, and you think you’d pass out and die if he took your orgasm from you when you were so close. He’s such an asshole, of course he’d hold your orgasm ransom just to get a few half-baked remarks out of you. Gojo's eyes peer into your own, head slightly tilted as he watches you weigh the options in your mind.

“F–,” he raises a brow expectantly, azure eyes widening in anticipation, trained on your lips as you hesitate on your words. “Fuck you, Gojo.”

And you’d think someone had just offered him all the money in the world the way his eyes light up, gleaming cerulean blues that crease under the giant grin on his face.

“Ah!,” he teases, shortly relishing in the moan you let out as he stuffs a third finger into your cunt. “There it is! Been dyin’ to say that to me all day, haven’t ya?”

You try and focus on something else, anything else to drown out his incessant mockery. But all that’s on your mind is Geto’s tongue down your throat, and his strong hand restricting your airflow, and Gojo still talking as his fingers curl to press into that spongy spot inside you–

“S–Satoru!,” you cry out, legs quaking as the coil in your tummy snaps, and your pussy gushes around his fingers.

Gojo stares, thoroughly bewitched by the way his name fell off your lips, and the cum drooling from your pussy, remnants of it dripping down his face and embedding into his clothes. “Holy shit…”He absentmindedly runs his thumb over the mess of your still-spasming cunt, barely taking in when you jolt under his touch.

“Stop it, Gojo, ‘m sensitive.,” you murmur between Geto's softened, sporadic kisses.

Your voice draws his attention, and suddenly Gojo is extremely aware of the aching hardness between his legs. He reaches down to palm at himself, hissing at the press of his hand against the bulge, before standing up from his kneeled position.

“Just look what you did, got me stiff as shit down here.,” Gojo huffs, undoing his pants to allow his cock some much-needed air.

You watch, dumbstruck, as the large appendage springs free. Even in the dim light of this room, you can see the redness of his tip, dick bobbing, precum dribbling down the length of it as Gojo takes a step closer, lining himself up with your entrance before rubbing up and down your slit.

Your eyes widen in surprise and you wriggle, only accomplishing to rub your sensitive clit against the head of his cock and Gojo sighs out a breath. “I-I said–!”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard ya.,” he interjects, rubbing two hands over your thighs. Gojo takes the back of your knees, holding your legs up higher to essentially fold you in half, and presses his hips forward, watching your cunt threaten to swallow his tip. “Maybe it’s good that you’re all sensitive, now. Might get ya talking some more for us, no?”

You angrily narrow your eyes at him, whining at the burn of his fat tip stretching you out. “No.”

And Gojo’s smirk widens. “Yeah, baby, just like that.”

[hyewka]

—what a loser! | c.bg

୨୧ synopsis. hearing rumours of your sex life travel around your campus for the first time has you standing in front of the very person that you’re convinced is responsible. your secret fuck buddy.

୨୧ warnings. stoner!gyu, bratty sub!beomgyu, mean femdom, humiliation kink, VERY public, hair pulling, hate sex kind of, cunnilingus, use of pet, fuck buddies, reader has a priest dad, bit of a toxic dynamic

“Why’re you here?” he mumbles casting his eyes down to his feet as he idly skates around, not paying you even a little bit of eye contact or actual acknowledgement.

“Can we talk somewhere else? More private?”

He ignores you.

You huff, rolling your eyes, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. The sun had already set, there were even less people out—no one was skating around at this hour but Beomgyu. “Why—" you take a breath, already feeling yourself get emotional and angry, “Why did you go around telling people about us?”

There’s a few reasons circling your head. Attention, bragging rights—attention was a big one but you hoped, no, a part of you believes it was an accident. That he let the information slip from his lips when he was drunk, or out of his right mind. But with the way he’s acting, it’s getting harder to hold on to the belief that Beomgyu was misunderstood and not just a fucking asshole.

Too much time goes by with silence and you think hes blatantly ignoring you again, but then he halts his skating, taking the time to run a hand through his hair. Hair that you’ve regretfully played with days on end, twirling strands around your finger, giggling as if the foundation you’ve built your relationship on wasn’t such a fragile fire that could be snuffed out in seconds if not the tiniest bit careful.

Look where you are now.

“Dunno, ‘cuz I can.”

His eyes are on you, bangs parted, looking straight at you. You can’t get it out of your mind, how the ends of his lips twitched up as he said that. Bitch. Fucking bitch.

He finds this amusing. A game. Your reputation was a game to him. Of course it is. He never took anything serious, not his career, not his relationships, not his future—he never cared.

Your nostrils flare as you stomp large strides towards him, charging and shoving his chest, having him stumble backwards off his board, dryly laughing. “The goody two shoes about to commit an assault?”

“Oh fuck off, you wouldn’t dare try suing me. God, I hate you so much. You’re such a—such a fucking loser!” you yell.

That wiped off the cocky demeanour.

“Here’s some two cents for you, I couldn’t give less of a fuck about whatever this is between us. I really couldn’t. But you—” your face gets heated up, pointing a finger at him. “You will never find anything better than what I gave you. And you’re going to live with that.”

He scoffs like he’s unbothered but it’s so clear with the way he clenches his jaw afterwards he’s pissed—it hit a spot. Good. Good, let him be hurt.

“What do you even—what did you gain by telling everybody my sex life? Having people call me a slut? Some sick pleasure from being superior to me for once? Attention? Huh? Why’re you acting out now?” Your eyes are narrowed as they implore answers out of him, searching his face and eyes, anything, anything that you can read from his unbearable silence.

“Yeah.”

You blink confused. “What?”

“Yeah, I wanted the attention. Happy now?” He walks to shoulder you but you let out a scoff, holding him back by his arm and pushing him in front of you again.

“You can’t for one second act like a man can you? You just run away from everything!” you feel like you could rip out your hair with how frustrating hes being.

“If you’re just going to stand there and insult me like a bitch I might as well just go and do something fucking productive.” he spits.

Your cheeks heat up and you think for the first time you understand the phrase of seeing red. Hes been poking and poking and poking with his nonchalance then later smugness then going onto just straight up disrespect—he was really pushing you. So he should’ve expected the hand that goes to strike him against his face—your chest rising up and down, brows furrowed deeply.

A faint red hand print blooms across his cheek, and his jaw falls slack, eyes blown out and wide. You suddenly grab him by the back of his hair, no doubt burning his scalp with the way he lets out a loud hiss. “I fucking hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

You’re so close to his face and everything about the way he’s looking at you gives you the chills. You hate him. You do. He’s insane, he’s selfish, he’s rude, he’s—

A shaky lopsided grin still manages to break from his face, “No you don’t.”

And that was your last straw.

The addictive nature about Beomgyu is what kept you coming back over and over again—he never lead, he just let you…take him. And sometimes, at a point of your life where you feel like everythings being controlled for you, not having the choice to make the decisions you like, this somewhat served as an outlet.

That’s the more…reasonable explanation.

The other explanation is simple. He’s so fucking sexy.

The way he still melts into a kiss so harsh and mean, attempting to cup your cheeks, but immedietely dropping it when he feels your disapporval, his whimpers already picking up, not taking any incentive to breathe as if this kiss was enough to keep him alive; it’s those little things that have you up in the middle of the night thinking about him. Him.

Beomgyu, the stereotypical bad-boy stoner hipster outcast—the antithesis of everything present in your picture perfect life—he keeps you up at night. The mix of weed and his hilariously bad attempt at covering it with febreeze and cologne wafts your scent, it overwhelms you, but you still can’t get enough. Everything annoying about him disappears when he’s touching you.

“Why? Why do you keep doing this?” you say, finally being able to pull away from him—only after you had jerked on his hair harsher.

His lips are swollen, red and glistening—he looks pretty like this. He really does. But those lips always end up saying something to piss you off. “Keep doing what? Letting everyone know how you really are? Not actually the good girl you pretend to be, huh.”

You don’t know if he’s goading you on purpose because he likes it rough, or if he’s just being an asshole in general. It doesn’t matter. If he’s going to act like a brat, he’ll get treated like one.

Your knuckles had turned white with how hard you were gripping his hair so it feels relieving when you finally let it go. He tries to lean in to chase after your lips again, but you have your hands on his chest to stop him.

The flash of panic in his eyes when you step back from him is hilarious, it really is. It tells you everything you need to know. He wants you. He really wants you. He doesn’t care if you hit him or ruin his life, he wants you.

If his next words are any indication. “Hey, hey what are you doing? Where are you going?”

You walk to sit on a step of the stairs. “Do you think I’m a slut? Is that why you thought you had the audacity? Surely because otherwise if you respected me you wouldn’t have spread those rumors about me.”

He huffs out a laugh, the biggest reaction you’ve gotten out of him so far. He also walks to get closer to you. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You haven’t even come up with one single reason that would paint me in a better light. You really do see me as a fucking douchebag loser.” He’s clearly getting emotional with the way his voice gets higher pitched, the nonchalant front cracking, his lips slightly trembling.

“Because that’s what you are. Douchebag. Loser. You’re. A. Loser. Choi Beomgyu.”

You can see his fists clench at his sides, tight lipped. If you knew any better, you think he might’ve just started crying, but you’re not interested in tears. You angle your feet to point to the ground, “On your knees.”

He only hesitates for a second, he only stands there staring at you for a second, only a second before he crumbles and does as you say, getting on his knees in front of you, between your legs. “Closer.”

“But-"

“But what?” Your skirts already half way ridden up and you stare him down, keeping your eye contact intense.

“We’re in p-public. Anyone can see.”

You know hes blushing when you see the tips of his ears peek out, bright red. Aw, he’s nervous? Embarrassed? Shy?

“You’re never seeing me after this Choi. Make of it what you can or piss off.”

His eyes widen comically at that. “What? What does that mean? Are you leaving me?”

You can’t decipher or understand why exactly hes so surprised but you shake it off, you don’t want your good time to be spoiled. Not when your underwears’ already sticking to your pussy seeing him on his knees, on the ground, with his ripped baggy jeans, no doubt a pavement burn getting to him. “Are you going to eat me out or should I get up and leave?”

He shakes his head vehemently, hands on your knees spreading your legs. “Sorry, ‘m sorry. Don’t leave. Gonna make you feel good, promise.”

He’s already rambling like he’s dumbed out, like he’s about to be a goner. But he’s still hesitant in his actions and you groan, throwing your head back. “What the fuck Beomgyu?”

A pout rests on his lips, “I—…I don’t want anyone seeing you..”

You think he’s giving a fuck for your decency, you think its about you for once. But then another thought pops up in your head and your lips twitch. It’s not for you. It’s for him. He doesn’t want any possible pedestrian to see what only him so far has been able to see.

This isn’t worth it.

You make an attempt to get up before Beomgyu immediately has you sit back down, wasting no time to press his face between your legs, skirt over his head. His tongue pokes out to lick on over your panties, gradually wetting it and you sigh, the tenseness of your body evaporating. “Yeah, thats it. Be good for me pup.” He whines at that.

Beomgyu doesn’t tease any longer the moment your hands go to grab his hair because suddenly he bunches your panties to the side and you feel the contact of his hot tongue on your cunt, already lapping away like a dog. Dumb dog. Dumb dog. Dumb dumb dumb—but shit he’s having you curl your toes at the speed he’s going, the way he moans against your pussy like hes somehow enjoying eating you out more than you are.

“You’re my toy, nothing else. But you just keep—you keep irritating me, you keep being a dick, you keep provoking me.” you breathe out, tightening your fistful of his hair in your hand, making his moans even louder, nuzzling closer in your pussy you think he might genuinely suffocate at this point. But knowing him, he’d probably like that. “God, you absolute loser.”

He whines something intelligible, wet eyes looking up at you with his brows pulling up—it makes you gasp as you bite down on your bottom lip. He’s so pretty it’s unfair. Why’s such a sinful person so pretty? God must really have the time of his life making this hell for you.

You take it upon yourself to lift yourself a bit, grinding on his face harder, trying to reach your high, obstructing your view of his face—even with the anxiety of doing this so out in the open resting at the pit of your stomach. He’s practically mewling in your pussy, and the sounds send vibrations, his nose bumping up your clit every now and then. He lets you use him, he just lets you.

When Beomgyu fully submits like this to you…you see stars, you come hard. “More…more”, he groans, licking up your arousal. It’s so dirty, it really is, but you can’t help but nod.

Having the skater eat you out till your legs were jelly at a skatepark late at night would surely guarantee your place in hell.

“You’re such a whore, letting me fuck your face like this baby—don’t soil your pants yet, I know how you get. Probably getting off at the fact that we’re out l-like this…h-hah—dirty, dirty boy.”

He shakes his head, the glistening sweat of his forehead and the matted strands on his temple proof of how hard hes really going at it. “Not dirty. Just wan’ your attention..”

The second you tut at him for stopping he immedietely dives back in—you don’t know if it’s more him being afraid of a punishmet or because he himself doesn’t want to stop. Never mind that, because now hes wrapping his pretty lips around your clit and you’re fucking losing your mind with how quick your head clouds.

There are so many things circling your head right now. And this always happens whenever he starts talking during a hook up. Yes, it helps you get to an edge even faster but its for all the wrong reasons. He’d dirty talk for a bit before switching up, and suddenly all of his words are loving and cute and adorable and, and that’s bad. When you see him other than the image he’s curated for himself—that’s when you start feeling the unfamiliar butterflies fluttering.

You don’t like it. He’s not good for you.

“Stop thinking, only focus on me.” You gasp, your fingers digging into his tangled hair, disheveling it even more. Only him.

He makes you orgasm again, and when you catch your breath you gently push his head away, then harder when he can’t seem to stop kissing your inner thighs. He sighs, dropping it, but not without giving you one last puppy plea. You avoid his eyes, pulling your panties up and scoping around the area, all of a sudden feeling exposed. Did you really just let this punk eat you out on a staircase?

You stand up, dusting your ass, taking note of the redness of his knees and the large wet patch in between his crotch when Beomgyu follows, getting up from his knees, wiping his ridiculously wet lips. You tuck a strand behind your ear as you awkwardly stand, thinking over what you’re going to say now.

We’re over, bye.

I’ll go home now, don’t call me.

I hope you know how bad you messed up. Bye.

I’m blocking you on everything so don’t even think of contacting me.

“Don’t leave me.”

…That has you snap out of your reverie.

His voice is low, no doubt vulnerable. This is the worst. This is bad. Shit.

You clear your throat. “Why? Why shouldn’t I? Even if I didn’t want to I’d have to…my dad knows about you now because of the little stunt you pulled and he definitely doesn’t approve of you.” You mumble the last part, crossing your arms and keeping your distance. But that’s not of any use when he steps forward every time you take a step back.

“I’m—” He runs a hand through his hair again, clearly frustrated. And you don’t understand why, does he really operate life thinking there aren’t consequences to his actions? If he didn’t want to stop this so bad why’d he tell people about your relationship when you explicitly told him not to? “We can—we can do it in secret like we did this entire time. He doesn’t have to know.”

You sigh, also frankly frustrated. “Beomgyu! Why can’t you just-"

Suddenly you’re in his embrace, engulfing you so gently and yet the desperation in it couldn’t have been any more tighter. “Please, please don’t leave me. I’m sorry. I’ll—I’ll really do everything you want, I’ll be your toy, your pet, whatever shit you’re into—just don’t leave me."

You really shouldn’t give in. You really, really shouldn’t.

But then he nuzzles into your neck, mumbling with that slight whiny drawl in his tone, “I’ll be your good boy, I promise. Won’t misbehave anymore.”

Of course you give in. Again.

୨୧ note. honestly don’t know where this came from, i was just making up backstory as i was writing. literally only had one thought and one thought only, what if sub!bad boy x dom! good girl? and that was the small attempt made here lol, i love hearing any feedback or even a theory or two concerning the story’s world as i might explore these characters again 🙏

[skbeaumont]

Scars – A Joel Miller/Reader Oneshot

“You have them too.” You say, tracing your fingertips along the pale scar that sits at the side of his head, disappearing into thick dark hair. “Yes,” He replies, his voice thick, accent dragging out the vowel. “Show me.”

Summary: When Joel stumbles into the kitchen at 2am, restless and tense, he doesn't expect to find you at the table, nursing a cold mug of tea. He certainly doesn't expect to end up tracing the scars on your skin, explaining how he got his, your hands mapping the contors of each other's old wounds until something new emerges.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, mutual pining, kind of angsty but also fluffy?, descriptions of old injuries, explicit sex, PIV, fingering, dirty talk, body worship, flirting, yearning, mentions of alcohol.

Word Count: 3.3k

It’s late, and the rest of Jackson is asleep.

A single street lamp lights the dark kitchen, casting a soft orange glow over the table and your half empty mug. The tea is long-since cold, but you keep your hands wrapped around it anyway, trying to soak up the last of its heat. There’s a microwave behind you, and a coffee machine, and enough hot water to fill several baths, but after twenty years of surviving by fire light and camping stoves, these modern conveniences still seem like the technology of your childhood, distant and unrealistic. And so the tea remains cold.

You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to the normality of Jackson: the routine and order and kindness that seeps into every interaction, every town meeting and evening out. It’s been four months since you arrived – limping and half-dead, frozen almost solid by the bitter Wyoming winter – at the town’s gates.

And now you’re inside on a mild spring night, sharing a house with a man and his not-daughter, healthy and almost whole again. The town council were apologetic about housing you with Joel and Ellie: it was the only house with a spare bedroom at the time, but in truth it had been a relief. There was something overwhelmingly comforting about being around other people again, sleeping only a thin wall away from another human being, sharing meals and chores.

Joel’s quiet and serious most of the time, but you see cracks appearing in his hard exterior when he’s with Ellie, or his brother Tommy. Something of the man that existed before the world ended. And more recently he’s started opening up to you, too; rolling his eyes at you behind Ellie’s back when she swears or insults houseguests, chuckling at your bad jokes, letting his guard down when he gets home from a hard day’s construction work, allowing you to make him hot drinks and massage his sore shoulders.

You’re careful not to push anything too far, but the slow roll into familiarity with Joel has bred something less familial, too. Something wanting and churning that settles deep in your belly when you’re around him. It makes you want to press yourself against him, settle yourself in the crook of his shoulder, lick the thick tendons of his neck. Whether he feels the same is a mystery. He’s older than you by a couple of decades, not that that matters to you – you’re both adults – but he maintains a distance. Lets you massage his shoulders but never makes a sound while you do it. Holds the door open for you but keeps a respectful distance when you walk side-by-side through town. Allows you to rest your feet in his lap in the evenings on the sofa, but doesn’t touch them, or acknowledge them. You’ve heard him moving around in the night, restless and fidgety, but he never comes to your room on those long dark nights seeking comfort or companionship.

He's been quiet since he went to bed several hours earlier on this particular night, which is why it’s a shock when the kitchen light flickers on, illuminating Joel’s broad silhouette in the doorway. You scramble out of the chair onto your feet, heart thumping. He holds a hand up, calmingly, doesn’t move as your eyes adjust to the light.

“Fucking hell, Joel. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” He takes a step into the kitchen, feet bare on the terracotta tiles.

He’s still in his clothes from today, dark jeans under a thin grey tee, both slightly crumpled as though he’s slept in them. He always does. Undoubtedly it’s the same ritual that makes him keep a pistol on his bedside table, leave a packed go-bag by the front door; the same anxiety that casts dark shadows under his eyes, fuels his insomnia and maintains his habitual whiskey drinking. He’s ready for anything, always, because he’s been through shit and he thinks at any moment it’ll happen again. You understand. It’s why you’re in the kitchen at 2am, cold tea clutched between shaking hands.

“Couldn’t sleep?” You ask, as he opens a high cupboard and pulls out a tumbler.

You move around him, tip the dregs of your tea down the sink.

“Something like that,” He replies, voice croaky.

He pours the whiskey out into the glass, swirls it in thick fingers and then rests back against the kitchen counter opposite you, eyes finally finding yours. They hover for a moment on your face, dark and penetrating, then flick to one shoulder, the other, down your arm.

You keep them covered, normally. Wear long sleeves even in the heat of summer, never undress around anyone. You’ve avoided the swimming pond that opened three weeks ago, even though the water looked heavenly in the warm April weather, unwillingly to bear the scars that litter your body to the town, afraid they’ll show the community who you really are, reveal the terrible things you’ve done to survive. But unlike Joel you don’t have a habit of sleeping in your clothes, and the thin vest and shorts you’re wearing now reveals those long-hidden scars to him in the bright kitchen light.

The bullet wound is the worst one; a puckered, deep purple starburst across one shoulder, skin wrought into something alien and terrible. It’s this one that his gaze linger on, dark eyes making heat roll up your spine. His fist is gripping the whiskey glass so tightly that the tips of his fingers and knuckles are white with the strain of it.

“They’re awful, I know.” You say into the silence.

“What? No- God, no. They’re not.” A pause, his eyes flicking away from yours, over to the far wall, back across. “I’ve got ‘em, too. We all have.”

You scoff at this. Move your hand up, place it on your shoulder. His hand twitches where it rests on the countertop, but he doesn’t move.

“You cover them.” He says. It’s not a question, but you feel like you have to answer anyway.

“Yes.” A breath, shaky on the exhale. “They’re ugly.” “No.” His voice is firm, commanding in the quiet kitchen. Despite yourself, you feel heat pooling between your thighs and you fidget, pressing them together, crossing your feet. The movement makes his eye dart down to your bare legs. You watch the apple of his throat as he swallows thickly, eyes trailing up to the hem of your shorts. There’s a scar there, too, bisecting your upper thigh. Thin and white, a reminder of a long ago incident with barbed wire.

“They’re not…” His voice trails off, eyes searching your face. “Nothing on you is ugly. Not even the scars. Especially not the scars.”

“No?”

“No.” He shifts, puts the whiskey glass down on the counter behind him and lifts his hand to your shoulder. Fingertips trace the edge of the bullet scar, and you feel goosepimples rise in their wake despite the warmth of the kitchen. He runs his hand up past its end, to your throat, along your collar bone and to the other arm. The scars there are paler, older. Shrapnel and grazes from a fall. Each one his fingertips trace reverently, as though they’re a holy text written across your skin. When he reaches the last, the one that loops around your wrist, the indent of a handcuff, you’re sure your heart is thumping so loudly he must be able to hear it, too. Slick is pooling between your thighs, hot and wet against the thin shorts you’re wearing.

“There are more,” You say, so quietly that it’s almost a whisper.

“Show me.”

It’s like a dance. You pull off your vest and Joel’s hand follows the curve of your waist, thumb dipping to press the small coin-shaped scar just below your rib cage. You sigh and he lets his hand run over your ribs, fingertips finding the spaces between like piano keys. When he reaches the curve of your bare breast he pauses, the weight of your flesh resting in the valley between his index finger and thumb. You don’t say anything, just lean into him, holding his eye contact, the pleasure and warmth of his hand making you bold. He moves slowly, carefully, rolling the bud of your nipple between his finger and thumb, pinching just so, pleasure blossoming in your chest, down your spine and to your cunt.

“This okay?” He asks, eyes flicking up from his hand to your face, tracking the pull of your eyebrows as they pitch together, the move of your mouth as you answer him with a shaky exhale.

“What about this one?” He asks, hand leaving your breast to trace across the scar that laces up your thigh under the hem of your shorts. “Can I?”

You’re not sure what he’s asking but you know that you want him to, want him to do whatever it is he’s asking so you nod. His hand grip your waist to lift you, setting you down on the kitchen counter. You grasp at his shoulders, the solid breadth of him hard under your hands. The counter is cold against the back of your legs, but before you can complain his hot hand is wrapped back around your thigh, thumb tracing the scar there again, fingertips inching up to the apex of your legs. He moves to stand between your open legs, still keeping a few inches of distance between you, the extra height of the counter making your eyes level. His burn into your face as he slips his hand higher still, fingers seeking out the wet heat of you, dipping inside, gathering slick and gliding it up to your clit.

“Joel,” You say into the aching gap between your lips and his.

“You’re fucking perfect,” He says, the words hot on your mouth, his breath mingling with your needy sighs. “All of you, you understand?”

You can only nod into his shoulder, head dropping to rest against the broad heft of it, his fingers thrumming a steady rhythm against your clit that has pleasure ratcheting up inside you. You’re still in your tiny sleep shorts, Joel’s hand forcing the crotch aside to palm at your drenched cunt. He slips two thick fingers into you, presses his thumb to your clit, and that tips you over the edge, pleasure coursing through you like fire.

He talks you through it, keeps up the firm press of his fingers, praises falling from his lips like prayers.

Good girl, that’s it, such a good fucking girl for me, taking what you need, so fucking perfect.

It’s only then, as you come down from the high, that he finally kisses you, tilting your head up with a gentle hand and fitting his lips to yours. They’re soft and dry, plush against your own. He slides his tongue against the seam of your lips, into the wet heat of your mouth, pulls back, before driving forward again, breathless and frantic. You thread your hands into the hair at the base of his neck, tugging him against you, teeth clashing in your mutual desperation. His pulls his fingers from your wet heat, smears your slick up your sides as his palms your breasts, his earlier gentleness gone. But when you slip a hand between your bodies, seeking out the hard length of him in his jeans, he pulls back. His eyes are dark despite the bright kitchen light, pupils eating up the thin sliver of brown at the edges, but there’s a reticence there.

“You have them too.” You say, tracing your fingertips along the pale scar that sits at the side of his head, disappearing into thick dark hair.

“Yes,” He replies, his voice thick, accent dragging out the vowel.

“Show me.”

He steps back, out of the circle of your legs, pulls at the neck of his t-shirt and drags it up, over his head and off. His eyes are fixed on you, watching you as you take in the broad bulk of him, the sloping plains of his shoulders and chest down to a softer stomach. He’s all strength: hard where you’re soft, his scars stretched across thick muscle and tanned flesh. There’s one at his side that canters a jagged line across his stomach, and that’s where your hand goes, holding his waist to rest your thumb against its uneven edge. It looks fairly fresh, no more than a couple of years old, still red.

“What’s this from?” You ask.

“I was stabbed,” He replies, “while I was with Ellie.”

“It looks like it was bad.”

“Well, she stitched it up, so,” He smiles, a hint of mischief returning to his eyes, growing bolder as your hands map his chest and stomach.

“And this one?” An old one, hardly noticeable in the light, to the right of his belly button.

“Appendicitis, when I was twelve.”

“These?” A collection of four or five small white gash marks, peppered across his shoulders and along his collarbone.

“Makeshift grenade.” He says. “Went off in my hand.”

You lean forward, press your lips to the first of the scars and kiss it, drag your lips along to the second, and then the third. At the fourth you let your tongue dart out, tasting the skin at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, salty and warm. He stands stock still as you do so, hands resting at your hips, fingertips gripping the flesh there tight enough to leave bruises. He sighs at the feel of your tongue against his skin, the insistent press of your mouth to his collarbone, your teeth, scraping at the tendon that jolts in his neck.

This time, when you reach for the button of his jeans he helps you, pops the first button, drags the zipper down and pushes them off his hips, revealing thick thighs corded with muscle, dusted with dark hair. He kicks the jeans the rest of the way off, steps forward again into the circle of your hips, letting you knead the thick flesh of his ass, pull him against you so that his hot length is pressed to the crotch of your shorts, two pieces of thin cotton the only thing separating you.

You kiss up the column of his throat, press your teeth to his ear lobe, and are rewarded with a soft groan that sends pleasure sparking up your spine again, cunt clenching down on nothing. His cock twitches against you when you lick a stripe along the underside of his jaw. You fit your lips back to his. This kiss is sloppy and uncoordinated, teeth clashing, his strong nose pressed to yours, one of his hands fisting in your hair, gripping tight at the ponytail at the base of your neck, holding you to him. You shuffle on the counter, pull your shorts off and down to join his jeans and shirt on the tiled floor.

“Take them off,” You say into his mouth, needy fingers sliding into the waistband of his briefs, seeking the length of him.

He does as you ask, bending to push them down, cock dipping and slapping up against his stomach as he frees it. He’s big, thick and beautiful, veins standing out against the shaft, precum beading at the tip. He hisses into your open mouth when you wrap your fist around him and stroke slowly up and down, thumb seeking out his slit, spreading his arousal and yours over it and down his length.

“Jesus, darlin’,” He sighs against the side of your neck, stubble rough against you, his hands seeking out the weight of your tits again, pressing open mouthed kisses against your skin.

You pull him back against you, press the blunt head of him to your slick entrance and watch him watch himself sink inside you, inch by inch, stretching you open. The burn of it is intoxicating, his thick length opening you up, pressing inside deliciously, white-hot pleasure blossoming up through your body.

“Feels so good, Joel,” You tell him as he shakes against you, bottoming out and dragging himself out only to press back inside.

“Pussy’s so goddamn perfect,” He says, his voice almost cracking with the effort of it.

“Please, Joel,” you hiss, “harder, please.”

The sound he makes then is animalistic, something between a grunt and a growl, teeth clenched, jaw pressed hard to your neck. He tightens his grip on your hips, anchors you to the counter and starts pounding into you. The strength of him is something to behold, his hips snapping into yours, muscles of his back shifting and clenching beneath your grasping hands.

“So fucking good,” he groans, “wanna stay inside you for the rest of my fucking life, darlin’.”

You don’t know how he’s so articulate; it’s all you can do to hold on to his shoulders and let him fuck you, whimpers and moans pouring from your open lips as he does, the slap of his hips against yours filthy in the otherwise silent house. When he slows his thrusts again he pulls back from you to watch where you’re joined, eyes dark, perspiration beading on his forehead. There’s a vein in his neck that’s pulsing visibly, a drop of sweat trickling down beside it, charting a course through patchy stubble. He reaches between your bodies, splays his hand over your mound and presses his thumb to your clit.

“Yes, Joel, please, God.”

“I can feel how close you are, darlin’” He says, “can feel you gripping me so tight.”

He strums his thumb over the swollen bundle of nerves, drawing small, tight circles that have you seeing stars within seconds, tension coiling inside you, ratcheting up until it breaks on a hard thrust of his hips, his cock hitting that spongy place inside you that sends pleasure right down to your toes. You come hard, fingernails digging into the hard flesh of his shoulders, Joel’s mouth clamped to your throat, teeth worrying the skin there, repeating the same phrase over and over as you come down.

There it is, there it is, good girl, I’ve got you.

He thrusts lazily into you as you slowly relax again, little aftershocks continuing for several long minutes, the blunt head of him hitting that same spot inside you again and again. You can tell he’s close now, his hands shaking where they’re gripping your hips again, face set in concentration, squeezing his eyes shut every few thrusts as though he’s desperately trying to hold himself back.

“Let go, Joel. Please,” You whisper, and he hisses through his teeth, pulls you bodily forward on the counter so that the angle changes and he can drive up into you, his pace quickening again.

“Jesus fucking Christ, darlin’” He rasps, thrusting into you once- twice- three more times.

He pulls out then, fist gripping the base of his cock as he paints your stomach and cunt with his cum, hot and thick. His face is a rapture, eyes pitch black, teeth bared with pleasure and need, the strong set of his jaw holding together what little restraint he has left.

He kisses you again after, drags kitchen roll from the holder to clean you up, presses sweet lips to your cheeks and temples, down your neck, across your chest, like he’s trying to taste the ecstasy that’s written across your heated skin.

Outside, dawn is quickly approaching. The weak rays of sunlight that filter into the kitchen illuminate the tan glow of Joel’s face and paint the scars on your bodies in pale yellow light. You don’t think anything’s ever looked more beautiful.

[ellecdc]

Helloo Elle!

I have a request for a James fic, basically in class they get to see the mirror of erised and when James looks he sees reader and goes “can you move?” Or something??

Love ur fics<33

this was such a cute idea! thanks for the prompt, lovie <3

James Potter x fem!reader who look into the Mirror of Erised [1.4k words]

CW: friends/classmates to lovers, partners on a school project, reader is not in Gryffindor

“Potter! You’re going to get us into trouble.” You hissed quietly, though you stuck dutifully behind him under the invisibility cloak as the two of you carried on down the corridors.

“You’re going to get us into trouble if you don’t keep quiet.” He countered, though he wasn’t sure he really wanted you to be quiet - he found himself to be quite fond of your voice if he was being particularly honest. 

“Tell me again why we’re doing this?” You whispered, and he was sure that the point of his neck where your breath brushed against would feel tingly for the rest of the evening.

James scoffed at your question, though he knew you could tell there was no real heat behind it at the way you swatted playfully at his arm. “What’s the point of writing about the Mirror of Erised if we’ve never even seen it?”

“People write papers on things they’ve never seen all the time, James.” You responded firmly. “Merlin, the Philosopher's stone, the existence of nargles…” Your voice trailed off at the end, and James didn’t even have to turn to look at you to know that your brows were furrowed and your nose was scrunched up in confusion as you recalled Pandora Rosier’s last presentation in your Care for Magical Creatures class. 

“Would you like to do the honours?” He asked you then, pulling the cloak off the two of you now that you were stationed in front of the unused classroom that the mirror was being stored in.

You rolled your eyes at his grandeur but cast an alohomora at the door with a smile on your face nonetheless. 

The candles that lit up automatically at your arrival did nothing to quell the almost cold greyness of the room - the candles, the two of you, and the cloth covered object being the only things seemingly radiating any warmth.

“Feels like I’m about to look at a boggart, not the Mirror of Erised…” You muttered quietly, peering around the room with your arms locked around your middle as you subconsciously leaned closer to James’ side. 

“Where’s your sense of adventure, gorgeous?” James teased you, causing you to narrow your eyes at him in what he was certain was your best attempt at a sneer. 

“We tend to leave that up to your kind, Mr. Gryffindor.” You volleyed, but your attempt at an insult merely caused James to beam a smile at you. 

He might have been imagining it, but he was sure that you didn’t seem too disappointed at the outcome. 

“That’s gotta be it there, yeah?” You said then, gesturing towards the tall blanket-covered piece of furniture standing along a wall opposite of stacked chairs and desks.

“What do you say? Ladies first?” James asked as he stood beside the mirror, holding the blanket in his hands as he raised his eyebrows at you in wait.

“Alright…” You said, clearly trying for levity but James couldn’t help but notice that you rolled your shoulders in an attempt to ready yourself.

James pulled at the cloth covering the mirror with a flourish, which he immediately regretted when the room became a cloud of dust that was only enhanced by the gentle candle light.

“Merlin's tits, sorry angel.” James coughed as he tried to fan the dust away from his face. 

With a flick of his wand in an attempt to vanish the dust, James also accidentally vanished the cloth meaning whoever put it in here would be aware of someone interfering with the magical artefact.

James took off his glasses and used his shirt to wipe at the lenses (ignoring the internal berating he was receiving from both his mum and Remus for not using the cloth specifically made for just this) before returning them to his face.

With the dust gone and James’ glasses righted, he spotted you standing in the centre of the room staring at your reflection with a slightly furrowed brow and your mouth hanging open in a silent gasp.

You schooled your expression quickly in a way that James was certain had he not lived with the likes of Sirius “I don’t have feelings for Remus” Black and Remus “I don’t have feelings” Lupin for as long as he had, he wouldn’t have noticed it at all.

“What d’you see? Anything good?” He asked, leaning against the golden frame with all the blaseness he could muster; he was really quite excited to look in it himself. 

You smirked over at him and James told himself that the thump in his chest was from his excitement at getting to lock eyes on the infamous Mirror of Erised. “I see us getting nothing short of an Outstanding on this assignment.”

“With that beautiful brain of yours? There was never any doubt.” James replied haughtily. “Okay, my turn.” He continued quickly, moving in front of you to peer into the mirror. 

He waited for the image to shift; to see himself winning the Quidditch World Cup, to see himself with a partner and children in an idyllic countryside house, to see himself pulling off the biggest prank that the Marauders ever imagined.

But you wouldn’t move.

“Y/N, can you move, please?” He asked quickly, eyes not moving from the mirror as he waited for you to step out of the reflection.

“What do you mean?” You responded, voice sounding far away, and James felt his heart fall right out of his arse when he realised that your lips never moved in the reflection as you said it, and what exactly that meant for him. 

Sure enough, you appeared in his field of vision, moving to stand beside the mirror before gently leaning against it as you stared James head on; he moved his nervous gaze back to the mirror only to be accosted with much the same view in his reflection. 

“What do you see, James?” You asked quietly then, and if James wasn’t currently having a bit of an existential crisis, he may have picked up the taunting in your tone.

But the reflection of you was looking at him with nothing short of love, while the real you was looking at him with something that looked…knowing? And also full of mischief. 

“What is it that you desire most?” You continued; tone taking on a nearly sultry quality as you slowly made your way over to him.

But he wouldn’t look at you, couldn’t look at you; not when he had the image of you standing beside him with eyes full of care and admiration, not when he’d be looking away from that and towards what might be disdain, discomfort, or even disgust. 

“I think the mirror kind of said it all, didn’t it?” He whispered back, knowing he’d essentially outed himself. 

You hummed in acknowledgement as you finally made it to his side. “Why won’t you look away, James?”

“This is preferable.”

“Preferable?” 

“Right.”

“She’s looking at you with love, isn’t she?” You asked gently. 

James finally closed his eyes at that. 

“That’s how you were looking at me, too.”

His eyes flew right back open as he turned to stare at you - the real you.

And there you were, the real you, looking at him knowingly, and accusingly, and nervously, and…lovingly.

“You saw me too?” He whispered.

“I saw you too.” You agreed softly. 

“Oh thank Merlin.” James groaned as he pulled you in tightly against him and rested his forehead against yours. “I thought this whole thing was about to go tits up.”

You snorted in laughter as you linked your arms around his middle in return. “The rest of this assignment would’ve gotten really awkward.” You agreed, and the two of you stood there in front of the Mirror of Erised, neither of you looking at the mirror, but rather breathing in exactly what it was that each of you desired most. 

“Think we got what we needed, James?” You murmured into his chest, referring to your extra-credit work of actually experiencing the magical artefact that the two of you were writing about.

But as he relished the warmth of your body which was slotted against his as though the two of you were puzzle pieces created to fit together, he had no problem agreeing that, yeah, the two of you got what you needed.

[fvsm4x]

‚ 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜, 𝐈‘𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧‘𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞��� ‘ — 𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐬

𝐜𝐰. Best friends to fwb / fwb! gojo satoru x fem! reader / one sided love? / smut / gojo is kinda a whore / jealousy / kinda angsty / 18+ content / oral (f receiving) / fingering / p in v / 5k words

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠. : @starlightanyaaa @froufrousnowman @101strawberries101 @dazaisfavgf @the-lazy-perfectionist @maiiluvs @lukiaheart

November 26

The city skyline glittered under the moonlight, a sprawling array of lights against the night sky, painting a mesmerizing backdrop to the chaotic rhythm of the urban jungle. From your balcony, perched high above the city streets, you watched as life carried on below, oblivious to the turmoil brewing within you.

You picked up your phone, the screen glowing softly in the darkness, displaying a single message from him.

Satoru: you busy?

October 2

The neon lights of the bar flickered in the darkness, casting an ethereal glow over the crowded room on that Friday night. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol and the hum of conversation, creating an atmosphere charged with anticipation. Lost in your own thoughts, you sat at the bar, nursing your drink in silence, observing the world around you.

“Fancy meeting you here,” a voice drawled beside you, jolting you from your reverie.

Turning, you found Gojo Satoru sliding onto the stool beside you, his trademark smirk in place. “Can't say the feeling's mutual,” you retorted, taking a sip of your drink and pointedly ignoring him.

He chuckled, undeterred by your icy demeanor. “Come on, don't be like that. I'm just trying to be friendly.”

Rolling your eyes, you resisted the urge to scoff at his feeble attempt at charm. “Save it, Satoru. I've heard it all before.”

Raising an eyebrow, a hint of amusement danced in Gojo's eyes. “Touché. But you have to admit, we make quite the pair.”

You scoffed, downing the rest of your drink in one gulp. “Speak for yourself.”

As the night wore on, the tension between you grew, fueled by a potent combination of alcohol and unspoken desires. Arguing and bantering became your shared language, trading barbs and insults with the ease of long-time adversaries. But beneath the surface, a different kind of tension simmered—a tension born of attraction and longing, a tension that neither of you dared to acknowledge.

“You know, for someone who claims to hate me, you sure do spend a lot of time with me,” Gojo remarked, his lips quirking up into a sly grin.

“Maybe I just enjoy watching you make a fool of yourself,” you shot back, though the words rang hollow even to your own ears.

He chuckled, leaning in closer until his breath fanned against your ear. “Or maybe you just can't resist me.”

You tensed at his proximity, the heat of his body sending a shiver down your spine. “Don't flatter yourself,” you replied, though the words lacked conviction.

He leaned back, his grin widening into a smirk. “I'll take that as a yes.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't deny the truth in his words. There was something undeniably magnetic about him, something that drew you in against your better judgment.

“Why do you always have to be such a pain?” you muttered, though your words lacked the bite of true conviction.

He chuckled, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. “Because it's fun.”

You swatted his hand away with a scowl, though your heart wasn't in it. “You're impossible.”

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “And yet, you love me.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words died on your lips as his gaze locked with yours. You furrowed your eyebrows and turned away from him.

“I could never lower my standards for a rodent like you.” you said, averting his gaze,

Gojo's smirk faltered for a moment, before he masked it with a nonchalant shrug. "Ouch, that hurts, (Y/N). I didn't realize I was dealing with such high standards."

You clenched your jaw, frustration bubbling beneath the surface as you struggled to maintain your composure. "High standards? More like basic human decency," you shot back."You're not nearly as interesting as you think you are." You lied.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable as he studied you in silence for a moment. "Is that so?" he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, refusing to meet his gaze as you focused on the empty glass in front of you. "Yeah, it is," you spoke, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

With a heavy sigh, Gojo leaned back, "Such a meany“ he muttered, a hint of playfulness in his voice.

You chuckled, shaking your head at his dramatics. "Oh, please," you retorted, rolling your eyes. "You love it when I give you a hard time. Keeps you on your toes."

Gojo's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that, (Y/N)," he teased, "But deep down, you know you couldn't live without me."

You feigned a gag, a smile playing on your lips. "Don't flatter yourself, Satoru," you replied, though there was a hint of fondness in your tone. "I've managed just fine without you before, and I can do it again."

“Yeah, right,” he quipped, a playful glint in his eyes as he leaned back against the bar.

You arched an eyebrow at his retort, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. "You doubt me, Satoru?" you replied, your voice dripping with mock indignation. "I'll have you know, I'm perfectly capable of thriving on my own."

He chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "Sure, sure," he said, his tone teasing. "But let's be honest, (Y/N). You'd miss me too much if I were gone."

You rolled your eyes, though there was a small kernel of truth in his words that you couldn't deny. "Yeah, right," you muttered, though the words lacked conviction.

As Gojo's phone buzzed with a notification, he glanced down and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. With a smirk, he tapped on the message, and his smirk widened into a grin as he turned the screen toward you.

"Look," he said, his voice tinged with amusement.

You glanced at the screen, expecting to see a harmless message or maybe a meme, but your eyes widened in shock as the image loaded. It was a picture—no, several pictures—of a woman in various states of undress, her features blurred out but her intentions unmistakable.

Your jaw dropped, heat rising to your cheeks as you struggled to process what you were seeing. "Are those...?" you started, unable to form a coherent sentence as your mind raced with a million questions.

Gojo chuckled, his amusement evident as he scrolled through the messages. "Looks like someone's eager to get my attention," he said, his voice dripping with arrogance.

You tore your gaze away from the screen, a mixture of embarrassment and anger bubbling beneath the surface. "That's disgusting," you muttered, unable to keep the disdain from your voice.

Gojo continued scrolling through the pictures, his expression shifting from amusement to mild annoyance. "Girls these days really are something else," he remarked, shaking his head,“I know i‘m handsome and allat but they need to chill out.“

You glanced at him with a deadpan expression. "Thats your fault," you replied, the words dripping with sarcasm.

He hummed in response, his attention still fixed on his phone. "You're not gonna go to her place after she sends you something like that?" you asked,

He shrugged, finally looking up from his phone. "Why should I?" he replied, his tone casual. "It's nothing new—I get pictures like that every day."

Your eyebrows shot up in disbelief at his nonchalant attitude. "Ah, right. I forgot my best friend is a whore," you retorted, unable to stop the words from slipping out.

Gojo's eyes widened in surprise at your accusation, a flicker of hurt crossing his features before he masked it with a practiced smirk. "Hey, now," he protested, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I prefer the term 'charming ladies' man,' thank you very much."

You rolled your eyes at his flippant response, unable to hide the hurt that lingered just beneath the surface. "Yeah, well, whatever helps you sleep at night," you muttered,

He leaned in, his playful demeanor shifting to something more serious. "You know that I wouldn't leave you just to be in another woman's bed" he said, his voice softer. "I'd rather be here with you to be honest.“

"Thats not what happened before" you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper.

He reached out, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. "The past is the past, (Y/N)," he said, his tone sincere. "You're the most important person in my life except for suguru. I wouldn't leave you here hanging for some chick, especially when you‘re drunk."

You looked up at him, searching his eyes for any hint of deception. But all you saw was the familiar warmth and mischief that had always drawn you to him. Despite everything, you couldn't help but smile.

He chuckled, his hand still resting on your shoulder. "Seriously. I know it can be hard to deal with me sometimes but if you ever need anything, you know I'm here for you."

You nodded, appreciating the sincerity in his words. "Yeah, I know."

The moment was interrupted by another buzz from Gojo's phone. He glanced down and sighed, rolling his eyes. "Not again," he muttered,

"What now?" you asked, curious despite yourself.

He turned the screen toward you, revealing another message from the same woman. This time, it was a video—equally suggestive and equally unwelcome.

„Don't show me that—” you muttered, turning away from the screen,“could've just said that you got another pair of nudes send“

"I don't wanna be the only one seeing that, gotta share it with someone.“ he replied, while letting out a soft chuckle.

You sighed.

„Didn’t I already tell her that it was a one-time thing?" Gojo muttered under his breath.

You couldn't help but snort at his predicament. "Looks like someone's not getting the hint."

He shook his head, quickly typing out a reply. "Some people just don't understand the word one-time thing," he grumbled,“I don't mind if women send me nudes though, it boosts my ego up.“ he replied with a chuckle after.

„Of course it does..“

You watched him for a moment, a thought forming in your mind. "Why don't you block her?" you suggested.

Gojo looked up, "I guess I could," he said slowly. "But that would be admitting defeat."

You rolled your eyes. "How would that admit your defeat? Only you would see it that way."

He chuckled, his fingers hovering over the block button. "Alright, fine." he said, finally pressing it. "She wasn't anything special anyways. I can always find a replacement for her.“

You rolled your eyes.

Gojo put his phone away and turned his full attention back to you. "So, what were we talking about before we were rudely interrupted?"

You smirked, leaning back in your chair. "How much you adore me, I think."

He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh, right. That."

For the rest of the night, the conversation flowed easily between you. The barbs and insults remained, but they were laced with affection rather than frustration. The alcohol loosened your tongues and you found yourselves reminiscing about old times, sharing secrets, and laughing at inside jokes.

As the night drew to a close, you realized how much you valued these moments with Gojo. Despite his flaws and his infuriating arrogance, he was your best friend. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Walking out of the bar, you stumbled slightly, the effects of the alcohol making themselves known. Gojo steadied you with a grin, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

"Easy there," he teased. "Can't have my best friend falling over."

You leaned into his embrace, grateful for his support. "Thanks, Satoru," you murmured, your voice soft.

He looked down at you, "Anytime, (Y/N). Anytime."

The walk to your apartment was filled with laughter and playful banter, the cool night air doing little to sober you up. The alcohol had settled into your system, making your steps uneven and your thoughts a bit hazy. Gojo's arm remained around your shoulders, guiding you along the familiar path.

Finally, you reached your door, fumbling with the keys as you tried to unlock it. Gojo chuckled, taking the keys from your hand and smoothly opening the door.

"You'd be lost without me," he teased, his breath warm against your ear.

"Shut up," you muttered, but there was no real bite in your words.

Inside, you kicked off your shoes and stumbled toward the couch, collapsing onto it with a sigh. Gojo followed, sitting beside you and stretching his arms out along the back of the couch.

"Do you need help with getting to the bedroom?" he remarked, his voice softer now.

"No it's fine," you replied, closing your eyes for a moment. When you opened them, you found him staring at you, his blue eyes intense and unreadable.

"What?" you asked, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

"Nothing," he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Just thinking how pretty you look even when you‘re drunk."

You rolled your eyes, but the compliment, however casual, warmed you. "You’re such a flirt," you said, your words slurring slightly.

"And you love it," he shot back, leaning in a bit closer.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the way his gaze seemed to pull you in, but you found yourself leaning in too, your breath hitching as the space between you shrank. Before you could second-guess yourself, your lips met his in a tentative kiss.

-

November 26

Satoru: you busy?

It had been the same message countless times over the past months.

The memory of that first night flashed in your mind. It had been a typical Friday evening, and you and Gojo had decided to unwind at your favorite bar. You had always been close, best friends who shared everything from secrets to inside jokes. But that night, something had shifted.

Gojo had looked at you differently, his gaze lingering a bit longer, his touches more frequent. You had felt a spark, a pull that you couldn’t ignore. The drinks had flowed, loosening your inhibitions, and before you knew it, you were back at your apartment, your lips crashing into his.

The next morning, tangled in sheets and the aftermath of a night you couldn’t quite believe had happened, Gojo had suggested the arrangement.

“Let’s keep it casual,” he had said, his tone nonchalant but his eyes intense. “No strings, just fun. What do you think?”

Caught between the high of what had just happened and the fear of losing him, you had agreed. You told yourself it was a good idea, a way to enjoy each other without complicating your friendship. But as the weeks turned into a month, it became clear that things weren’t so simple.

You replied to his message, your heart already racing at the thought of seeing him.

You: "No, come over."

Minutes later, there was a knock at your door. You opened it to find Gojo standing there, his familiar grin in place. He stepped inside, his presence filling the room. He was always like this—effortlessly confident, always in control.

“Miss me?” he teased, slipping off his shoes and stepping closer.

You forced a smile. “Yeah.”

His gaze lingered at you for a moment before he chuckled. His hands found your waist, pulling you into a kiss. It was intoxicating, the way he kissed you, but you knew better than to let yourself get lost in it. He was good at making you feel wanted, but there was a distance in his touch, a barrier you couldn’t breach.

As his lips moved against yours, you felt a familiar rush of heat. Gojo’s kisses were always intense, a blend of passion and skill that left you breathless. He deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with a practiced ease that made your knees weak. For a moment, you let yourself forget, let yourself drown in the sensation of his mouth on yours, his hands roaming over your body.

But then, reality intruded. The knowledge that this was all it would ever be, that he would never give you more, clawed at the back of your mind. You broke the kiss, gasping for air, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Something wrong?” Gojo asked, his voice husky with desire.

You shook your head, forcing a smile. “No, just… catching my breath.”

He smirked, his hands sliding down to your hips. “Then let’s keep going.”

He picked you up by the thighs, and walked to the bedroom with you in his arms. He laid you down on your back, and hovered over you, his eyes dark with desire. He kissed you again, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You arched into him, your body responding instinctively to his touch.

He nibbled your neck, his hands slipping underneath your t-shirt, teasing your skin as they moved upwards towards your breasts. You moaned softly, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. His touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine. You wanted him, needed him, but there was a part of you that longed for more than just the physical.

"You like that?" he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and filled with heat. "You like the way I make you feel?"

"Yes, Satoru," you breathed, your voice trembling with desire. "I love it."

"Good," he growled, his hands cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. "I’want to hear you say my name."

You arched into his touch, your body alight with sensation. "S’toru," you moaned, the sound of his name slipping from your lips like a prayer.

"That's right," he murmured, his lips trailing down your body, his hands working to remove your clothes with practiced ease. "I want you to remember this. Every touch, every kiss. I want you to crave me."

You shuddered beneath him, your body responding to his words and touch. He undressed you slowly, savoring every moment, his eyes dark with hunger. When you were finally bare before him, he paused to drink in the sight of you, his gaze intense and possessive.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, "So perfect."

Your heart ached at his words, knowing they were just a part of the game he played. But you let yourself believe them, if only for a moment. "S’toru," you whispered, your voice filled with need.

He smiled, a dark, predatory grin. "I know," he said, his hands sliding down your body, caressing every curve and dip. "I know exactly what you need."

He kissed his way down your body, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of fire in their wake. When he reached the apex of your thighs, he paused, his breath hot against your skin. "Tell me," he demanded, his voice a low growl. "Tell me what you want."

"Please, Satoru," you begged, your voice a desperate whisper. "I need you. I need you inside.."

"Not yet," he said, his eyes glinting with mischief,“Want you to beg for it.“

You whimpered, your body trembling with anticipation. "Please," you repeated, your voice breaking. "Please, Satoru, I need you."

„More.“

You closed your eyes,“please, please s‘toru. Please.“ you begged.

He chuckled, a dark, satisfied sound. "Wasn’t so hard now was it?“ he said, his hands parting your thighs.

His fingers slipped between your thighs, teasing the sensitive skin there. "S’ wet for me," he muttered, a smirk playing on his lips. He slid a finger through your folds, gathering your arousal and spreading it over your clit. “All for me, right?”

You reopened your eyes and looked at him, only to find him staring at your body instead of your face. It reminded you that he was doing this only for pleasure. “Yeah, only for you,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady despite the emotions swirling within you.

His finger moved in slow, deliberate circles over your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body. “That’s right,” he said, his voice low and filled with satisfaction.

Your breath hitched as he increased the pressure, his touch expertly finding that perfect rhythm. “Satoru,” you moaned, your hips bucking against his hand.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “I love the way you say my name,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “Say it again.”

“Satoru,” you gasped, your voice a desperate plea. The sensation of his thumb on your clit, combined with the way his fingers teased your entrance, was driving you to the edge.

“That’s it,” he growled, his lips trailing down your neck. “Let go for me. Show me how much you need it.”

With a deliberate slowness that was both torturous and electrifying, he slipped a finger inside you. You cried out, the feeling of him filling you causing your body to arch off the bed. He started a slow, steady rhythm, his finger curling inside you to hit that spot that made you see stars.

“God, you’re so tight,” he murmured, adding a second finger. He moved them in and out of you, his pace unhurried, savoring the way you responded to his touch. “I could do this all night.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. But the pleasure was too intense, too consuming. With a cry, you came undone, your body trembling as you climaxed around his fingers.

He watched you intently, a satisfied smirk on his lips. “So beautiful,” he murmured, his fingers still moving inside you, prolonging your pleasure.

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, the aftershocks of your orgasm still rippling through your body. “Satoru, please,” you whispered, your voice filled with need.

He grinned, his eyes dark with desire. “Don’t worry,” he said,

Without warning, he withdrew his fingers and shifted lower on the bed. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wide as he settled between them. The sight of him there, eyes dark with desire, made your heart race.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. “I bet you taste even better than you feel,” he murmured, and then his mouth was on you.

His tongue flicked out, teasing your clit with feather-light strokes that made you shiver. He started slow, savoring every reaction you gave him, before gradually increasing the pressure and speed. Your hips bucked against his mouth, a moan slipping from your lips as he licked a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit.

“Fuck, Satoru,” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as you tried to hold on.

He hummed in response, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through your body. “You taste so good,” he muttered, his words muffled against your skin. He sucked your clit into his mouth, his tongue circling it in a way that made your toes curl.

You could feel the heat pooling in your belly, the tension building with every skilled movement of his tongue. He alternated between sucking and licking, his fingers slipping back inside you, pumping in rhythm with his mouth.

“More,” you pleaded, your voice trembling with need. “Please, Satoru.”

He looked up at you, his eyes locking with yours as he continued his relentless assault. “You like that?” he asked, his voice husky with arousal.

“Yes,” you moaned, your head falling back against the pillow. “Don’t stop.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. His tongue moved faster, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made you see stars. The combination of his mouth and fingers was overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You nodded, unable to form coherent words as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable level. “Please,” you gasped, your body arching off the bed. “I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice a low growl. “I want to taste you.”

With a final, shuddering cry, you came undone, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. Your body trembled, your hands gripping his hair as you rode out the pleasure. He didn’t stop, his tongue and fingers working you through every pulse and shiver, prolonging your release until you were a quivering mess beneath him.

Finally, he pulled back, his lips glistening with your arousal. He looked up at you, a satisfied smirk on his face. “You’re even more beautiful when you come,” he said, his voice rough with desire.

You lay there, panting and spent, your body still humming with aftershocks. “Satoru,” you murmured, reaching out for him.

He crawled back up your body, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, the intimacy of it making your heart ache. “I’m not done with you yet,” he whispered against your lips. “Not even close.”

He pulled back from the kiss, his breath hot against your lips as he murmured, “Turn around.”

You blinked up at him, a slight frown of confusion crossing your features. “What?”

“Turn around,” he repeated, his voice firm but not unkind. “Gonna take you from behind like always.”

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, something that made your heart clench. But you complied, rolling over onto your stomach and then up onto your knees, your body still thrumming with the lingering aftershocks of your orgasm.

He positioned himself behind you, his hands gripping your hips. You felt the tip of his cock brush against your entrance, teasing and relentless.

You moaned in response, your body arching back toward him. “Please, Satoru.”

Without another word, he pushed into you, filling you completely in one smooth thrust. You cried out, the sensation of him inside you overwhelming. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust to the feeling before he started to move, his pace steady and controlled.

His hands tightened on your hips, holding you firmly in place as he fucked you. Each thrust was deep and precise, hitting that perfect spot inside you that made your vision blur. “God, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice low and rough. “So tight.”

You whimpered, your body moving in time with his, the pleasure building once again. “S’toru,” you gasped, your fingers gripping the sheets.

He leaned over you, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “You like it when I fuck you like this, don’t you? When I take you from behind?”

“Yes,” you moaned, your body trembling with each thrust. “I love it.”

“Good,” he growled, his pace quickening. “Because I want to hear you scream my name.”

You could feel the tension coiling in your belly, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level. “Satoru,” you cried out, your voice breaking.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “Come for me. Let me feel you come around my cock.”

With a final, shuddering cry, you came undone, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. He followed moments later, his own release spilling inside you as he groaned your name.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing, the feel of his weight pressing down on you. Then he pulled out and rolled onto his back, a satisfied smirk on his face.

You lay there, your body spent and trembling, your heart aching with a mixture of satisfaction and something more. “Satoru,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He looked over at you, his expression unreadable. “What is it?”

You hesitated, the words you wanted to say stuck in your throat. But in the end, you just shook your head. “Nothing,” you murmured, closing your eyes.

“Good,” he said, his voice distant. “Get some rest.”

And as you lay there, your body still humming with the afterglow of pleasure, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was all you would ever have with him. The physical connection was undeniable, but the emotional distance felt like an insurmountable chasm.

But for now, you would take what you could get. Because even if it was just physical for him, for you, it was something more. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Gojo’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. He sighed, reaching over to grab it.

“Yeah?” he answered, his voice returning to that familiar, nonchalant tone.

You could hear a faint voice on the other end, though you couldn’t make out the words. Gojo’s expression shifted, the playful glint in his eyes replaced with a more serious look.

“Alright,” he said after a moment. “I’ll be there soon.” He ended the call and turned to you, his demeanor already changing.

“I have to go,” he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing up.

“Now?” you asked, unable to keep the disappointment out of your voice.

“Yeah,” he replied, pulling on his clothes with practiced efficiency. “Work stuff.”

You watched him dress, the familiar ache in your chest growing stronger. He was always slipping away, always leaving you with just a taste of what you wanted.

“Will I see you later?” you asked, hating how vulnerable you sounded.

He paused, looking at you with an expression that was hard to read. “Sure,” he said, though the word felt empty. “You know where to find me.”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Be safe.”

He gave you a quick nod, his usual smirk flickering across his lips. “Always am.”

And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the dimly lit room. The silence felt deafening, the weight of his absence pressing down on you.

You sighed, pulling the sheets around you as you tried to gather your thoughts. The physical connection with Gojo was incredible, but it always left you wanting more, longing for something deeper that he seemed unwilling or unable to give

© fvsm4x 2023/4 : do not translate, plagiarise or steal my work.

[werepuppy-steve]

i keep thinking about that one bachelor au post so here's my take on it (i've never watched the bachelor or bachelorette so bear with me)

the bachelor au where steve's the bachelor and eddie is a contestant, but not because he actually wants to be, he's just in it for the paycheck. robin is also a contestant but only because her parents sent in her application without her knowing and she isn't out to them yet.

they both think that steve is overrated and definitely over hyped. typical rich kid with enough money to buy people's love, yada yada.

until they both start going on dates with him and then realize that it isn't exactly true. yes, he's rich, but he's also kind and funny and actually genuine once you get past the mask he puts on for everybody. eventually, eddie and robin find themselves looking forward to their dates.

only robin doesn't want to date him. he's slowly moving his way up the ranks to becoming her best friend, sure, but this is still tv. she's still expected to kiss him and confess her feelings for him. and when the time comes for her to do that, she can't.

they're in venice. steve is leaning in and robin is very aware of the cameras filming them. the back of her neck goes cold and her stomach churns and suddenly she's running in the opposite direction. her italian is passable so she ends up getting a taxi back to the hotel production put them in.

she locks herself in her en suite and presses her forehead against the cold porcelain. she doesn't know how long she sits there until her phone buzzes and she checks the notification. the nausea rises up her throat again. she forgot she gave steve her number.

there's a knock on her room door and another text.

r u ok? can i come in?

robin debates it but figures she owes him and explanation. she lets him in and they sit on the bathroom floor. robin tells him why she's on the show in the first place, about how she didn't know her parents signed her up until she got the phone call from the casting director. tells him that even if she gets kicked off, she can still use the money for her student loans.

she stares at the water in the toilet bowl when she comes out to him.

steve is quiet, processing, before he laughs. he's not laughing at her, he promises, but "robin. you're on a show with more than a handful of other queers, you know that, right? i'm bisexual."

and yeah, robin knew that, but it's different when you're not into the guy you're supposed to be romancing at all.

steve reassures her that it's okay, and that he still hopes they can be friends and keep in touch after the show ends.

robin would like that.

she apologizes to the production crew the next day and they're understanding and steve and robin get a re-do of their date. it's much more genuine this time, filled with laughs and digs as they eat gelato along the river and people watch and gossip.

it's the best robin's ever been on.

eddie, on the other hand. he's absolutely head over heels for steve, which is surprising even for him. he's trailer park trash, he's got absolutely nothing on steve harrington. not the name, not the money.

hell, the very first day, he insulted the guy's food choices right to his face without knowing it.

eddie wants the earth to give way underneath him and swallow him whole.

he plays it up on their first date, all fake niceties and empty smiles, until steve tells him point blank, "the guy that said the buffet was shit that first night? i want to get to know him."

eddie's flabbergasted.

steve opens up about all the fake people in his life, the ones who just take advantage of them and use him for their own gains. the ones who don't even bother to get to know the real him. the one that likes to play guitar and hang out with the gaggle of teenagers that follow him around all the time for some unknown reason.

he tells eddie about what he wants to do with his life, not what someone else has planned for him and eddie falls deeper and deeper.

this time, when steve leans in for a kiss, eddie doesn't shy away. their lips press together and it's the best goddamn kiss either one of them have ever had.

the show has a deadline, of course, and steve can't just spend all his time with eddie and robin. there are other contestants. robin knows her rose is strictly platonic and steve has already called her multiple times freaking out about his growing crush on eddie. she knows eddie has this in the bag.

the final night comes and the contestants have dwindled. there's only a small group of them left: eddie, robin, and another guy and girl they didn't bother learning the names of.

when steve chooses eddie after a moment of dramatic silence that kind of puts his own dm dramatics to shame, eddie doesn't hesitate to jump in steve's arms, wrap his legs around his waist, and plant a sloppy one on him right in front of the cameras.

[eldritch-spouse]

I slam the door with frustration, spooking the angel patiently waiting by the door. I haphazardly throw my coat on the floor before grabbing the celestial’s hand and stomping into the living room. Forcing him to sit on the couch, I turn on the tv for noise and hastily unbutton his suit. “I need you now. Had a bad day and you will help me relieve stress.”

In different years, Belo would find this way of life to be slightly insulting.

He's a warrior after all, a power. His kind belongs outside, patrolling, securing the well-being of lessers, fighting for the honor of their Highers and holding the safety of Eden on their shoulders.

Ah, but those days are gone. Long gone. His vision glazes sometimes, wet and torpid eyes lamenting the fate of many of his brethren. They, unlike him, didn't have the fortitude to handle their own abandonment, the newfound fruitlessness of their very existence.

It's one thing to never know what the meaning of your existence is. It's another thing to have that meaning embedded in your very core and never be able to fulfill it again. Sometimes Belo envies that freedom, that ambivalence of simply existing because you can, because you were made.

Also unlike him, his kin did not have the miraculous luck to find someone like his Lady. His Lady-Worship, his beam of light in a universe ready to swallow him in its poisonous darkness. The guiding hand in a world so new and so different, so degenerate. So horrid! As amazing and radiant as you are, Belo shudders when he thinks about how you made it this far intact without a celestial by your side.

With new meaning come new duties, understandably.

As Belo still needs to learn quite a lot to understand the symbolism of this new age, he worries himself with protecting your sanctum, making it the best version of itself, and keeping it painfully, effectively warded against all threats- Especially that fiendish "neighbor" you have, what disgusting absolutely abhorrent lifeform it is! Noxious creature!

But alas, your benevolence knows no bounds. Not only have you welcomed him into your life, you refuse to let that wretched pest meet its end. Truly, you are too good for this lost planet.

Now.

Back to his current task.

The sanctum is spotless, but alas, Belo was never taught how to prepare meals for lessers. It was not the type of discipline delivered to his cast. A guardian would know this, even a principality! But not him, not a power. Unfortunate and unacceptable- He must show adaptation and flexibility unlike ever before!

Which is why that uhm... Digital movie playing contraption you have comes in so very handy.

He never thought he'd be learning to cook from lessers, but here Belo is, hoping against all odds that he doesn't ruin the eggs this time. It's not that he can't handle objects in a gentle manner, it's that he's never had to taste things. Therefore, he doesn't know how to create the correct flavor.

And Lords forbid he ever present his Lady with something foul-tasting!

The power is sure he's got it down correctly this time however. Belo has just finished putting the eggs on the plate he intends to present you with, when he stills.

An acute sense of alertness and hearing means a lifeform like him is always aware of the movement around your apartment complex. He knows when your neighbors leave and arrive, which parts of their homes they're in... This also means that he knows when you're nearby, having memorized the noise of your vehicle -Such a shame that he can't accompany you to some locations- And the jingle of your mildly irritating keychain.

The angel scrambles to put everything together, wanting to be at the door with his offering in full display, so eager to see you-

The door rips open.

Only a nick of time allows Belo to secure his painfully crafted work of mediocre culinary, lest it be swatted to the ground. Sharpened eyes spare you great concern.

His Lady exudes frustration. Although his rank is not the most emotionally attuned, Belo senses a cloud of negativity choking you, your glorious features drained and tense. He's overcome with emotion.

" My- My Lady! Whatever happened today? Did you get hurt? Who d- "

The force with which you grip his hand is surprising for a human, dragging the angel only because he always allows you to. The food lies forgotten on the nearest surface. It's by his ever subservient attitude that you can toss Belo to the couch too, his silent confusion following when you activate the bigger display box.

" I need you now. " You begin, patience depleted. " Had a long day and you will help me relieve stress. "

He squawks the same way he does whenever his Worship starts these encounters without proper warning, wings fluttering and fur fluffing in a mixture of shock and anticipation. He fears that a part of him may enjoy getting pleasurably surprised more than any self-respecting angel should.

" But... " He knows it's not a good idea to challenge you, trembling as the last of his covering is undone. " You should eat b-before I service you, my Lady, many hours have passed- "

" I'll eat when I can't feel my legs. " The snarl you give Belo sends shudders down his spine, and he bashfully, albeit inwardly happily, readjusts to spread his legs for you.

" Excuse me but that hardly sounds healthy... "

His cock pokes out a furred slit, beading and twitching to interest. Although Belo becomes uncomfortably erect the moment you recklessly undress before him. It was not, as a filthy demon would put it, a slutty display. It was raw need, irritation and pure dominance. It was a side of his Worship he had yet to witness.

Belo refuses to ever admit it aloud, he cannot, he will not! But... But oh, the sins of the flesh. No, when provided by the superiors, they are not sins, they are gifts. They cannot be wrong. It's not wrong for Belo to enjoy your physical rewards for his work, but it is perhaps sinful of him to lust for more, to so eagerly hope that you'll allow him such pleasures when he performs certain tasks.

He does not touch his aching length because he's not allowed to. His pleasure is for you to decide upon, of course.

The angel prepares to slide down on his knees when you shove him back on the cushions by the shoulder.

Three eyes blink at you. " Am... Am I not to service you, my Goddess? "

You usually enjoy the touch of his fingers upon your most intimate zones, for training him is easy, and Belo adored the sounds of your approval. You did also curiously enjoy grinding over his face, a sensation that often left him pointlessly thrusting against nothing.

None of that today, it seems.

" Shut up. "

He was about to reply with a reflexive 'Yes, my Lady' before catching himself.

When you straddle him, the celestial only tilts his head, figure heated, but never expecting you to simply line him up with your entrance and slam yourself down.

Had he not been in the midst of breathlessly throwing his head back, Belo would have died from worry. As holy as you are, you share the stature of humanity, and Belo knows -F-From common sense, of course!- That his organ is not the same size of a human's at all.

He tries to articulate his concern, but the squeeze of your core around him is hypnotic and sickeningly euphoric. Belo can only hold onto full hips and cry his delight while you mercilessly hammer down on his cock, milking all the pleasure you can from him.

His melodious whines and resounding moans -Something he ought to control- rise in intensity as Belo loses himself and begins rutting senselessly, the tip of his dick nuzzling spots that make the two of you go stupid.

" Don't you dare cum yet! "

He wails, physically wails, body trembling so hard it almost spasms in his effort to reign his movements. " N- Never, never my Lady! I'm good, I'll relieve you- I'm good! "

And as if to confirm it, your serious complexion finally morphs into a self-satisfied grin, all lidded eyes and gentle, mocking affection.

He's the one that's not getting any relief soon.

[writeriguess]

katsuki x reader where reader helps him with his hiccups, fluff

It was a quiet afternoon at U.A. High. After a long day of intense training, you found yourself in the common room, flipping through a magazine and trying to wind down. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow through the large windows, when you heard it—a sudden, loud hiccup.

You turned toward the sound and saw none other than Katsuki Bakugou, standing near the kitchen, scowling as if he'd just been insulted by his own body. Another hiccup escaped his lips, and the furious glare on his face only deepened.

"Oi," Bakugou barked, his usual gruffness even more pronounced by the disruption. "What are you looking at?"

You couldn't help but stifle a laugh. Seeing the explosive hero brought down by something as simple as hiccups was... unexpected.

"Nothing," you said, feigning innocence. "You just sound like you're about to explode every time you hiccup."

"Shut up," he growled, though the effect was ruined by yet another loud hiccup. He clenched his fists as if trying to intimidate the hiccups out of existence. But, unsurprisingly, that method didn’t work.

“Looks like you’ve got a serious case of hiccups,” you teased, setting down your magazine. “Need some help?”

“I don’t need help,” Bakugou snapped, but the redness creeping up his neck told you he was embarrassed. “I’ll get rid of them on my own.”

“Sure you will,” you said, not bothering to hide your amusement. “But you know, I’ve got a trick that might work. You wanna try it?”

Bakugou glared at you, but another round of hiccups cut him off before he could come up with a snappy retort. With an exaggerated roll of his eyes, he crossed his arms and gave a short nod. “Fine. Whatever. Just hurry up.”

You grinned, standing up from the couch and making your way over to him. “Alright, first things first. You need to hold your breath.”

He gave you a skeptical look. “Seriously?”

“Yup. Trust me, it works. Just take a deep breath and hold it for as long as you can. Ready?”

Bakugou narrowed his eyes but followed your instructions, taking a deep breath and holding it. He puffed out his chest, clearly trying to look tough even while following your "ridiculous" advice. You counted silently, waiting for him to release the breath.

"Okay, now exhale slowly," you said, watching him let out the breath in a long, controlled stream. You waited for the hiccups to return, but... silence.

You smiled triumphantly. “See? I told you it’d—”

Hic!

Bakugou's face darkened as the hiccup interrupted your victory lap. You couldn’t help but burst into laughter, though you tried to hide it behind your hand. “Alright, alright,” you said between giggles, “I’ve got one more idea.”

Bakugou looked at you, clearly unimpressed but resigned to letting you continue. “What now?”

“Well...” you started, feeling your cheeks heat up at the thought of what you were about to suggest. “I heard that getting surprised can stop hiccups. So, I’m just gonna have to, uh... surprise you.”

Bakugou’s eyebrow twitched. “What kind of surprise are we talking about?”

You bit your lip, your heart pounding in your chest. Without giving yourself time to overthink it, you stepped forward, stood on your tiptoes, and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his cheek.

For a second, Bakugou froze. His eyes went wide, and his entire face flushed a deep red, much brighter than his usual scowl-induced irritation. You quickly stepped back, feeling your own face heat up. The room felt oddly quiet for a moment.

"Uh... surprised?" you asked, your voice a little shaky.

Bakugou blinked, bringing a hand up to his cheek where you'd kissed him. For a moment, you worried you might have crossed a line, but then you noticed something—his hiccups were gone.

He looked at you, a mix of bewilderment and something else in his eyes. The silence stretched between you, and then—unexpectedly—he let out a low, almost embarrassed chuckle.

"Well... that worked," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

You grinned, relieved that you hadn’t just embarrassed yourself for nothing. “Told you I had a trick up my sleeve.”

Bakugou’s eyes softened, and though his usual sharpness was still there, you could tell he was a little flustered. “Yeah, well... don’t think you’re off the hook just ‘cause of that.”

“Oh?” you teased. “What are you gonna do, yell at me for saving you from hiccups?”

“Tch. You’re lucky it worked, dumbass.”

Despite his words, the way his hand brushed against yours as he walked past told you he didn’t really mind. And as you sat back down on the couch, a small smile on your lips, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, you'd found the perfect cure for Bakugou’s hiccups.

And perhaps, for something else too.

Requests are open. Send as many as you like.

[thegirlfromgonewiththewind]

I am so so so so so TIRED to see people fatshaming two perfectly healthy girls because they have round faces. It’s disgusting.

The actresses of Mai and Azula are on point for their roles. Hell, if they were chosen there must be a reason, it’s not like there’s no Asian actresses out there they could choose from.

People can’t accept that Azula can have a characterization beyond “crazy and sadist sicko”. She’s a perfectionist. She’s an asset to her father. She’s jealous of Zuko’s birthright and of how it might take what she has away. Those are things that OG Azula too had. The only difference is that we actually see it in season one and have a background on her, rather than writing it in a rant. And what has been added only makes her a more complex character, given the change in the family dynamic as well.

And Mai? The actress is talented, she delivers a good Mai, and does justice to the character. She’s 17 and at the beginning of her career, of course it won’t be perfect. She gets to grow. Thing is, you guys won’t let her, because a square jaw scares you so flipping bad that you feel the need to shame her for it.

Everyone is a body positivity advocate until a girl with a rounder face shape is cast as a character in a live action you are NOT forced to watch? Seriously?

I’ve seen so many people on the internet calling them all sort of names, fatshaming them, insulting their work without even focusing on the acting. And I’m like, what’s to fatshame there? Let me tell you: nothing.

If I have to put it through your thick head like this, so be it. Even though I hate talking about and comparing bodies.

This below is a picture of Azula’s actress.

She has the face card, she has the jawline, and she has a fit, enviable body. And you still have the audacity to “fat-shame” her?

These two pictures are in costume. Again, face card and an enviable body. She even has the expression for Azula. You see a girl with a rounder shape of face and will automatically go “no she’s too cute to be Azula!!” Dude. No. When she will actually deliver as the crazy girl we know, she will devour. She will, and you all will switch back because that’s what you are, slimy switchers.

And now, onto Mai’s actress, a very beautiful girl with talent and looks. She is literally so pretty, and you dare hate on her? You dare shame her for how she looks? From what I’ve heard she’s a minor, too, so this makes you 100000% more slimy and undeserving of any sympathy in my book.

This is her, this is the girl.

She’s literally so pretty. Maybe she hasn’t got the same facial structure of Mai, but she delivered all her lines she had in the little screen time and with the discutibile scenes she was given. She was good. But you see a square jaw, a rounder shape of face, and are immediately triggered.

And you can’t even use the stupid argument of “she’s fat”, because this is literally her.

A very normal, very healthy young woman. Not as skinny as OG Mai? So what? She’s still a fricking thin girl. Nowhere as “fat” as you haters make her to be.

I shouldn’t have to explain common sense and basic decency to grown adults, and yet here we are.

This is honestly so frustrating. In the year of 2024 you can’t possibly justify insulting girls like this, with no shame. It’s absolutely idiotic and shows very a big lack of brain cells. I see you, haters, behind your device, with your insecurities and shame for yourself, laughing at two girls who made it farther than you ever will. You can critique the acting once you’ve seen it in full potential. Until then, shut your tramp up. This is very small dick energy of you.

I don’t see why I should treat you with kindness when you are so eager to make this kind of jokes about pretty and in shape girls you are very obviously jealous of. Go touch some grass, incels.

[princemick]

THE KING’S HONOUR

16+, Released August 4 2024, 2h 11m, Action/Adventure/Romance/Comedy/Fantasy

Commander of the Kingsguard, Aonghus (Michael Schumacher) finds himself as Acting Regent when King Conall (Mika Häkkinen) falls to a curse in battle. Unable to search for a cure himself as the kingdom threatens to fall to outside threats and inner political schemes, he sends out his second in command, Fiachra (Lewis Hamilton) to find a way to save his king.

Where To Watch:

Rent The King’s Honour on Fandango at Home, Prime Video, Apple TV, or buy it on Fandango at Home, Prime Video, Apple TV.

Critics Consensus

Once you get past the horrendously unrealistic costuming, The King’s Honour becomes an admittedly predictable, but humorous, effortless evening watch.

Read Critics Reviews.

Critics Reviews View All (132)

Damon Hill TOP CRITIC

Newsweek

There are worse crimes than fan service but at least do it with a bit more effort and skill than this. 

Rated 1.5/5 | Aug 2 2024 Full Review

Will Buxton TOP CRITIC

Common Sense Media

To save the king, you must first break the curse. A very compact and concise film, but weak on the soundtrack and dialogue. Too many unnecessary monologues.

Rated 3/5 | Aug 4 2024 Full Review

Jenson Button TOP CRITIC

Vogue

Knocked off half a star because no one took their shirts off. Unrealistic. Some of those shirts were far too flowy not to have an ‘accidental’ nip slip.

Rated 4.5/5 | Aug 6 2024 Full Review

Audience Reviews View All (1500+)

Alexanderrr

new comfort movie unlocked i think

Rated 4.5/5 | Aug 23 2024

Prost

My husband spent half our date night bitching abaout every single thing he hated about this film. He always fucks better when he is angry so thank you.

Rated 4/5 | Aug 19 2024

George Russell

Well, that was truly delightful! The cast has amazing chemistry. Both between the lead mains and all the side characters! This is a film that knows what it is (and is not ashamed about it!): a light-hearted film that never takes itself too seriously, but manages not to become a satirical parod…

Rated 5/5 | Sep 5 2024 Full Review

----------------------------------------

The King’s Honour

16+ | Magical Realism, Historical Fiction, Romance | Directed by Niki Lauda

This is a truly a soulless and uninspired chickenshit explotation of queerness and the use of fantastical elements in a desperate attempt to prop up a flailing script that falls flat. Calling this ‘magical realism’ is an insult to Gabriel García Márquez’s memory.

Every single element of this film is subpar at best, lacking in colour and substance and a solid foundation of existence. While one would think the landscape the film is shot in, the Scotland highlands, would improve the viewing, but somehow the cinematography is so terrible, it is just another way everything and everyone gets lost. It is a backdrop of breathtaking opportunity and they don’t simply drop the ball but not even bother to pick it up. There is little to no directional awareness in the camera work and the script and the honestly incoherent cinematic flow of this piece. There is not even a NOD to authenticity of any kind, even on a satirical level as that would require a modiqum of thought not seen here.

I could not call this a categorical fail at hubris because I truly can not fathom what Lauda was aiming for here in this production. If someone held a gun to by head and told me to guess the director of this film correctly, my husband would be receiving my life insurance payout in the morning. How the mighty have fallen.

Everyone is a take away from a cigarette break, a sudden career exit, or at some points, a cliff’s face. And in knowing this, it is the only way I feel even remotely connected to what I see on screen.

By ARYTON SENNA

Sort By (BEST)       COMMENTS

James Hunt | 3 days ago

I feel fucking exhausted just reading this review. Chill the fuck out and smell the flowers, mate.

Esteban | 5 days ago

Woah.

Sebastian Vettel | 1 week ago

Framing this and putting it up on my fridge. Thank you!

-----------------------------

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Review by oscar ★★★★★ ♡ 🗨21

loved it yeah. schumacher’s pussy was OUT OUT so you know. cheers. and i Respect häkkinen’s dedication to serving face even while comatose. but like. it wasn’t very realistic because how in the fuck did no one shove the guy coulthard plays off a tower he was soooo annoying. took me out of the movie a bit can’t lie

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A very funny film! Makes me want to go to Scotland! And I’m not just saying that because my Dad’s in it haha. :) Not his best work though :( 

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Schumacher ran over my dog and didn’t even stop. If any of you even care.

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@hypersoft-fest Week 1 Collab with @milflewis: Movie review + Historical Regency and Magical Realism

[jinkiezzsstuff]

Hate That I Love You

adam x insecure!tsundere(ithink) GNreader

Summary: You’ve been Lutes friend for a long while, and occasionally you ran into Adam; after finding out about the extermination thanks to him, you become a three party group. Except you can’t accept liking Adam, him being obnoxious and egotistical, you pretend you hate him. That blows up in your face.

Warnings: Suggestive, swearing, angst ish, hurt/comfort i think, insecurities around strength (mental and/or physical), implied but never confirmed virgin reader, readers looks get insulted nothing intense nor specific, descriptive panic attack/fainting, reader throws an object at adam’s head, NO YN, GN, No alluding to or mention of bodytype/hairtype/skin colour. oh possibly OOC adam idk, not proofread so sorry luvs, I think that’s it if not let me know! enjoy :3

Word count: 2K

Your index finger sat atop the straw sitting in your drink, moving it around the glass as you mindlessly listened as Adam ranted to you and Lute, mostly Lute, about Charlie Morningstar. You weren’t an exorcist- no, you actually didn’t know about the exterminations at all…up until recently. Thanks to one of Adam’s childish outbursts, you had a long night with Lute explaining the whole situation to you. Now you were sworn to secrecy, and conversations of the madness that the extermination were and everything they came with, AKA Charlie.

Adam wasn’t ever your buddy, he was just someone who shamelessly attached himself to Lute's hip; but you put up with it because of your good friendship with Lute. Now, he’s somehow weaselled his way into believing you were part of this weird “team” purely based off of association.

“I mean who does this long horned, pointy teeth, pussy mucher think she is?!” Adam screamed slamming his hands against the table, you rolled your eyes at him and his stupid antics. “You’re one to talk,” You replied, his eyes snapping toward you. “You’ve got both horns and teeth. Why don’t you take that funky band mask off anyways?”

Scoffing he rolled his neck side to side. “Because this is my job, my persona, how’re people gonna recognize me without it!? Duh, dumb bitch.” Muttering the insult quickly, he leaned his cheek on his palm and went back to sucking his drink.

“With all due respect sir, this is really bad news, we can’t let Charlie persuade Sera.” Lute piped up, her mask discarded showing the genuine emotion on her face. Sometimes you couldn’t tell if he was a friend, someone she was in love with, an annoying brother-like figure, or just her lazy ass boss. Maybe all of the above.

Which is probably one of the reasons you kept your tiny little crush on Adam to yourself. He was cruel to you anyways, always comparing you to someone faster, funnier, stronger, hotter at least that’s what you told yourself. Instead you chose to be more of a bitch back, acting as disgusted and disinterested as you could, especially when Lute was around as she could sniff out a lie like some psychic canine.

“Yeah, duh Lute i fucking know that. You think I've been jerking off this whole time! No, eyes, ears focused, I haven't cum in days.” He whined, throwing his head back. Lute only scoffed glancing over at you slumped back in your seat barely sipping your drink, eyes casted downward. “You don’t have to be here for this kind of talk,” Lute started saying, her hand inching across the table to yours, but she was stopped by Adam once more leaning forward, gloved palms slapping against the table.

“The fuck are you saying Lute!? We get another fucker in this circle and you wanna cast her out. Un-fucking-believeable. It’s like you want Charlie to win.” Throwing a napkin at Adam, Lute slid her hand away from you. “They’re not even an exorcist Adam, you’re the fuck head who got them in on exterminations!”

“No i didn’t, they walked in on a private conversation.” Eyebrows knitted together you lurched forward, anger fueling you. “Oh piss off Adam, how many times are we gonna go over this stupid situation! I’m not your fucking friend, i’m not ‘in’ on it, i’m here for Lute and you won’t fucking leave!”

Adam had a bored expression on his face while you ranted, unfazed by anything you’d said. Lute however bit her lip clasping her hands together. In a fight between her boss slash friend, and her friend, she didn’t know what to do. “You always have your nose up in Lute's business, it’s so annoying. Lute’s my man, okay she works for me! Guess who comes first in this business chica? Not you.” Adam mocked sticking his tongue out at you.

Standing you picked up your cup whipping it at Adam’s head, he dodge it easily, but your emotionally fueled violence made you quickly regretful as both Adam’s and Lutes eyes looked at you questioningly. You’d never really lost your shit before, and this wasn’t the worst Adam has said, so they were a little confused at your outburst, yourself included.

“Listen, Adam, I’m-“ Before you could finish Adam keeled over, laughing maniacally as you watched. After a few short laughter filled moments, Adam straightened, elbows on the table, hands hammocking his chin as he smiled up at you.

“Got some bite in you for sure huh babe, ha! I’m not surprised, honestly when i saw you i was like ‘this bitch has a face made for hell’, you probably got up here cause you were unfuckable so, like, virgin. Oh! Oh! That makes so much fucking sense dude! Ha! Bummer, I could smell the weak loser on ya, didn’t I tell ya danger tits?” Adam questioned head turned toward Lute after his animated, and very condescending speech.

Lute only looked down, not responding. Meanwhile you were horrified, you’d always felt a little less than Lute, after all she carried out holy duties, ones that you hadn’t fully known up until recently, so hearing Adam say the same things you thought of yourself, shattered you. Your face felt hot as tears gathered on the waterline of your eyes. You didn’t belong here, you said it for the longest time everyone here was mindless optimist zombies, Lute was your only lifeline, and for a few months you suppose-Adam.

You never hated him, but it’s clear he’s only fond of Lute. You’re the intruder, you’re the odd one. Clenching your fists you didn’t even bother with a come back, you slid out from your table booking it to the door. Tears unwillingly slid down your cheeks, your chest heaving as your throat closed silencing whatever weep dared to exit your throat.

You could hear Lute calling after you but you genuinely didn’t want to be followed by her, you were embarrassed; the last thing you wanted was the strong exorcist coming to witness you crumble. Throwing the door to the building open your wings sprung out on reflex, and after a few quick steps you took off. You couldn’t quite see, or breathe for that matter. Your mind lagged behind you, replaying the moments in your head that matched up to Adam’s insults.

You blinked rapidly as you attempted to focus on the clouds beneath you and breeze around you, but you couldn’t. You choked once more, your stomach convulsing inward causing you to gasp, a sob violently escaping you as you rocketed toward whatever surface you could find. Suddenly you hit something solid, stunning your flight and causing you to spin down, plummeting. As you fell, the breeze stabbed you as you cut into it, your wings sagging and loosely flailing above you, it felt so calm and freeing you didn’t feel the will to stop.

By the grace of god, however, you were caught and roughly smacked against the chest of someone, their arms clutching you tightly. You barely heard a ‘gotcha’ before your vision tunnelled, stomach flipped and you lost consciousness.

——

Waking slowly, your eyes stung the moment they opened, nearly watering at the blinding white that invaded them. Willing yourself to rise, you lazily scanned the room you laid in. A living room, coloured with yellows, creams and whites, it was, in all honesty, way too much. A large portrait of a man with a woman, meticulously scrapped out, hung above the fireplace. You’d never seen this man ever before, and the woman was too scratched out to get any idea on who it was. Suppose these people never existed as it was a painting, but there was something about the man that captivated you so deeply.

“Look who finally rose, sleeping bitchy.” You immediately felt sick, turning your head unsurprised to see Adam standing there smugly. You frowned deeply, it felt nearly impossible to twist your mouth in such a way, but there was no hiding your distaste in seeing the angel. “Why am I here, Adam.” You say scaldingly, eyes closed attempting to shield yourself from whatever foul look took over his face. “Well after your little shit show, a little over dramatic by the way, Lute left to find you, and I went for a fly. Then suddenly minding my own business I see you tryna play asteroid! Then when I caught you, your dumbass went out.”

Sighing loudly you pulled your hand down your face. “Please, admit Lute put you up to it.” Slamming a glass of water down on the table along with a platter of fruit, including oranges, pomegranates and mangos, Adam grunted moving his hand to sit on his hips. “The fuck she did, she’s not getting the praise for this one.” You looked up at him and then down at the fruit and drink on the side table just to your right, you nodded at it. “What’s this?”

You barely whispered out. Blowing air out threw his lips effectively raspberryingring the air, he shrugged. “Stuff for you, duh, you’re like sick or something right?” You nearly smiled at that, you’d never had Adam have that reaction. Quite the array of fruit as well, carefully you picked up a few pieces of orange, as well as mango that had a toothpick sticking up from them you munched down. You hummed, watching like a hawk as Adam walked across from you and sat on the other couch.

“How long was i out?” You questioned after swallowing, gulping down some water feeling the soothing sensation on your raw throat. “Maybe thirty minutes, not long. I texted Lute, I told her you were with me, safe.” That made you pause, you gazed up at him from the bowl of pomegranates you started digging into. “What? Why didn’t she come?” Adam huffed, throwing his hands behind his head and leaned back. “Because I told her not to.” Your mouth fell open eyes wide.

“Why thee holy fuck, would you tell her not to come?” Sitting up straighter you swung your legs over the side, sitting properly instead of lounging. Adam wouldn’t meet your gaze drifting off to the left and right. “Fucking… fuck!” He exclaimed almost in what sounded like exhaustion. Watching him closely, you waited as he seemed to have an inner debate with himself. Then swiftly he gripped his face and ripped off his mask.

The face you were met with was like a punch in the gut, yeah he could be compared to men you’ve seen in your lifetime probably at a gas station or cheap bar, but it was Adam. The man you’ve been trying so hard to hate, getting into cussing battles, throwing insults at each other that rolled off the back, occasionally praising each other's insults, forcing yourself to loathe him when you both kinda knew it wasn’t and now it was real. You got to look in his gold eyes, the dark thick lashes accentuating the uniqueness of his eye colour, the chin hair that crawled just under his chin -which you never expected him to have-, his tousled brown hair, thick eyebrows one eyebrow pierced - also a shock to you-.

He looked like the asshole he was, and it made you fucking sick. Trying so hard to hate him had come to this? Him unmasking himself after saving you? Cruel, you wanted to hate him, get over him not know that all he said about him being the hottest, the dickmaster, pussypounder-whatever, was probably true, that he’s hot. You were embarrassed to feel the nasty hum of jealousy claw at you when you could see the woman in the painting in your peripheral, that was obviously him, with some woman. He was wanted, and taken before.

Flicking his tongue over his lips you caught a glimpse of a tongue piercing because of course the pretty boy would get whatever he wanted without worrying about rules. He shuffled nervously biting his lip as you eyed him shamelessly, which to him was judgemental, his nerves suddenly making him feel sweaty. “Why?” You ask breathily, you were too enchanted to care how he perceived that however. His eyes properly met yours, your legs crossed subconsciously at the zap you felt just by a look.

“Youre fucking dumb you know that? You think I hang with Lute when you’re around because Lute’s there?!” Adam stood after the exclamation, his eyes shooting around the room, hands flying to his hair. “I can’t fucking do this a third time! Fuck!” Tossing a vase across the room you watched unfazed by the sudden explosion, after all this was your thing too.

“I only go round Lute like that because you’re there dumbass, i tried easing up on you; just like Lute said! But you, oh noooo little bitch, just had to be so fucking bratty.” Standing over you sneering, you made no attempts to move, not genuinely scared of his anger but instead, perhaps, a little aroused. You in a way understood where his frustrations came from anyway, you in a sense felt the same way. Might be why you lost it earlier, the yearning had gotten too real, and he seemed so focused on Charlie.

“I am so disgustingly attracted to you, not even in a sex way! And I know how to deal with that a lot better.” Swinging his hand out sassily, he smirked to himself. Plopping next to you he rested his cheek on his hand, elbows rested on his legs. Plucking an orange from the table you watched him eat it, juice moistening his lips. “You think i’d peel fruit, save, house and give water to some broad I genuinely hated? No, stupid.”

Laughing dryly, you looked up away from Adam’s intense gaze. You smiled, eyes falling from the ceiling to your lap. “God i fucking hate you,” Adam’s face looked horrified, opening his mouth to speak, you stopped him grabbing his cheeks and pulling into a searing hot kiss. Your lips crashed against each others’ lazily but passionately, opened mouthed and slightly sloppy. It was slow however, a kiss that wasn’t just a kiss, neither of you wanted to haste past such a moment, such emotion. Adam’s arms wrapped around your hips nudging you forward, understanding the message you moved in closer, your body’s pressing against each other as much as you could from the seated position on the couch.

You dug your fingers into his hair, brainlessly playing with different strands as your tongues slid along one another’s without care, tasting the orange he just ate presently on his lips and to tongue. It felt heavenly being up against him, Adam smelt so good, he was so warm and you could feel how badly he wanted this. His body jittered, his hands gripping you like you’d disappear if he loosened. Pulling away and looking at Adam, he made no effort to move eyes still closed like trying to etched this memory in his mind. You hummed lovingly, brushing hair away from his forehead. “You’re a dumb bitch.” He whispered raspily, opening his eyes, although not by much as they lidded with lust.

You smirked at him brushing your thumb against his bottom lip. “I know. You too.”

[pedropascallme]

The Weather Ain't Been Bad

Pairing: Damien Haas x f!Reader

Summary: “You had barely made it off the last step, rounding the corner to the kitchen, when you heard a voice call your name. You flinched, hand flying to your chest in a brief moment of panic, not suspecting anybody else to be awake, let alone downstairs, while you were roaming the halls like some kind of restless spirit.”

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI) p in v sex, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral (f receiving), spitting, Damien is a biter but we knew that, lots of begging and even more praise, Damien likes getting his hair pulled but we knew that. If I missed anything please let me know!

“You look dumb.”

“I’ll literally—look at me, look at me. Shut up.”

You listened to Shayne and Angela argue in the back seat, their back and forth had started as a game of I-spy and quickly devolved into improvised insults on hour one of the drive after a patch of traffic resulted in a lack of things to spy.

“Literally nothing you say could ever affect me I don’t care about anything you have to say to me.” Shayne deadpanned and you heard Angela let out a shrill sound as she tried to climb out of her seatbelt to punch him in the arm.

“Hey, you know what would actually be really fun?” Damien, driving, looked back at them through the rearview mirror, “If you guys would, uh, shut the hell up?”

You laughed quietly; head propped up on the window as you watched the California landscape go from dusty highway to snowcapped trees. Hours long car ride aside, you were happy to be making the trip. It had never occurred to you that upon Anthony’s return to the company there would be a renaissance of Smosh content that didn’t have to do with the main channel, but when they announced the return of the Winter Games you felt a swell of joy—it was nice to be part of something that went back so many years and still continued to entertain the masses, especially when that something made you feel a cathartic sort of nostalgia.

And now, sitting in the front seat and listening to your friends threaten each other in increasingly ridiculous ways, watching Damien’s hand on the steering wheel, it went beyond simple nostalgia: It was pure ecstasy. The low hum of music on the radio paired nicely with the long road ahead, and you leaned back, closing your eyes for a moment.

You felt a hand on your knee, giving you a short squeeze. You opened your eyes, grabbing Damien’s hand and squeezing him back.

“What?” You playfully pushed his hand back towards his body, and he gripped the steering wheel.

“You’re my GPS, you can’t fall asleep.”

“I could navigate!” Angela leaned forward, elbows on the center console.

“You—you would get us lost in your own house, you psycho.” Amanda piped up for the first time in several minutes, placing a hand gingerly on Angela’s shoulder and laughing.

“Hey!” Angela turned her attention away from the front seat, pushing against Shayne, who had started laughing at her expense once more.

Damien glanced at you from his peripheral, as if to silently lament about your friends in the back seat, and you glanced back, smiling.

You appreciated the moments you got to spend with Damien. It wasn’t like they were rare; since you’d joined the cast, he was always someone you’d found a sort of reliability in, and a shared sense of humor went a long way. He was always a beacon of tranquility amongst the chaos of the office. He could be just as rowdy as everybody else—and often was—but he was always able to weed out when somebody needed a moment to recalibrate, and it felt like he knew what you needed before even you did sometimes. But he seemed to have that effect on most everybody, and you didn’t want to push too hard for something that might not be there, despite how happy you were to feel his hand on your back when he guided you through crowded spaces, or to hear him say your name in that faux-crestfallen way when you cheated in cards.

He turned his gaze back to the road, and you found yourself leaning against the window again, passively looking at his reflection in the trees that darted by, and thinking things that you decided should remain unsaid.

~~~

The house was gigantic, and even that was putting it lightly.

In theory, you recognized that you worked for a multi-million-dollar company, but it was more than a little weird to be standing in the doorway of a house big enough to hold at least 20 copies of your own apartment inside of it.

But you understood the want to splurge; it had been years since the last Winter Games, and even longer still since there had been a Games with Anthony. It was exciting, and even before you had gotten to the cabin-style mansion, there had been a buzz in the air; cast and crew alike vibrating in anticipation of a vacation-like period where things would be more akin to camp than to work.

Filming started immediately, and you barely had time to think about what exactly was happening before you were back in front of a camera.

Shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the cast, Ian and Anthony made picks for their respective teams; it was easy to forget that you were in a new space—it was like you’d never left the office, still in good company and laughing until your cheeks hurt. You donned the bright blue shirt that had been handed to you, and wondered how many raunchy, snow-related jokes you’d have to hear over the next week.

“Be honest with me,” you put the shirt on over the one you were already wearing, joining the side of the room with the rest of your teammates, “Are we gonna lose?”

Damien laughed, “With that attitude? Probably.”

Maybe the best part of the trip was the fact that this year marked the first time that everybody got their own room. You’d heard the stories—not that they were all that bad, but it was nice to know that even when surrounded by your friends for two weeks, you’d still be able to duck out for some private time in your own space.

Except that your room was freezing.

You hadn’t noticed it upon your arrival, coat still zipped up and adrenaline on high, but once you had showered and readied yourself for bed, you recognized the deep, unwelcome chill in your bones. The source evaded you; the windows were closed, the ceiling fan was completely still—it was a frustrating end to a long day.

You gave up, putting on a heavier sweatshirt and deciding that locating the source of the frigid air was a problem for tomorrow. There had to be extra blankets somewhere, and you tried to recall whether there had been any on the couches downstairs. Even if there weren’t, getting out of your room and regaining a little feeling in your fingers sounded appealing.

You quietly exited your bedroom.

Tiptoeing down the stairs, you shifted your weight awkwardly from side to side to avoid any sudden creaks from the old wood. The house was silent—save for the wind outside that howled against the windows every few moments—and you didn’t want to disturb the peace.

You had barely made it off the last step, rounding the corner to the kitchen, when you heard a voice call your name. You flinched, hand flying to your chest in a brief moment of panic, not suspecting anybody else to be awake, let alone downstairs, while you were roaming the halls like some kind of restless spirit.

“I’m sorry—did I scare you?” The familiar sound of timely apologies, whispered from across the room. You felt your heart settle. “I’m sorry.”

“Jesus, Damien,” you took measured breaths, “scared me.”

“Sorry,” his voice was low. He stood behind the kitchen island, hair messy, and it was clear he was struggling to sleep as much as you were.

“It’s ok,” you walked towards where he was standing, leaning over the island to grab at his arm reassuringly before letting go; his skin was warm against your palm, and even in the dark of the room you were unable to tear your eyes from him. “I didn’t think anybody else was up.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not by choice,” he sighed, “my room is a sauna.”

“You’ve got your own room, you couldn’t just strip down?” You raised your eyebrows, teasing him, trying not to think about how he might look spread out on his bed with nothing on.

“There are only so many layers I can take off until it’s, like, my skin,” he smiled, and you broke out into a quiet laugh.

“Well, my room is freezing, so,” you collected yourself a little, “I came down looking for more blankets, but if you wanted to switch…”

“Is the window open?” He furrowed his brow, seemingly concerned by your discomfort.

“Not even a crack,” you clarified, “Your room sounds like a dream to me right now.”

You didn’t realize how it sounded until he let out a snort, “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“You know what I meant.” You rolled your eyes, and he reached over the counter to brush his hand against yours in a gesture of peace.

You stood quietly together, enjoying each other’s company and the calm of the house. You let your hand remain under his on the granite, and he didn’t make any moves to separate from you.

“Thanks for being a good sport about navigating,” Damien ran his other hand over his face, tired after the seemingly endless day. “I know it probably wasn’t your first choice.”

“Yeah, well. You better thank God we’re on the same team, otherwise I’d use 'competitive determination' as an excuse to get back at you for keeping me up." You shot back jovially, “But, you know…it was nice to help you out.” You paused. “I liked it, actually.”

He shot you a small smile, which you returned, and the two of you let silence fall again.

“How about I see if I can find the source of whatever it is that’s making you so cold?” He tilted his head, sincerely offering to help you, and you could never say no to an offer like that.

You could never say no to Damien.

“That would be nice.” You curled your pinky into the palm of his hand before turning to lead him to your room.

You were friends, always had been upon your entrance into the company; he was an undeniably important presence in your life for that very reason—he was there. He was always there when you needed him. He was supportive and kind and stupidly funny, and, yeah, incredibly attractive. But that didn’t mean it had to be something more. Just because you looked forward to the days he came into work with dark stubble that contrasted with the silver of his hair, just because you forgot the rules to certain games sometimes because you were too focused on the way his sleeves fit around his arms, just because you loved the way his eyes trailed over your face when you told him a story and he got just as animated as you did—it didn’t have to be anything more than friendship.

But realistically, despite your insistence to your friends and to yourself that you considered Damien a great, strictly-platonic friend and nothing more, you knew what you really wanted.

You knew you wanted more.

And despite the innocent context under which you were bringing him up to your room, there was a surge of adrenaline that coursed through your chest while he trailed behind you.

“Jesus,” he pushed his shoulders back upon opening the door to your room, goosebumps pricking his skin. “Some weather we’re having.”

“I told you,” you pushed past him, kicking a stray pair of socks into the corner. “You still think you can fix it?”

“They actually call me Damien “Fix-It” Haas,” he cracked his knuckles, “Don’t look into it.”

You smiled, shaking your head, spreading your arms out to signal that he could poke around freely.

It took him approximately ten seconds to locate the thermostat behind a curtain.

“Are you serious?” You kicked yourself for missing what should’ve been so obvious.

“I’m Damien,” he went straight-faced, “And this says sixty-five degrees—how are you not frozen solid?”

“Pure will.” Your head fell back in exasperation, “How did I miss that?”

“You’re tired,” he softened, “It’s been a long day, y’know, and I bet a lot of people are too dumb to look behind curtains—”

You cut him off with a curt but soft shove to his chest, and he grabbed your hands after they made impact, both of you semi-delirious from lack of sleep and falling into a fit of giggles. He removed one of his hands from you, leaning back to change the thermostat.

“It’ll heat up eventually,” he started, “What number do you want it at?”

“Warm.”

“So, that is not a number,” he smiled at you, “I’ll put it in the seventies.”

“Thank you,” you wriggled free of the grasp he still had on your wrist, “My hero.”

You stood facing each other for a moment, neither of you ready to part for some reason.

“I should go to sleep,” you finally spoke.

“Yeah.” He agreed, voice sounding raspier than it had before. He started to walk towards the door while you leaned back onto the pillows on the bed.

“Damien,” you didn’t know what you were doing, or if you should be doing it, but it felt only logical in the moment, “Stay.”

You watched him freeze in place, turning back to look at you.

“I mean…if your room is uncomfortable to sleep in—what, are you gonna sleep on the couch?” You continued, rambling to find reasoning behind your sudden offer, “You can just stay here tonight.”

“Seriously?” He scanned your features, trying to figure out if you were serious or if this was just a joke that he hadn’t caught onto yet.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure—?”

“I’m just saying, it’s not fair that you have to spend the night in discomfort. Especially after you fixed the temperature in here.” You felt a red heat rising in your ears, but you soldiered on, still waiting for a yes or no. You watched as he turned to walk towards the door again, and your heart sank a little, before he closed the door in front of him and walked back to you.

“One hell of a sleepover—one bed, no snacks, and you don’t even have a Wii,” He feigned disappointment.

“But I hear when mom goes to sleep, they bring out Kevin’s mom.” You smiled, digging your heels into the comforter, and he laughed at the callback.

He sat on the mattress, leaning back on the pillows with you, and you used it as an excuse to angle yourself towards him, resting your head lightly on his shoulder.

“I can sleep on the floor. If you want…” He whispered, and you felt his fingers trail up your own hand.

“No,” you turned to look at him, still on your back but suddenly very aware of the proximity to which you were lying next to each other, letting him continue to run his hand along your arm. “It’s still cold in here.”

“I can turn the heat up—”

You watched as he traced the curve of your elbow with his finger before letting it fall back to your hand, “Damien, stop being a gentleman. Just share the bed with me.”

“Ok.” He stopped moving, gaze falling on you and swallowing shallowly. You laced your fingers with his. You were certain he could see your heart beating through your ribcage, or at the very least he could see the way your pulse bounced in your wrist. “Yeah, ok.”

You didn’t undress, didn’t even get under the covers, but something felt so intimate; a shift in the air. Maybe it was the new warmth that permeated throughout the room, but it was different, in the best way.

It felt like more.

He didn’t touch you, didn’t even graze your back when you turned over to get comfortable. But you felt his breath on the back of your head, rustling your hair and drifting over the back of your neck.

Your eyes stayed open, unable to let sleep take hold despite the tranquility; the moon bounced off the snow and caused a dim light to trickle through the window, and you were wide awake.

You shifted again, turning back over to face Damien. His eyes were closed, and you watched the subtle movements of his body, chest rising and falling softly with each breath.

“It’s creepy to watch people sleep.” He whispered, and you bit your tongue, unsure of what to say. Busted. He opened one eye and broke into a small smile. “Are you gonna murder me?”

“Haven’t decided yet.” You whispered back, nearly letting the sound of the wind outside drown you out.

“I could take you,” he propped himself up on his arm.

“Is that a challenge or a blanket statement?” You raised an eyebrow, “Because I wasn’t going to murder you, but those are fighting words.”

“What do you think?” He was goading you now, waiting to see if you’d back down from whatever this was, if there was a line you were going to draw.

“I think I could kick your ass.” You sat up on your knees.

“Yeah?” He looked at you, skeptical. You couldn’t think of what to say, couldn’t tell what this was, or what would happen if you crossed the physical boundary into his space.

You threw caution to the wind for the second time within the hour. 

You launched yourself towards him, and he let his arm fall to the side, lying on his back as you clambered to straddle him. Grabbing his wrists, you pulled his hands above his head, letting out a small huff of victory.

You couldn’t recall a time where you’d ever been this close to Damien before. There was a pool of heat in your stomach that you tried to write off as a burst of energy—adrenaline hitting in the middle of the night—while you rationalized being in this position with him. With your friend. It was just wrestling; a playful act among companions. You’d seen people do it all the time in the office. Courtney put Spencer in a headlock the other day—you’d seen her do it to Ian the day before that. It was fine. It wasn’t anything other than roughhousing.

It didn’t have to be anything more.

“I told you.” You gloated.

“I was in a vulnerable position. This is hardly what I would call a fair fight.”

“Don’t be a sore loser.”

“I’m being a sore loser?” He smiled, all teeth, and you were about to respond, tell him that you had won, fair and square, and that if he wanted to lose again, you’d grant him the rematch he clearly wanted so desperately.

Instead, he flipped you onto your back, knee between your legs and one hand pinning your wrists above your head just as you had done to him.

“Never let your guard down,” He laughed, and you bit back a smile.

“That’s not fair.”

“That’s what a sore loser would say.” He taunted, and you thought you felt his grip tighten around your wrists.

You looked up at him, unsure where to go from here.

Surely, you’d separate, turn over and away from each other, fall asleep, and then act like nothing was different tomorrow—because nothing was different. Nothing had changed. This was nothing.

But you liked the way he looked like this; his knee caught between the V of your own legs, the muscles in his arm tense from the grip he had on you, his other hand planted on the bed at your side, just close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off of it. You watched him swallow.

“Tell me to let go,” he whispered, his voice gravelly. “Tell me to let go and I will.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t make a sound. All you could do was stare up at him, before you reminded yourself to speak, to say anything, to finally reveal what it was you wanted.

“Kiss me.” You were worried he wouldn’t hear it over the wind, words coming out small and breathy, but you saw the way the muscle in his jaw clicked.

He was on you instantly, colliding with you in a frenzied kiss. He let go of your wrists, and your hands came down to trail over his back, pulling him closer to you by the back of his neck. He bit at your bottom lip, and the sharp sting was counteracted quickly by the way his tongue darted over it, exploring you while you whined underneath him. He licked into your mouth, and you sucked at his tongue before letting his exploration continue, your hands reaching under the back of his shirt in an attempt to get closer, to let him suffocate you with his attention.

He pulled back, lips pink and cheeks blushed, his hand coming to hold your jaw and encourage you to open wider. He spit into your open mouth, before pushing on your jaw, encouraging you to close it. You did, swallowing his offering before opening your mouth again, sticking out your tongue as proof of your deed.

“Fuck,” he growled, hand still on your face when he reconnected his mouth to yours. It was needier now; sloppy and wet, and you could taste him perfectly like this, your spit mingling with his, licking into his mouth to get as much of him as you could.

He trailed down your body, leaving kisses on any skin available to him. The collar of your shirt exposed your clavicle, and he bit into the skin around it, sinking his teeth into you just enough for red marks to appear, before sucking a bruise onto the skin of the bone.

“Camera,” you reminded him haphazardly, “Nothing the camera can see—” You combed your fingers through his hair, pulling hard to ensure he listened to your warning, and he groaned at the pressure, removing his mouth from you.

“Right,” He was breathing hard, thumb rubbing circles on the bruise he had just made, low enough on your chest that your shirt would cover it—a secret between the two of you. He leaned back down, lips wrapping around the pulse point below your ear and peppering gentle kisses on it. You ground your hips onto him, his knee still planted between your thighs, stabilizing his position, and you felt the fabric of your pajamas catch perfectly on your clit, letting out a soft moan.

Damien watched, lips parted, as you bucked your hips against his thigh; some area of his brain wanted to let you continue, let you bring yourself to the edge by using him like this, but that was outweighed by the part of him that wanted so desperately to be the one making you cum; he wanted to make you fall apart, wanted to see how pretty you looked when he was making you feel good.

He moved his leg, effectively straddling you, and you let out a whimper of discontent, disappointed by the sudden loss of friction when you had been so close to what you needed.

“I know, baby,” his voice was cloying, clearly finding your whines enticing in a twisted sort of way; call it sadistic, but he didn’t want you putting in any work—he wanted to be in charge of all your pleasure. “I’ll let you finish, I promise,” he licked a stripe up your neck. “Tell me what you need.”

“Want your mouth,” you were quick to answer.

“Ask nicely.”

“Please, I want your mouth on me Damien—please.”

“You want my mouth?” He nipped at your jawline, “Want me to fuck you with my tongue?”

You nodded, entranced by how devious he looked, pupils blown out, swallowing the moon’s reflection, silver hair messy from being pulled on and falling over his eyes, skin flushed pink; you were absolutely overcome with need watching him at his most primal.

He moved further down your body, situating himself between your legs and tucking his fingers beneath the waistband of your pajamas; you lifted your hips when he began to pull the fabric off of you, slowly, and you tried in vain to push your pants off faster.

“Uh-uh,” he moved his hands to cover yours, “be patient.”

You removed your hands from the flannel waistband, placing them over your chest and trying to crane your neck to watch him. It felt like an eternity before he finally let the fabric pool around your ankles, sliding them off with help from you kicking gently against the air. If ever there was a time to be thankful that you didn’t sleep in underwear, it would be now.

Moving back towards your core, he pulled your legs over his shoulders, still concentrated on making you comfortable even while most of his focus was on your naked cunt.

“Do you always get wet this quickly?” He let you hook your knee behind his head, looking up at you from between your legs.

“Shut up,” you felt suddenly embarrassed, as if it was only now, with his breath fanning your spread legs, that he had become suspicious of your attraction to him.

“That’s a no, then?” He smirked and your embarrassment dissipated when you saw the prideful smile.

Damien’s eyes shifted then from your face to your inner thigh, turning his head to suck marks on it just as he had on your neckline. He bit into the supple flesh, just hard enough to leave an outline of his teeth, before kissing bruises onto the same spots. You let out a contented sigh, and he squeezed your other thigh before turning his head again to repeat the process on that side. Licking stripes up your legs and into the joint of your thigh, he stopped short of where you wanted him, letting out a hum every time you exhaled in frustration at the lack of attention your cunt was getting.

He liked riling you up, seeing your brow furrow and your cheeks redden in frustration at not getting what you had asked for.

He relented when you started whispering pleas of his name, hand buried in his hair and pulling gently at the roots for him to use his mouth on you like he had said he would. You gasped at the contact of his tongue on your clit, the way he flattened the muscle to slide over you before moving it in slow circles over your bud. His fingers dug bruises into your thighs, holding them over his shoulders and pulling you closer to him when he finally started licking circles around your hole.

“Fuck—fuck!” you couldn’t get another word out, too focused on the way he dove into you and lapped up your slick. He was messy but masterful, letting your juices and his spit trail down over the curve of your ass while making your back arch off the mattress, hand still in his hair and unsure of whether you wanted to push him down further or pull him off due to the overwhelming sensation.

The sounds were pornographic, wet and filthy, and when you pulled harder on his hair he let out a low growl that displayed his pleasure while heightening your own.

“You taste so fucking sweet,” he groaned into you, spitting onto your dripping cunt before indulging once more in your taste. You became aware of the way his hips ground into the mattress with every flick of his tongue and every mewl you let out. “Cum for me like this, baby, can you do that? Let me taste it?”

You threw your head back at his words, pressure building in your stomach at the way he clearly got so much enjoyment from making you feel good, paired with the way his teeth grazed your clit, sucking on you until you saw stars and then pulling away to do it again. One of his hands fell from your leg, and he brought it to your cunt, spitting once before pushing two fingers in. You squirmed, moaning, as he curled them towards him and fluttered them over the spongy spot inside of you. He dragged his tongue over your clit one more time, and you were catapulted over the edge, dizzy with lust, pleasure coursing through you like an electric current.

Damien moved back up the bed, hugging you to him while you trembled with the aftershocks of your orgasm, muttering words of praise.

“Did so fucking good,” he kissed the top of your head, “Such a good girl—was that ok? Are you alright?” His thumb ran over your cheek, and he dipped his head down to leave kisses in its wake.

You let out a shaky breath, adjusting your position to throw your leg over his side before wrapping your arms around him to pull him down for a kiss.

“So good.” You muttered, tasting yourself on his lips. You rolled your hips against his lazily, reaching down to trail your hand over his evident bulge. “More.”

“Yeah?” He groaned, taking in the way your hand felt on his clothed cock.

“Please.” You looked up at him through your lashes.

He reconnected his lips to yours, moving slowly and swallowing your sounds.

“You want me like this?” He whispered, hands sweeping over your body, “Gonna let me fuck you into the mattress?”

Your hips bucked on their own accord, and you nodded feverishly. He sat up, pulling you up after him, and reached under the hem of your shirt to help you remove it. He got distracted by the sight of your chest, the swell of your breasts and the way you looked at him expectantly.

“You’re so pretty,” he almost laughed, absolutely delighted by you, as he leaned down to suck a bruise on the valley between your breasts. He nipped at the pillowy skin, teeth skimming your nipple when he took it into his mouth, barely putting pressure on it until your hand flew to his hair in a gesture to make him continue, to give you more. You whimpered, sitting on your knees with his face pressed against your chest.

He stood up, removing his shirt quickly before untying the cord of his pants.

“There’s really nothing sexier than a man in pajama bottoms,” he made a face as he fumbled with the knot of the string, finally undoing it with a sharp tug.

“I’d have to agree.” You shot him a smug look and he shook his head, smiling. He situated himself back on the mattress, pushing you onto your back and kissing your neck. You let out a quiet yelp when you landed on the pillows, laughing softly. You still felt dizzy, the entire situation leaving you completely shocked but admittedly thrilled, and when you saw him looking down at you, you felt words leave your mouth before you could filter them.

“I’ve wanted this for a really long time.”

Damien smiled again, kissing your forehead before dipping down to trail kisses over your jaw. “Me too.”

“So, uh,” You let your hand wander down his body, stopping at the base of his cock and teasing your fingers around it, “You gonna fuck me into the mattress now?”

He grabbed your hand, and in a parallel to the situation that got you here, pinned it above your head.

“Is that what you want?” His pupils swallowed his irises, giving him the appearance of someone completely lost in desire. It made you greedy for more.

“Yeah.” You breathed.

“Tell me.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“No. The whole thing. Say it.”

“I want…” You felt dirty saying it out loud, and that was half the appeal, “I want you to fuck me into the mattress.”

“That’s right. You gonna beg for it?”

You liked him like this, so cocky and domineering. It made you feel breathless, head swimming with what was to come. Dominance looked good on him.

“Please, Damien,” you swallowed, squirming slightly in anticipation.

“C’mon, you can do better than that.” He practically scoffed, “Beg.”

“Fuck me, please,” you felt yourself growing frustrated, and you could feel your heart beating in your cunt. “I was so good—I’ve been so good, please, I’ll take what you give me I promise just—please, please fuck me.”

The hand that wasn’t wrapped around your wrist fisted his cock, and you tilted your head to watch him stroke himself while he lined up with your entrance. You whined, hoping that maybe it would make him move faster.

“What did I say about being patient?” He chided, and your head fell back onto the pillows.

“Please, Damien.” You couldn’t have hidden your eagerness if you tried.

“One more time.” You felt the tip of his cock between your folds, collecting your slick and nudging your entrance.

“Please—yes!” You gasped when he pushed his hips forward, eyes rolling back slightly at the way he filled you completely in one stroke.

“Good girl.” He grabbed your other hand, now pinning both your wrists down over your head, giving him a full view of your body underneath him. “You feel good? Worth the wait?”

You nodded your head, mouth open and eyes wide, mesmerized by the stretch and the feeling of him seated deep inside of you.

“Tell me—use your words,” His own patience was wearing thin, and you could tell he was waiting for the opportunity to fuck you the way he wanted to.

“Feels so good, Damien,” you nodded again, “Move—fuck me, please.”

He exhaled, content with your answer and subsequent request. He drew his hips back far enough to nearly pull out of you, before slamming back against you and bottoming out completely. You let out a moan, and his free hand covered your mouth.

“Gotta be quiet, baby” he whispered.

You nodded underneath his hand, remembering all the other people in the house, and he pulled it away from your mouth before pushing two fingers through your lips.

“That’ll keep you busy, right?” He smiled and you moaned softly around his fingers, tongue circling them behind your lips.

Damien copied his initial sharp thrust, pushing into you with enough force to move you up the bed repeatedly, watching the way your breasts bounced with the movement. Letting go of your hands briefly, he brought one of your legs up to his shoulders, deepening the position, and you whimpered around the fingers in your mouth.

“God, you’re fucking perfect. Sound so pretty, baby” he groaned, grinding his hips against you to get a feel for how deep he was inside of you, “So pretty letting me fuck you like this.”

He took his fingers from your mouth, toying with your nipples and using the residual spit to lubricate his movements. His other hand left your wrists, focused now on holding himself above you while he drove in and out of you.

You squirmed under him, overstimulated and needy, and your newly freed hands grabbed at whatever they could hold onto; one gripping his arm, nails leaving crescents in his skin, while the other fisted the sheets, and Damien took note of the way your face contorted when his thrusts became rougher.

“You like that?” His voice was as kind as it usually was, but with an edge to it now, driving into you hard. “That feel good, baby?”

Your moans were increasingly high-pitched, and all you could offer was a jumble of reassuring whines. You pulled him down by the back of his neck, lips meeting for a feverish, passionate kiss. He bit your bottom lip, keeping it between his teeth and tugging at it, before letting his tongue push forward into your mouth.

You moaned into him, his cock pushing against your most sensitive spot. You arched your back, silently begging for more, and he followed your unspoken instructions, fingers finding your clit between your bodies and kneading tight circles over it.

You let out a ragged cry of his name, cunt squeezing around him as you came; he pulled you into him, arm wrapping under your body, to kiss you fervidly, groaning at how you felt clenching so tightly around him.

“That’s right, baby, cum for me,” he fucked you through your high; long, deep strokes at a much slower pace bringing you back down to earth, “Good fucking girl.”

“Oh my god,” you mumbled, drowsy and overstimulated, happy to be enveloped by him.

“Where do you want me, baby?” His thrusts picking back up slightly, eager for his own release.

“Anywhere you want,” you kissed up the side of his neck, whining at the feel of his cock as he dragged his hips back before sinking back into you, “Wanna make you cum, please.” You rubbed your cheek against his, the friction from his short stubble soothing you.

“You want me to cum for you?” Even now, he kept teasing, “My good girl wants me to cum for her? So fucking greedy.”

You whined, wordlessly, trying to move your hips to match his thrusts, intent on pleasing him the way he had you.

“Spit,” he offered you his hand, and you licked his palm before spitting into it.

He squeezed you tight, using the arm still underneath you to lift you up slightly and get a few last thrusts in as deep as he could manage. Upon pulling out, he fucked his fist with the hand you had prepared for him, spilling over your cunt. You whimpered at the feeling, and the thought of his cum mingling with your own between your legs.

Breathing heavy and uneven, Damien took a moment to collect himself. He leaned over the side of the bed, finding his discarded shirt and grabbing it; he wiped between your legs, careful to go slow and gentle over your more sensitive spots. He threw the shirt back over the side of the bed when he deemed you properly cleaned up.

“Thank you,” you spoke up, nuzzling into his side.

He hummed, kissing your head and moving stray hairs from your face. “Was that…it wasn’t too much, was it?”

“Damien,” you looked up at him incredulously, “It was perfect.”

“Not too rough?”

“The perfect amount of rough.”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, rubbing his thumb over your skin. “Did you mean what you said?”

“That I wanted to make you cum?”

“Well—mm. Kinda gathered that that was the truth. No, I mean, when you said you’ve wanted this…for a while.”

“Of course I meant it.” You fidgeted with the fingers he had draped around your shoulder. “Did you mean it when you—”

“Yeah.” He cut you off.

“You didn’t know what I was going to ask.”

“What were you going to ask?” He quipped.

“Now I’m not telling you.” You rolled your eyes, playfully turning away from him. Damien used the hand he had on your shoulder as leverage to pull you back against him, and you landed against his chest.

“Did I mean it when I said I wanted this, too?” He finished your question for you, “Yeah. I meant it. One hundred percent, I did.” He pressed his cheek against the crown of your head, “Was worried that wanting more was a, I dunno, like a…thought it would make you uncomfortable. So, I just—not that I don’t like being your friend—but I tried to behave myself. Y’know? Even though...” His gaze flicked over your face, "I always wanted more."

“Is this where you tell me that you orchestrated this whole thing by turning down the heat in here?” You joked, tired and satisfied and so utterly content that he, too, wanted more than the friendship you had cultivated with one another—thrilled that you had been on the same page all along; the initial paranoia over the implications of being attracted to the other, and now basking in the relief that your affection was mutual.

“I’m flattered that you think I have that kind of forethought. But no,” he laughed. “Just got lucky.”

“In so many respects.” You giggled, listening to his heartbeat against your cheek.

“Thanks for letting me stay.” He held you tighter, as if a loose grip would cause you to slip away from him.

“Thanks for staying.”

[dcxdpdabbles]

Any ideas for Phantom's number 1 fan? I'm so excited to see Tim and Danny run into each other and figure out OH, so this is what's going on. And also being gay cuz would either of them mind too much about being married? Hey- wait- what's this about a child-

Cut to the watchtower just freaking out full panic. Oh God, the world is gonna end. How do we fix this so the ghost king doesn't kill us all???

John Constantine would go bald from how much stress hair-pulling he was doing. They have been searching for a solid week and have yet to find out where Batman's third son went.

He left a very tiny trail across Europe, seemingly as an art thief and hired assassin. It broke Batman's eldest son's heart whenever a new clue was phoned into the Watchtower, which did not make John feel better about placing a bounty on the kid's head.

It was a neceasery but with each passing day it became clear that no one truly understod the Young Justice Robin. He seemed to always be one step ahead of everyone, and covered his tracks so well that it would have taken them months, maybe even years to follow if they hadn't been looking.

But oh, were they bloody looking.

The entire league had come together to trace Young Justice Robin's path, turning two of the main conference rooms into the center hub for comparing and connecting clues.

It looks like a conspiracy theorist's wet dream in there.

Colored yarn strung around the room, screens displaying messages and photos of cities, and multiple tired-looking league members scrambling to make heads or tails of the new personality that YJ Robin had created in every new country.

Frankl, John was slightly impressed by how much work the kid was giving them. Even the tracking spells that should have pointed in his general direction failed because his soul was not being picked up on a global search whenever they cast it.

It was almost as if the kid had left their world. John wanted to hope that it meant he went to a different planet, but he never betted on a horse with a broken leg.

YJ Robin was trying to kill the Ghost King's fiancee, and despite the guards they placed around known stationed natural portals, he managed to slip through.

It was the only thing that made sense, but it also meant they were running out of time. His contacts on the other side had caught multiple whispers that the Ghost King's army was gathering and would be ready for combat any day now.

At this point, he wasn't even sure the King would listen, even if they did manage to stop YJ Robin. Higher beings took a insult far more serious then humans did.

"Well?" He asks just to be a ass when Batman son teleports in. He gone to speak to some Ghost hunter specilists. Not that John put much stock in thier ecto-research. He perfected magic through hard work and numours deals. The thought the scientist thought they could us maths to build similar defenses were laughable.

But the league was desperate for any form of defense against the army in case they could not please the King in time.

Nightwing—even in the Batman suit, John could only see the young man in Blue struggling to keep everything together—pulled a face. "The Fenton's technology is impressive but....they seemed to really empthis that they no longer build weapons. That it wouldn't work."

"I could you that. At the most, they could detect a ghost but that's only a few second before a deadful shiver ran down your spin anyway." John huffs rolling his eyes.

"No. I think they were lying. They seemed really determined to make me believe they had no real means of harming a ghost. And get this: The Fentons dismantled the ghost portal they claimed allowed them to enter a death dimension only two days before we arrived."

Nightwing says with a tone that would have sounded strange in his blue suit. On Batman, it's just the right amount of emotionless that John has to bite his lip to stop him from reaching out and yanking the kid into a hug.

The world was too unfair to the kind-hearted folk like Nightwing.

The boy dressed as a Bat continues, blissfully unaware of how much he breaks John's heart. "They claimed it never worked and were embarrassed they kept it up for so long. I asked Oracle to check their online presence, and they read a lot of articles that speculated what the Justice League was up to days before they tore it down."

Now, John frowned in thought instead of disapproval. He highly doubted those hacks had made an actual portal to the Infinite Realms but they had boasted about it for three full years on their website.

It was the reason the Justice League even bothered to approach them. So why now, did they suddenly tear it down?

"They're trying to cover something up." John concludes watching the other nod in agreement.

The other man's jaw tightens for just a second before he adds "Or they are coving for someone."

Shit.

"Kid made it to the ghost zone, didn't he?" John swears feeling his heart drop down to his knees.

"We can gather that Young Justice Robin has made his way to the Realms and is now an active threat to humankind's survival. He needs to be taken down by any means possible," Batman declares, his voice like breaking glass. It's sharp and cutting, like the shreds of whatever heart was left in Richard Grayson.

John wonders if Bruce knows his son has broken from wherever his soul rests.

"That would explain the army that has gathered under the Ghost King banner," John grumbles, hands twitching for nicotine. "My sources said they are all gathered and practically ready to march."

"Do you know how long we have before they are here?" Batman asks walking into the conference room and grabbing the attention of every gathered hero with one hand motion.

Everyone tenses in a way that could make the weakest of them choke. They know what it means.

A level ten threat will arrive.

They failed to stop the Third Robin. He managed to spend months doing whatever he pleased, and now that the League was paying attention, it was far too late.

Many of them would not survive the upcoming battle. Many of them who did would lose so many loved ones that it would be hard to decide if they should spend the last few hours on the battlefield or in the arms of their families.

Life, as they know, may come to an end. They could become the next Krypton. Somewhere in the crowd, Kara falls to her knees, sobbing and babbling to Roa, begging for her not to live through her planet's destruction again.

A few of the youngest members start to sob along side her.

Wonder Woman, who was standing next to Superman and Martian man hunter, clears her throat. Her eyes are as hard as steel, her stance unwavering under the pressure of hundreds of pairs of eyes that land on her, and when she speaks, it's like the banging of a drum.

"Warriors prepare for combat. We are at War."

__________________________________________________________

Tim doesn't think when he lands.

He scrambles to his feet, and rushes away from the portal as fast as he can, hoping to put as much distance as possible between himself and the Yetis.

His feet fall into the mud, splashing and nearly tripping him over. It darkens out, and there are no cars in sight, but the smell is familiar, and the feeling of the air is welcome.

Before Gotham stands in all her grey dangerous glory, just over a few hills. He is far from the city, on the outside of Crime Alley, he thinks, but he can see the Bat symbol flowing proudly in the sky, can make out Wayne Headquarters, his Nest, and Babs' Clocktower, and it's so amazing to finally be home.

He pushes his legs to go faster, climbing up the hills into the highway. The streetlight flicker as he rushes by, unafriad of coming trafic. No one goes this way anymore. Not since they turned it into a dead end long before Bruce's parents died.

There are patches of broken road pieces where grass and weeds are growing through, his feet slap against the multiple holes, ruining his momentum but Tim can hardly care.

Tim knows how to find Bruce now.

He can help bring him back from the timeline through the various clues his father figure has been able to leave over his adventures. Tim is so close now, he can actually see the finish line.

He just needs to get to the Cave- when Jason and the Demon are not there, preferably. Maybe Alfred would let him in. The old man had always had a soft spot for Tim- and he could build the machine he needed.

That's if he doesn't build it in his Nest.

Tim runs faster, feeling his lungs and legs burn. He doesn't pay it any mind. The time with the Yeti has made him stronger, likely due to the hours of soaking in some private reserve of Lazarus Pit, so he is going at a faster speed.

One that he had never been able to reach before. He was nothing like a speedster or even on his Red Bird, but damn if it isn't exciting to think he may be able to outpace Jason now.

As he approaches, the city becomes more prominent, shimmering in a faint green glow, as if welcoming him home. Tim's face breaks into a smile when he enters Crime Alley, passing the city limits. In Bruce's city, he is safe from Ra because even without Batman, the city has always shielded them from the Ghuls.

Bruce will be back tomorrow, here in the shadows of Gotham's darkness, protecting everyone, and Tim will finally be able to rest. Months of invading the Justice League, working with the League of Assiasn, the Spiders, and his own doubts were finally going to be behind him.

So close. So very close he could taste it.

A scream cuts through the air.

Tim slides to a stop, feet splashing against the puddles of dirty water he hadn't noticed, swinging his head in the direction it came from. Every part of him wants to ignore it because he has to focus on getting Bruce. He does, but the fear in that woman's voice is too thick to ignore.

He glances back to his Nest, torn between his duty and his heart, biting his lip, but a young whimper- a child likely- makes the choice for him. Tim changes directions, going into the alley and coming across a family of three in the middle of being mugged.

It's quick work to get behind the man waving the gun, silent as the shadows, he blends in to mask his presense. He stricks just as the fool pulls the triger, the loud bang echoing in the small space.

The woman screams again, this time louder, with far more fright in her voice, as the boy bursts into tears.

Thankfully, Tim had knocked off his aim, and the bullet bounced off the brick near the man- likely the father- who was standing in front of a frightened woman and small child in what could only be an attempt to protect them.

The brick shatters to peices as Tim reels back his fists, bringing them down in three swift but brutal punches and the gunman hits the ground with a loud thump.

He hadn't even had time to scream.

Tim huffs above him, and the large amount of running finally catches up to him. It's been a long time since he was so out of breath, though sprinting at full force for a solid nearly fifty minutes was a good enough reason.

"Is everyone alright?" Tim pants out, shaking out his hand in a showy way. After all, he wasn't wearing a mask, and right now, this needed to look like Timothy Drake got a lucky burst of adrenaline.

"Yes." The man breathes, sounding shocked. "Yes, we're fine. Thanks to you. Thank you so much, you saved our lives."

"Don't mention it. I'm glad I was in the right place at the right time." Tim looks up at him, twisting his face into the perfect meek civilian persona Timothy Drake is known for, and then feels all the blood drain from his face.

At that moment, he realizes two things.

One, Gotham was many shades of depressing but it was never green. Espcailly glowing green but while he had been runing he had swon he saw it shifted to sit behind a filter that made it appear as such.

And Two, Bruce looked a aweful lot like his father.

"Oh my boy." Thomas Wayne says, wrapping his arm around Martha and little Bruce Wayne's. He sends Tim another grateful warm smile. "I don't think you understand just what you've done here."

No, Tim thinks faintly I really don't think I do.

_____________________________________________________________

Somewhere in the far future, Danny Fenton wonders why his portal-making skill has stopped working. He used it regularly as his search and rescue means but ever since Robin fell into his arms half dead he had not been able to activeate it.

It was almost like it was stolen from him.

If only his parents hadn't dismantled the portal. He could ask Frostbite to check him over.