#writing more shit down so i actually remember to do it

[bixbythemartian]

the problem with the bathroom wasn't so much that it was ugly, the thread was actually fairly positive and helpful at first, with people who at least didn't hate his design and were cheering him on, giving him advice (please note that SA does filter swearing if you don't have an account, so loving is fucking and poopoo is shit and drat is damn and so on)

Like, the bathroom isn't to my taste exactly, and the gravel surround for the tub always looked deeply uncomfortable to step on, and like a mold magnet, but the colors are fine enough in theory, and he was getting what seemed to be quality materials. it's distinctive and striking, it's a look, I never thought it was particularly ugly. I don't like that particular shade of red, but I know that's a matter of taste. I could do it in green and be happy with it, tbh.

the problem was that this guy was a DIY guy who made at least one REAL BIG OOPSIES and someone said:

I started writing up a big post but I don't think it will be constructive. Basically the jist is this: You've done a really bad thing and are making some choices that will have serious consequences. I suggest stopping here for a bit and thinking things over. Also ask lots of questions and listen to what alot of people are about to say here.

and he responded fairly poorly, a big old 'well the internet just likes to be mean' thing and insisted that things were fine, and that just because something 'wasn't up to code' doesn't mean it won't work, people let code violations slide all the time, it's not a big deal, blah blah blah.

he continued to be like 'oh I can deal with internet hate' while kind of poopooing the idea that he'd made that big of a whoopsie, and then everybody he called to get help for this was mysteriously not returning his calls (he had a big rant about how all contractors just took his money and made stuff he didn't want)

and it went on and on from there. at one point, being roasted for the design of the bathroom, he insisted it was to appeal to women, because women had an 'unfair' amount of influence over home buying, and brought out some really gross misogyny as more women chimed in to tell him he was incorrect

like the thread at SA could have been him responding 'aw, beans' and getting people in to help and then continue the DIY thread and it would have been fine, and wouldn't have been preserved in the comedy goldmine for posterity, almost nobody would remember it

but he kept throwing out shit like 'if you're not going to be CONSTRUCTIVE then don't criticize me!' because he wasn't acknowledging that people weren't being mean to be mean, that 'no, stop, wait, don't!' isn't criticism, it is an attempt to arrest your forward momentum on making a really bad mistake!

and he just kept doubling down, which is just bait for places like Something Awful.

that's more why the bathroom is notorious, although it's become 'look at this ugly bathroom', which really wasn't the original point (although that was part of the thread much later on down the road), it was more of a 'get a load of this guy' situation.

what is the child annihilating zipline

in 2010, a camp counselor goon logged on to the somethingawful forums asking for help with the zipline he build from scratch, and with no engineering knowledge, that didn’t seem to be working right. when he tested it with a sandbag, it continued to gather speed during the entirety of the 143 foot drop (19 degree slope) until it slammed into the wooden platform at the bottom at a speed of 65mph, presumably creating a child paste that would have to be scraped off to be sent home. there were pictures.

[roguishcat]

What books don't teach you (or how to date a wickedly charming vampire if all you know about dating is purely theoretical)

Summary: Unfortunately, having enough smutty fiction to sink a ship did not prepare you for dating (were you even dating?) Astarion. A shy/inexperienced Reader x Astarion fic where both do everything wrong but somehow end up getting it right. Set in Act II (before Astarion's confession).

Rating: Exlicit (MNDI)

Tags: MNDI, 18+, NSFW, Humour, Romance, Angst, Smut, Smut with feels, Smut with some plot, Oral (Male receiving), Masturbation (female), Vaginal Fingering, Praise kink, They are bad at communicating, Inexperienced Reader, Astarion is bad at feelings

Pairing: Astarion x female Reader (You)

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: It's spring cleaning time, so let's get those WIPs done! 😊 This is my first finished WIP for @thekindredcollective BG3 Spring Cleaning! Should have spent more time on this before posting, but my laptop is acting up again and I want to post the story whilst I can still use it (I hate writing/editing on my phone). Comments and constructive criticism are appreciated. Please tell me if you notice mistakes and typos! Hope you enjoy the story! ❤️❤️

You wanted to put him in your mouth. There. You said it. Well, admitted it to yourself silently in the dead of night whilst completely hidden under the blanket. Which was pretty much the same thing. Sort of.

You and Astarion had already done... it. The horizontal tango, that is. Twice even!

And you were very proud of how cool, smooth and put-together you were during those times. (Astarion immediately saw through your act, of course, but that was beside the point!)

Because no matter how inexperienced you were, you remembered both nights with hot cheeks and gentle warmth blooming to life in your chest every time you thought about the time you spent enjoying each other. Prior to meeting Astarion, you had no idea that bodies and tongues could even be used in such a manner. You read about it, of course. And being a voracious reader, especially when it came to certain literature, you had a general idea of what happened between consenting adults in the bedroom. And forests, beaches, caves, country houses, castle dungeons and so on.

But to actually experience it yourself! No matter how much you let your imagination run wild, to actually have someone, and a very handsome someone at that, outdo anything you imagined had been life-changing. You had a wonderful, toe-curling, lip-biting, earth-shattering, amazing time. And you really, really wanted to reciprocate.

And therein lay the problem.

The one and only time that you dared to go down on someone, you were told quite explicitly that you were completely shit at it. Absolutely talentless. Beyond terrible. And that put you off trying something like this with anyone ever again. Or so you thought.

Because when you looked at Astarion as he lay on top of you, making you tremble and shake with every movement of his hands on your skin, it made you wonder. Wonder how he would taste. You looked at Astarion and ached. Craved to hear him gasp and moan. Watch him unravel from the skill of your tongue and hands. Because surely if others could learn to do that to other person’s orifices then you… could probably manage to be okay at it.

The thought of your late-night musings becoming reality had your cheeks burning in seconds. You sighed and hit your head on the pillow, knowing that it was an awful, terrible idea.

Astarion was experienced, beautiful, and confident. You were not. Whatever it was that made him decide to be with you in the first place would surely be outweighed by the spectacular way you would screw this up.

You sighed again, this time a deep, long sound that almost emptied your lungs.

You wondered if you could just ask someone. You were sure that at least one of your companions could give you a pointer or two. But Astarion's pointy ears seemed to catch every bit of juicy gossip, every little whisper. He would know of the full extent of your inadequacy and promptly dump you.

No. You needed to keep your embarrassing secret to yourself.

And then you had a eureka moment. Because you realised that you didn't need to ask anyone at all! What you needed was to get Gale distracted enough for you to steal one of his books. Because you were more than certain that recently Gale had come into possession of a very filthy tome that he quickly squirreled away before anyone could notice. The tome that would be your salvation.

And with this comforting thought finally allowing you to relax, you soon found yourself in the arms of Morpheus, your sleep untroubled and filled with pleasant, if a little racy, dreams.

Astarion was... concerned. Yes, he wasn't worried exactly, though he was slowly edging towards that territory. And why? Well, because their level-headed leader started acting in a manner that one could politely refer to as eccentric.

This group was already full of weirdos, and you were pretty much the only one of the lot that one could call the voice of reason. Except lately you seemed to abandon all reason and instead chose to act like a woman gone mad as you made attempt after attempt to steal something from the wizard.

You were so bad at going about it in a discreet manner that it was almost amusing. Gale did not seem to notice, but Astarion knew that the cleric and the gith did, as did Karlach. He was sure that Shadowheart and Karlach had some kind of bet going on, although he did not care to find out exactly what the terms were.

Initially, he had a fleeting thought that you were trying to get into Gale's tent for amorous reasons. That you decided to take a new lover. Astarion tried not to examine the sick feeling that twisted his gut at the thought of you leaving his bedroll cold to frolic into another person's tent. Because there wasn't any sick feeling in the first place and even if there was, he could quite reasonably blame it on indigestion.

But then he realised that you tried to sneak into Gale's tent only when the wizard was otherwise occupied, usually right about the time he was preparing meals and seemed to be engrossed in whatever he was trying to make edible.

Either way, Astarion was confused, bewildered by why you doggedly chose to pursue something that the wizard had come to possess. Your tenacity and grim persistence would be amusing had it been anyone else that was acting batshit crazy. Alas, it was the one companion that Astarion bet on to stay sane throughout the whole ordeal. And that just wouldn’t do. Not that he cared, per se. But you being predictable would definitely make things easier in the long run. Astarion had a plan, after all, and he was sticking to the said plan no matter what.

A smile curved the elf's lips as you once again failed to infiltrate enemy territory and were forced to retreat rather hastily - and inelegantly - almost smashing into a nearby tree as you made your escape. That didn't go unnoticed by the cleric, who whispered something to Karlach, making the tiefling almost spit her drink out as she tried, and failed, to suppress a laugh.  

It was at that moment that Astarion decided that he would help your poor pitiful self to steal whatever it was that you wanted to get from the wizard's tent. Because it would probably take one or two more failed attempts for Gale to notice, and that would mean that you would abandon your plan, and Astarion would never find out what it was that was worth all this trouble. Not that he cared as such. But it could be some powerful artifact, or a tome filled with nefarious spells. And if he knew what it was, he was almost certain he could convince you to share.

Later that day, as you positioned yourself strategically just outside Gale's tent, Astarion strolled up to the wizard with an air of casual boredom. Gale was busy preparing supper, chopping away at some vegetables and whatever else they managed to scavenge. Astarion snorted his disapproval at the scents emitting from the cooking pot.

"Something on your mind?" Gale chose that moment to speak up.

"Hm? Oh, no. Pay no attention to me whatsoever. I'm just pondering a dilemma of mine, and I am afraid I might not come up with an answer."

"I see, well, may I be of assistance?"

Inclining his head ever so slightly, Astarion could see you slink towards the open flap of Gale's tent, taking a step back to be swallowed up by the darkness.

Astarion smirked.

“I am not certain that you can, wizard. You see, this issue of mine would need a mind that is truly voracious. A certain someone that can unravel the unravellable. Solve the unsolvable.”

“And are you insinuating that I am lacking in this department?”

“Oh, no! I would never insinuate anything.”

Astarion heard something crash, the sound followed by a serious of muffled curses and something that that to a keen ear would seem like you fell over and were now struggling to extricate yourself from something or another. This level of clumsiness was so you that Astarion felt something akin to fondness.

Gale was about to turn his head when Astarion said, “I would not insinuate anything that I could state outright.”

That did it. Because Gale could take needling and teasing when it came to anything except his intellectual prowess.

“I’ll have you know that back at Blackstaff Academy I was often consulted on all matters of things! And often my council was the only one worth listening to! Now, tell me exactly what is troubling you. I am more than certain that I will solve whatever issue this is.”

Astarion saw you emerge with something hidden under your shirt. He didn't know why you bothered, it was more than obvious that it was a book of some sort. Though perhaps you were hoping to conceal the cover. Astarion's nostrils flared.

You were excited, embarrassed and a little aroused. An interesting combination to have to some light reading. 

“Astarion? Are you listening?”

Ah, the wizard was still talking. How he loved listening to the sound of his own voice! Honestly, some could really benefit from working on their people skills.

“You know, perhaps being in the presence of such intelligence was enough. I just thought of what to do. No advice needed.”

Gale blinked.

“I see. I’m glad that you are no longer troubled.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. We are all a little troubled around here. Anyway, must dash.”

And with that Astarion was gone in a flurry of silk and smiles that didn’t reach his eyes. Making his way out of camp, he pursued his target with predatory skill. It wasn’t like you were making it difficult to find you. A broken branch here, a piece of fabric snagged on a twig there. Astarion soon found himself on the riverbank, you not noticing his approach as you were deeply engrossed in your reading.     

"Hm.. Where is the part about.. Aha! Here we go. 'His throbbing member brushed against her skirts'. No, I must have skipped too far ahead."

Astarion bit his lip to keep himself from laughing. This is what you were after all this time? Stealing a dirty, scandalous novel? Surely he provided you with enough entertainment for you not to require that type of books? Who knew you were such a deviant underneath that prim and proper facade? How absolutely wonderful.

"Yes! Finally! 'She took him into her shaking hands and pressed a gentle kiss to his pulsing shaft, her eyes asking the question her lips could not form.'"

Your eyes shone with a victorious if somewhat maniacal glint, there was a leaf in your hair, teeth worrying your bottom lip as you read the next passage with feverish intensity. 

Perhaps it was time to make himself known. Astarion stepped on a tree branch, putting some force into it to make it snap. 

You squeaked and whipped your head around to look at him, eyes comically round and large, cheeks flushed and rosy. And it was at this moment that you lost your grip on the book, making it slip out of your fingers. You tried grabbing it but it was too late. Whatever escapades the Duke and the debutante got up to were lost to you, swallowed up hungrily by the river. 

"Well, I suppose now we will never know if he sheathed his sword to the hilt. Though perhaps it was more of a dagger?"

Astarion did not expect a pathetic little sob to be your reply.

"Darling?"

He crouched beside you, thumb wiping a stray tear that rolled down your cheek.

"It was supposed to be a surprise for you," you whispered, making a point not to look at him.

"Dearest, this is not the first novel of that sort that I've read and I am sure that it won't be the last."

"No- I- I wasn't talking about the book. I was trying to use it as a guide, of sorts."

"Well, I'm not sure if taking one too many bumps to your lovely head affected your memory, but we've already had sex. Twice, in fact."

"Yes,” you wiped your face with a swift, jerky movement, “but I wanted to do something. And I wanted to do it well."

Astarion chuckled as he realised what you were talking about. He had his suspicions when he had his wicked way with you, seeing the way you'd eye that particular part of his anatomy before quickly looking away. The elf lowered himself gracefully onto the ground and sat beside you, pulling you towards himself and letting your head rest on his shoulder.

"You've never-"

"Once. It wasn’t good. I mean I-I wasn’t very good," you admitted with a wince.

Astarion knew that he had to tread very, very carefully. It was glaringly obvious that you were inexperienced when it came to sex, even if you tried to act confident when you slept together. When he had stepped out from behind the tree the night when he bedded you for the first time, you walked towards him like a newborn doe, legs unsteady, hands shaking, a bright blush on your cheeks. You were excited and nervous in equal measures, and that made him both irritated and intruiged.

Therefore, Astarion chose not to tease you but took a deep breath, swallowed whatever witty comment was on his tongue, and placed a gentle, lingering kiss on your temple.

Bringing his lips to your ear, Astarion spoke in a low tone, "Darling, make of it what you will, but a student is only as good as their teacher."

Hearing your heartbeat speed up, Astarion smirked. You turned so you were looking straight at him.

Fingers clasping your chin, he pulled you up enough to brush cool lips against your own, tongue flicking out to wet soft flesh.

"Would you like me to teach you?”

“Yes.”

“Then be a good girl for me and follow my instructions.”

Having spotted a rock with a deep indent that would allow one to take a seat somewhat comfortably, Astarion rose and moved towards it, motioning you to follow.

“On your knees, my sweet,” he purred, undoing the laces of his trousers as he took his place. Looking up, Astarion’s eyes widened as he found that you were completely bare from the waist up, your exposed breasts level with his crotch.

"Feeling a little warm?" He cleared his throat.

"No. This is plan B."

"I need you to explain your thinking there."

"Well, if you don’t enjoy my mouth, these might come in handy."

After all, you've read enough fiction over the years to know how one can make use of this particular part of your anatomy.

"You mean-"

"Yes."

"I see."

Astarion felt himself grow harder still and willed his rebellious cock to cool it. He was supposed to be the one doing the seducing. Not the one who was most certainly a virgin mere weeks ago. Except suddenly you seemed to turn the tables on him and he, the suave and experienced rogue that bedded thousands, wanted you to touch him. The fact that he did not feel the usual wave of self-loathing and disgust was odd yet very welcome.

Your hands brushed against the skin of his thighs, so warm and gentle. So unlike the touch he was used to. Astarion looked into your eyes and felt himself relax at seeing the genuine excitement you were trying to be less obvious about.

It was sweet. You were sweet. You wouldn’t hurt him, or force him, of belittle him. And knowing with the utmost certainty that you'd stop if he asked you to made Astarion put his hand on top of yours. His cool hand gripping yours gently, Astarion delighted in the way you swallowed nervously when he slowly guided your hands up.

"Start gently. No teeth."

"Wasn’t going to use them."

"Don't try to take it all in at once."

"Don’t think I can anyway."

"And darling?" Astarion said, noticing the intense resolve on your face. "Please don't overthink this."

"Okay," you nodded.

And then you put your tongue on him and licked a long, wet trail, giving the tip an experimental suck. Astarion's brain promptly short-circuited. The second suck was a touch more insistent, Astarion making a strangled sound that was most definitely not a whine. Emboldened by his reactions, you took more of him in, moving your mouth up and down the shaft, trying to establish a pace.

Astarion's eyes slammed shut and he bit his bottom lip. He had forgotten how good this could feel. Hells, he could not for the (un)life of him remember the last time someone offered to pleasure him in such a way. His experiences of sex, at least from what he could remember, were all about giving at best. At worst? Well...

Astarion scowled, willing himself to stay in the present, focusing on the licks and sucks, and your hand stroking the base. The sensitive head pulsed from the attention. Astarion groaned when he felt your fingers wrap around the base, stroking back and forth along the section where your mouth couldn’t reach. His eyes rolled upwards, his hips moving involuntarily to meet your mouth.

And then his dick hit the back of your throat, making you gag. It was then that Astarion remembered that he was meant to be instructing and you, in your eagerness, had to be guided enough not to hurt yourself. Perhaps your attention had to be otherwise occupied.

"Darling," Astarion purred, pushing you back gently, making his cock slide out of your mouth with a wet sound. "There is something else I'd like you to do for me."

"Sure, I'd do anything to you."

"You mean for me?"

You shrugged, making him bark a surprised laugh. Oh, you were fun! Perhaps not always on purpose, but still. Much more fun than most, at least in his experience.

"I'd like you to take the rest of your clothes off and touch yourself."

At your dubious look, he leaned forward and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I'd enjoy seeing you pleasure yourself whilst you pleasure me."

"Um..."

"Good girl."

You obeyed, undoing the ties with shaking fingers and taking your clothes off, nervous yet giddy with excitement. Looking up, you saw Astarion watching you intently, a lazy half smile on his face.

He thought he was all that, did he? Well, you read enough naughty novels that you purchased from Sharess' - hood on, not making eye contact and trying to get out there as fast as possible - to have plenty of theoretical knowledge about how these things got done! And sure, perhaps you didn’t have lovers before Astarion. But you had years to explore your body well enough to know what got you going.

Astarion watched as you placed your hand on your breast and then trailed your fingers down, the descent slow and teasing. As a rule, Astarion didn’t enjoy seeing others pleasure themselves. He enjoyed feeling what little power he had over people, enjoyed how they would grovel and writhe just so he'd grant them a moment of bliss, enjoyed seeing them say and do whatever it was that he wanted because please, please, please.

Sex was a tool. Sex was a weapon. Sex was a way to get what he wanted. And he would damn well use all the tricks in his arsenal to have you where he wanted you.

Except a peculiar thing happened. He actually wanted you. Which was becoming more apparent by the second as your fingers pushed your underwear aside to bare yourself enough for Astarion to be getting quite a show.

He could see, smell and all but taste the way your body reacted to touch and to being watched. It made his fangs itch. And then you threw your head back, baring your neck ever so deliciously as you let out a wanton moan. His body jerked towards you, and it took all his willpower not to sink his teeth into inviting flesh.

No, he'd always ask before biting.

"Darling, may I?" Astarion said in a guttural voice he barely recognised.

Your 'yes' came out as an almost plosive sound that was half breathed and half forced out. He sighed appreciatively, so close to getting what he craved. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he put his hands on your shoulders and leaned in, nose trailing along your neck, tongue lapping at the twin marks that would most definitely become permanent. The thought had his hips thrusting forward, cock hard and leaking.

Not wasting another moment, Astarion sank his fangs into your neck, pulling you towards him. He could feel your approaching orgasm, taste your pleasure, making it his own.

"Astarion," you whispered, eyes fluttering shut, the hand not working you into a frensy rising to brush back soft curls. Your feather-light touch on his ears made him groan as he drank, a trail of blood escaping and trickling down between your bodies.

"Astarion I-" the rest was swallowed by his mouth as he crashed his lips against yours. You could taste your blood and then felt his fingers join yours before dipping into you and-oh.

Strong, and sure, and experienced, his fingers had you panting and gasping into his mouth. He moved and you tried to grind against him, but steady hands kept you in place. Your orgasm hit you hard, Astarion not relenting as you rode his fingers.

You two broke apart and Astarion grinned. Yes, judging by your glazed eyes and swollen lips, his plan was working as brilliantly as he hoped.

"Was this fun, my sweet?" He let your head fall onto his shoulder, watching your chest rise and fall as your breath escaped you in wheezing puffs.

"Very," you nodded and licked your lips, trying to steady yourself. "And now it's your turn."

Astarion blinked.

"Mine?"

"Yes. I mean, unless you didn’t like it."

Astarion found that for the first time in his life he was unsure what to say. Because he didn’t actually expect you to continue. Because he was absolutely certain that you just wanted to play with his cock for a while before chasing your own release.

"I did like it," he admitted, looking away in a manner that could be described as uncharacteristically shy, "but you don't have to-"

"I want to," you interrupted. "I wanted to for a long time. If you allow it, that is," you murmured into the elf’s ear, sending a delicious shudder through him.

Your earnest expression had Astarion considering it. That and the fact your parted, moist lips looked wickedly inviting. You wrapped your fingers around his cock, applying gentle pressure as you gave it a few slow teasing strokes.

"You up for it, lover?" You teased.

"Hah! That’s terrible. Don’t do puns, dear.”

“Because you’d much rather I do you?”

“You know that terrible jokes account for one in two murders?”

“Is that a real statistic?”

“It might as well be.”

Looking at you, Astarion felt a wave of something that another, better emotionally equipped being, would call fondness. And then he felt a wave of something that he recognised all too well. He closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the way your hand moved over his hardness. And then he felt warm heat of your mouth and your appreciative sigh as you were finally given free rein, getting to do whatever you wanted to him as Astarion submitted to your ministrations.  

He knew that he wouldn’t last long. Not with your blood coursing through him and the warmth from your mouth seeping into his flesh and electrifying his nerves. He tried not to arch his back, seeking more friction, more of you, just more of it all. Because- hells!

You chose that moment to palm his balls, rolling them teasingly as Astarion fought with himself not to thrust and roll his hips. His breath caught in his throat and he released a needy, half-chocked sound as you slowed to trace a lazy path up the spit-sleeked hardness, sending already sensitive nerves into overdrive.

“Darling, I won’t last long,” Astarion whimpered.

Your hum of appreciation just about sent him over the edge.

And then you went faster, as if getting greedier by the minute. Astarion’s words came out as whimpering pleas that did not make sense to his own ears. He gasped and whimpered as his pleasure built.

Whimpers turned into groans and those turned into silence as his mouth opened, deadly fangs flashing,  as your other hand ventured further to find that spot and pressed into it with each movement. His orgasm swelled and broke, Astarion not even having the chance to ask where you’d want him to cum. You tried to swallow, but were rather unprepared, almost chocking then pulling back enough to let what you couldn’t manage trail down your hand and his body.

Astarion took greedy gulps of air that he didn’t need, eyes still closed, feeling boneless and lazy, and not wanting to move. He could feel you shift and next you started wiping him clean with a soft cloth, movements slow and careful. This wasn’t the first time you cared for him in such a way, but he still didn’t expect you to want to do something like that, not really sure how to react. And so Astarion chose to just stay silent and enjoy it while it lasted. Because for one reason or another, he was certain that whatever this was would not last.

“Did- Did I do well?”

He chuckled, “Isn’t it obvious? Or perhaps you’d like me to sing praises and commend you on your skill like they would in those novels you like, hm?”

One ruby eye cracked open and Astarion gave you a slow, languid smile.

“If you were in my novel, you’d definitely be more gallant,” you huffed.

“Apologies. I’ll try better next time.”

“Next time? You mean I get to do it again?”

“Can’t imagine why you are the one excited about it, but yes. You get to do it again.”

Your victorious, brilliant smile had him looking away, the tips of his ears tinged pink. He felt conflicted about the attention, confused as to why you’d feel so obviously happy at him being satisfied.

Astarion did not like not being able to figure people out. Not being able to predict what one would do, not knowing what came next had the elf stiffening involuntarily.

Red eyes watched you intently as you put your smallclothes on. The vampire was eerily still as you stumbled about, suddenly bashful and trying to cover yourself up as quickly as possible as you threw furtive looks in his direction. Then he took a breath, as if suddenly remembering that some would deem it a necessity and willed his body to obey him. Lips curving, a smile plastered on his face, Astarion rose in a smooth, elegant movement, still completely bare and seemingly not bothered by being nude out in the open.

A finger under your chin, he turned your head and pecked your lips.

“Thank you, darling. I had a simply marvellous time. How good of you to treat me so.”

His words didn’t have the desired effect. Instead of melting into a pile of feminine goo, as one should have done when being in the proximity of a gorgeous creature, you frowned and nodded.

“Yes. I’m glad. But I think I have to go.”

“Really? Have to?”

“No. I want to go.”

Astarion let his hand drop and watched you retreat with surprising haste, confused about what had just happened. It felt as if he had crossed some unspoken line, but he was unsure when and where he did so. Astarion dressed quickly, with jerky movements, tugging his shirt on angrily. Anger came naturally. Anger was easier. He did not know who he was angry at – you or himself – but somehow it made him feel better. Taking a different path to the one you chose to make your retreat, Astarion ran. Hunting something down and tearing into its throat with his fangs. Watching it thrust about as he bled it dry. He needed to at least sate his hunger if he couldn’t settle his mind.

Evening came and went with neither you nor Astarion uttering a word to each other. The next day was much the same. You communicated through others, but never directly.

On day six, you approached Astarion. He was reading, casually reclining against a tree, the wind playing with his curls and making them dance so beautifully that you almost missed a step and had to quickly catch yourself. Falling forward and kissing the ground would definitely put you in a state not conducive to having any conversation at all.

Taking a deep breath, you decided to just go for it. There was very little you could do to make the situation worse.

"I'm sorry," you blurted out.

"Beg pardon?" Astarion looked up with a cold expression on his handsome face.

Not a good start, but you decided to soldier on.

"I want to apologise."

"Do you know what you are apologising for?" Astarion closed his book and set it aside without breaking eye contact.

"I'm not sure exactly. I don't know what I did that day by the river, to make you look at me with such disgust-"

Astarion made a noise at the back of his throat which could be interpreted in many ways, and you took it as confirmation of your worst fears.

"And I don't know how to fix it! And maybe a simple apology isn't enough, but I couldn’t come up with anything better."

You had thought of how this conversation could go at length, tossing and turning late into the night. You had hoped to sound less pathetic, less needy. But perhaps being honest was the best way to go about it.

"I envy your easy confidence, you know. I never had that. Not once in my life. And it's not about my looks. I just don’t feel like I have the guts to talk about my wants. And I've never felt that I even wanted to… until you. And I'm not asking you to understand or to accept it. But I can't bear you to look at me that way again, like you can't wait to get away from me. So, I want to apologise. But I need you to tell me what happened,” you swallowed nervously, “please."

There was an awkward pause, a moment where Astarion didn't know what to do, what to say when faced with such sincerity and raw emotion. How would he even begin to explain what happened when he had spent centuries trying to avoid thinking about it for his personal sanity?

"I can't,” he began carefully, brows furrowed, fingers twitching. “At least I'm not sure if I can. But,” he paused, word coming out breath-heavy, “that, whatever that was, had nothing to do with you."

"Oh.” You looked away, whatever courage you summoned earlier used up at this point. “I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions."

Astarion rose in one swift movement. You were a breath away from each other, and yet not touching.

"I meant what I said that day. I did enjoy it. Being with you feels... like something else. Something new."

Untarnished, unspoilt.

"But it did bring up some less than pleasant memories."

"I'm sorry."

"Will you stop apologising, infuriating woman?" Astarion demanded sharply.

"I'm so-"

Astarion knew only one effective way of silencing you, so he pressed his lips firmly against yours, one hand finding itself in your hair, the other on the swell of your hip. You felt a tingle dance up your spine when Astarion coaxed your lips to open, his tongue slipping in to tangle with yours. You moaned into the kiss, the tension and worries of the past six days melting away until you felt like you were floating.

Remembering that you did, in fact, need to breathe, Astarion broke the kiss.

"No more apologies," Astarion admonished you gently. "Especially when you've done nothing wrong."

You nodded silently and quiet enveloped you both, Astarion looking at you with warm intensity as you ran your fingers through his soft, silver curls.

"And now, my dear," Astarion decided to finally ask you the question that has been on his mind for the past six days, "I believe we are overdue for a discussion of a different type. Because I simply can't go on another moment without knowing where you learned of plan B."

And this was when you told Astarion about your most prized possession - the library in the basement of your home with enough tomes to sink a ship. Astarion had never been more eager to get back to the Gate.

He simply had to survive long enough to see this. And then have you read to him from each one. Preferably naked.

💖 Tag list 💖:

@ninty900, @ayselluna, @dajeong, @ravenswritingroom,

@misscrissfemmefatale,

@clazberryk, @anukulee,

@preciouslittlebhaalbae,

@sh3rl0ck, @mellowenthusiast2299,

@fleetstreet78, @starlight-rogue,

@obsessedwhyyes, @arzen9, @hellethil,

@nyx-knox, @vividiana, @khywren,

@maeryls-journal

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

second chance. l Frankie "Catfish" Morales

Summary: you broke up after a quarrel, now you've met again

Warnings: angst, mentioning drug addiction, crying, breakup, mentioned Santi, some fluff at the end

A/N: I had to clear my head. I'm not proud of it, but I had to write something. Be gentle. Thank you for being here and reading these scribbles.

your feedback is very important to me and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. I secretly hope you like this story.🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

[my masterlist][Frankie Morales masterlist]

"Hi, you look good."

You didn't expect those words, but you knew that voice so well that your heart skipped a beat. A strange feeling filled your body, as if someone had suddenly stripped you of all your insides and left you empty. Even though the pub was filled with people, suddenly it was just you and him.

"Hi, Frankie." You replied, trying to keep your voice neutral. "You look good too."

A small smile appeared on his lips, he probably realized that it was just a polite greeting. A greeting for those who know each other. But you were more than that, right?

You didn't expect to meet him in this pub that evening. It was a strange assumption, because after all, you lived in the same city. However, when you break up with someone, and that breakup was like a hurricane and an earthquake in one, you don't usually try to meet them again soon.

And so it was with you and Frankie. Almost a year ago, maybe a little longer. And now he was standing in front of you. In a clean shirt and dark jeans, in a cap you knew so well. Brown eyes stared at you with the same attentiveness as before. He really looked good. Like he had a good night's sleep, eaten a few solid meals and... was clean.

"Do you come here often?" he asked, he noticed you looking around the crowd of people looking for someone with your eyes. "Um, are you here with someone?"

"With a friend." you replied. "Do you remember Sarah?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I remember. A girls' night out?"

"Something like that. But no, I don't come here often. I don't have much free time."

Frankie smiled, and a part of your brain woke up sending you a signal - you loved his smile so much.

"I always thought you worked too much." he said, winking at you.

"That's not it." you looked down and there was silence for a moment.

You felt embarrassed by his presence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. You had worked through all the bad feelings you had when you broke up, and you actually missed him a little. Did it make sense? You had broken your hearts, but you still missed him. Was it masochistic?

"I've been going to school for a while now. You know, I told you about it. Back in the day..."

Frankie's eyes widened with interest as he remembered what you were talking about. "No, shit! Really? That's great! You've wanted to do this for a long time, so good for you."

A warm feeling crept up the back of your neck, but you smiled widely. "Thank you."

Frankie bit his lip and nodded in appreciation. "I've always thought you were incredibly smart. So that's what's taking up so much of your time now? That and work?"

"Yeah. Sometimes I go days without a proper meal or... I'm sorry, that must bore you."

"No! Go on, darling."

The sweet nickname slipped out of his mouth naturally, and it was even more natural when he took your elbow and led you a little to the side so you could talk in peace. The smell of his cologne filled your nostrils, you knew it so well. Your body began to react with pleasant excitement to his presence.

"And what about you? How's life?" you asked.

Frankie adjusted his cap and let out a breath. "Good. Quite good." he replied. "I changed companies, and now I have really good conditions."

"That's great."

"Yeah, I think so too."

It was late when he got home, but he could feel something was wrong from the very beginning. All the lights were on, and the noises coming from the bedroom were rather unusual.

Damn it, you should be asleep already. He didn't feel like starting another row, and they filled these walls almost every day. However, he dragged himself down the hallway and gently pushed the door open.

Frankie didn't expect this. There was an open suitcase on the bed. He noticed a bundle of your clothes thrown into it in disarray. The drawers in the dresser and the wardrobe were open.

He cleared his throat and took a step, but at the same moment you came out of the bathroom carrying your cosmetics in your hands. You stood there paralyzed when you saw Frankie in the doorway.

Your eyes were swollen from crying, but there was something else in them. Anger and stubbornness, determination.

"What's going on?" he asked in a slightly hoarse voice.

You lifted your chin slightly. "What does this look like?" you asked as well, quickly approaching the bed and throwing your things into the suitcase. With a graceful movement you closed it "I'm leaving. It's over."

A cold shiver ran down his spine. He took a few more steps and put his hands on his hips watching you struggle with the latches.

"Come on..." Frankie began "It's late. Let's talk about this."

You didn't react. Something inside him boiled and he grabbed the handle of the suitcase, dragging it across the bed towards him.

"Leave it!" you hissed, catching it and holding it "I'm not joking, Frankie! I'm leaving! I've had enough!"

"What this time?" he replied a little too loudly "You're making a scene!"

Before the words left his mouth he already knew he had overdone it. Your eyes widened in a second.

You reached into your pants pocket and after a moment you threw something at him. The small bag bounced off his broad chest and fell silently to the carpet. He recognized it immediately.

"I found it in the car. You must have dropped it last time." you growled.

"It's not like that..."

"Bullshit!" Tears welled up in your eyes. "I've been hearing the same lies for months! I know exactly why you got fired! I wanted to help you, and you promised me you'd never... Ohhh!"

You grabbed the handle of your suitcase and pulled it to the ground, then headed for the door. You pushed past him without letting him grab your arm. Frankie had taken you to the edge. You'd been together for almost two years, and you really loved him. But his addiction was becoming more important than you. You asked, you wanted to help.

The therapist you found for him told you that Frankie had only been to see him three times before he stopped showing up at all. He told you that he went there regularly. Then there were the problems at work and he got fired, he started coming home later and later, and when you were looking for something that had fallen on the floor of your car and you found that damn bag - you already knew.

Your heart was breaking with every step, but you knew that Frankie needed shock therapy. You knew you couldn't...

"Frankie!"

You almost reached the door when you suddenly lost ground under your feet. Strong arms wrapped around your waist and Frankie lifted you up. You started kicking your legs.

"Let me go!" you screamed.

"You're not going anywhere! You can't!" he thundered, putting you down and turning to face him "You have to listen to me, it's not like that..."

"Shut up! You've been lying all this time! All this time!"

"Not when I said I loved you, hermosa."

"Oh! Cut this shit! This isn't love!" your face was full of rage, you wanted to hurt him, to stick a needle in him so hard that it would hurt him for a long time "You just needed someone to clean up the mess after you! Someone to pat you on the head and let you do all this! You needed a pussy you could fuck!"

There was silence. Frankie's hands were gripping your shoulders tightly, his eyes darkened.

"You know that's not true." he finally said.

"Yeah? And what of what you're saying is true? Nothing. Zero. I wanted to help you, but you don't care at all." you jerked away "Let me go, Frankie."

"You have to listen to me..."

"Let me go! Now!"

His fingers loosened and you slipped out of his hands. You grabbed your suitcase again and this time you reached the door.

"I love you." his resigned voice reached your ears.

"I'm not so sure about that anymore."

You took a sip of beer while listening to Frankie. He seemed excited about his new job, and the energy that flowed from him was simply positive. His hand would occasionally brush your arm or wrist as you both burst out laughing, his eyes looking at you with the tenderness you knew from the beginning of your acquaintance.

"I guess I'll have to go back now." You sighed, glancing at your phone. "I have classes tomorrow."

"Do you like it?" he asked, watching you text your friend back, informing her that you had to leave.

"What do you mean?" you looked up at him. Frankie shrugged.

"Your life. Now. Because it seems to me that you're different. More fulfilled? Happier?"

"I don't know, I haven't thought about it to be honest."

He nodded, his hand shyly finding yours. "Can I give you a lift home?"

You agreed. Maybe you shouldn't have, maybe it was a mistake. But Frankie had somehow found his way to your heart, and you didn't want to part ways with him yet.

"When you left..." he began as you drove through the empty streets towards your apartment "It hit me. Really hard."

You clenched your fingers, but you couldn't look in his direction. But Frankie clearly wanted to talk, maybe he had been waiting for this for a really long time and could finally get it all off his chest.

"I drank for three days. I don't remember much from that period. Santi showed up at my place and... He told me something I'll never forget."

You could barely recognize your own voice. "What did he say?"

Frankie cleared his throat. "He said it was all my fault. That I was dragging you down, and you were trying to keep us both afloat the whole time. He also said that if I wanted you back, that if I loved you at all, I should do something about it."

Something tightened your throat and your eyes stung from the tears that were seeping into your eyelids. The car turned, you were already close to your apartment.

"I went to therapy. Santi took me there twice a week. It was a terrible time. He had to take my phone because I wanted to call you every day. I don't know how I managed to get through it without you."

"But you did it." You dared to look at him, a weak smile appeared on his face. "I'm so proud of you, Frankie."

"Thank you."

The car stopped. Your journey ended, and you got out, feeling like your legs were almost giving out under you. You whispered a quiet "thank you" and "I'm glad I saw you, Frankie." and then feeling like your heart almost jumped out of your chest, you headed for the door.

"I still love you."

You closed your eyes. His voice was clear, determined. You stopped, feeling like you could fall apart at any moment.

"Frankie..." you whispered, but he wouldn't let you do more.

He was right behind you now, you could feel the heat radiating from him. Your body reacted to his closeness.

"I knew you'd be at this pub today."

You turned around and looked at him, surprised. Frankie seemed embarrassed, but he continued.

"I met Sarah a while ago. We talked..."

He noticed a small frown between your eyebrows, "She didn't tell me anything..."

Frankie shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shrugged, "I begged her not to tell you. Listen, all this year you were the only thing that kept me alive. I wanted to be clean again, but I also wanted to be able to look you in the eye again. I'm sorry, hermosa... I'm sorry you went through all that with me. It was hell, and you tried so hard to save me."

You couldn't stop the tears that began to flow down your cheeks. You didn't even react when a warm hand touched your cheek and he wiped the tears away with his thumb.

"I still love you, hermosa." Frankie continued. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to stop. But I know I can't expect that from you, not after what I did."

"You hurt me, Frankie..." you sobbed, you saw the pain in his eyes, the same pain you still felt in your heart. "I wanted to save you, I wanted to save us... Maybe I wasn't strong enough?"

"No, it's not like that!" he shook his head, taking your face in both hands. "It wasn't a job for just one person. I understand that now. I'm sorry, I'm sorry I let you down so much."

You instinctively snuggled into his chest. Damn, you missed him so much this year. Almost every day you wondered what was happening to him, or you thought back to the times when everything was fine. There were days when you hated Frankie, when you resented yourself for always having him in your heart. But now you understood - you had to fall apart to understand what was truly important to you.

Frankie stroked your back, repeating silent apologies, and you felt as if all the tension that you had in your body was slowly leaving you.

"You okay?" he asked when you finally pulled away from him, wiping the last tears with your hand and probably completely smudging your mascara.

You nodded, "Yeah. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..."

"Don't apologize, hermosa. You have nothing to apologize for."

There was silence for a moment. But it wasn't an uncomfortable silence, rather one where you were both trying to gather your thoughts. Finally, you were the first to speak.

"I'm so glad you managed to do all this. I'm really proud of you, Frankie. Now... Now your life will be different, better."

"You think so?" he asked, and you looked at him surprised. "I guess you didn't hear what I said earlier. I love you, and I don't know if I'll ever stop. But I know I can't force you to do anything. You listened to me, that's already a lot. Maybe that's all I deserve."

He must have already accepted it, except that he lost you, because before you could answer anything, he slowly moved towards his car. You watched him, feeling your heart pounding in your chest like crazy. You weren't even aware that you had opened your mouth, only the sound of your voice that cut through the silence brought you back to your senses.

"I'm finishing classes tomorrow after three. If you want to go for coffee, or..."

In an instant Frankie turned around "How about for lunch? You'll definitely be hungry, and you said you haven't been eating very well lately."

You smiled and nodded. "Lunch sounds good."

"Wonderful." He smiled too. That damn smile of his.

"So... Are we in touch?"

"Of course, hermosa."

With a slightly calmer heart you disappeared into the building, feeling that the smile didn't leave your face. 

Maybe a second chance really did exist? Maybe you too had a chance for a new beginning...

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[wilmonsfolklore]

Wilmon fic recs!

my health has been shit lately but at least it's given me the time to read a lot of fics, so I thought I'd rec a few!! of course this is a non-exhaustive list and there is so much other beautiful fic out there. also remember to leave comments and kudos if you enjoy any of these!!

here's some of my favourite WIP's that im obsessed with and that brighten my days with their updates <3

like we've never touched before by nonalovesyou - Post season 1 angst in 2025? I'm so happy it exists. Simon gets assigned to tutor Wille in math and they (in a S2 way) awkwardly, inevitably, try to reconnect. Simon's characterisation is incredible, the angst hurts in the best way, and I'm so excited to see it continue.

Hope And Legacy by @malinowaj - Simon and Wille are both pro figure skaters and Simon gets forced to coach Wille by Kristina. Sports AU's have a special place in my heart and this one is just perfect. The way their relationship slowly and organically develops feels so realistic and is incredibly heartwarming. And it's actually gotten me more interested in figure skating, which is fun!!

Even If It's Just Us by queerfrogprince - Wille and Simon reconnect after years to travel Europe together. Wille is grieving, it's messy, it's painful, it hurts, it doesn't shy away from difficult yet important conversations. It's also comforting in a way their relationship kind of inherently is and their natural connection and pull towards each other is so well described. And also, they feel so grounded in every place they visit. I drop everything every time an update comes out.

Change My Mind by @iwouldnevergetintofanfic - Wille comes to Hillerska two years later, Felice wants to date him, and is best friends with Simon. I love Simon and Felice's dynamic in this, and the way Wille keeps subverting Simon's expectations never gets old to me. And Simon finding more of a place at Hillerska is really interesting and fun to read about, it feels really grounded and has those true high school experience-vibes to me. Really excited to see how this one will play out!

come closer and see into the dark by @bigalockwood - Simon and Wille are ghosthunters who work together and care a little bit too much for each other to be professional. There's angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, tension, everything you could ever want. The way their personalities got so perfectly influenced by the world they're in is impeccable and I could talk about it for hours. A masterpiece.

land between our bodies by @phneltwrites - Wille and Simon don't get back together at the end of S3, instead they start to fake date. But this is so, so, much more than that. It explores Simon's character in a way that has made me actually understand him better, the writing is gorgeous, it has one of my favourite OC's of all time, and the way the inevitability and yet the active choice of Wille and Simon's relationship plays into everything here... It hurts and it is so good.

Et c'est le but! by @piebingo - Simon moves across the world to play hockey and live with a host family, Wille's of course. There's only one chapter of this so far but the premise of this is so exciting, and the first Wilmon interaction had me invested already. Really looking forward to reading more of this!

Running With Wolves by @enjoythesilentworld - I'm kind of cheating by putting this one in because I've only read the first chapter but I am already so invested. I never knew the YR fandom needed their own crime novel but this made me realise we so do. Detective Simon, crimeboss Wille, an intricate and incredibly developed plot and so so so much tension. It doesn't get better than that.

And also, because I couldn't bear leaving these out, a few finished works that I really really enjoyed reading!!

Moon go down (do it again) by @skibasyndrome - Wille and Simon in Simon's dorm a few months into meeting and their first uni semester. This has been living in my head since I first read it. The atmosphere, the writing, the quietness of the scene and the loudness of their emotions, the sweetness of the moment. It's so perfectly captured and I want to be in it forever. I'm so happy to have this fic to read whenever I want some comfort.

Take A Punt by @gulliblelemon - Wille and Simon connect in a UK university town. I loved following along as this was posted. It's lighthearted and cute, and it's adorable and fun how Wille is so immediately mesmerised by Simon. But there's also some honest and emotional conversations, and the awkwardness of the transition from accidently spending time together to doing it very much on purpose. Perfect for a pick me up after a tough day.

Never Not You by @pagegirlintraining - Twelve years after the sex tape, Wille and Simon are best friends but have moved on romantically. Or have they?? I was lucky enough to binge this fic when it was finished because oh my god I don't think I could've managed to wait with how invested I was. The fact that this fic had both pov's added so much and puts you right into both of their headspaces. Characterisation is incredible and the dynamic is so Wilmon but has also clearly grown up with them. It's exceptionally painful and messy, but just like with their relationship, it is more than worth it.

[beingnotseeming]

you know i genuinely miss tumblr and the connectedness of having mutuals that there’s a closeness with even if y’all never actually dm or really talk but you show up in each other’s notifications all the time and there’s just a beautiful familiarity

and with that said i also miss when ask games were more prominent so definitely wanna put some fun/interesting questions together and post em in the future

[illegiblehandwriting1]

fyi i swear something's going on w/ legend, neither he nor wars are emotionless i promise, they're both just mentally ill but in different ways. leg sees problem. ignores feelings. fixes problem. (can't fix the problem.) wars sees problem. saw problem wrong. realizes what he did. wants to take it back. (can't take it back.) Also if y'all are disappointed about their arcs, sorry? i guess? point isn't them though, the point is that it's an aftermath story. If i can stuff in more bonus themes within the theme then that's a huge plus (emotionally repressed explorer leg, wwI vet wars yeet)

anyhoo bear with me, Things are Happening. Setup is occurring. and Hylia fans I swear I won't insult her forever, she's actually pretty chill.

writing hard. halp

[ifyourereadingthisblinktwice]

i need to stop forgetting things exist the fucking second they leave my field of vision. why is is impossible for two things to occupy my mind at once especially when im tired. like. i feel like a sim. i feel like actions are being canceled and i just. move on. and completely forget what i was doing moments before. i fucking hate it

[chatterbox-juice]

GOVERNMENTS! LEADERSHIPS! WOO!! i hate politics but Jamaa having a flag (last time I checked) suggests that there's some type of government or organization right?? like, yeah the jammatians could've just joined together and said something like "we stand together forever" but no. nah. no thank you. SO, i haven't thought about fully implementing this yet, but i kinda want to? hear me out; the lands of Jamaa have different pseudo-governments and cultures. there's only so much you can do in a game that [was] focused about educating kids the alphas don't count here k? Jamaa Township has a council-based "government;" the alphas make decisions. Township is a jack-of-all-trades thing, anyone from anywhere lives there, so the culture is one big loving doting hug of complete fuckery. Nothing makes sense except the things that do. A leopard runs the news station alongside a penguin. A great horned owl is playing the orchestra on top of the diamond shop. Jam Mart is always empty, a room filled with nothing but pillows exists, it's always crowded and nobody knows personal space even if it gutted them. It just makes sense. Appondale and Kimbara, which are in a territory dispute in my rewrite, both have a vague government structure following the same thing; battle. Appondale and Kimbara both LOVE battle, but in different ways. Appondale, and every other land, by default, also has the alphas that live there in charge (ex. Atlas and his pride, Olive, Biff, etc.) Outside of that "official" government, it's a chieftain system. Tribes in Appondale are somewhat isolated. News gets around, but everyone wants to be left alone outside of events. A gathering for something and other happens, Appondalians (?) celebrate and build camaraderie, and then the camaraderie is basically forgotten about when they retreat to their respective tribes, families, etc. Kimbara, being a smaller land in my rewrite, dabbles in military aristocracy. Protection is NEEDED, and since Kimbara is so bare, warlords are celebrated instead of regular chieftains. Tactical brilliance on the battlefield is what earns you respect. If you have a good sturdy build in Kimbara, use it! They're probably more interconnected because of this. Not necessarily hosting meetings per say, but maybe just little things, like marriages between different tribes. Castes most likely exist in families because of this, we'll see.

Being a warlord's offspring isn't earning you any leverage in Kimbara; blood is as thick as water until it's on the ground. Meritocracy but not really but actually kind of.

In Appondale, blood means everything, to the point of family heads being the ones who call the shots for the land, especially noticeable in Atlas' pride, where obviously the males/head of the family is in charge.

also here's proof about my au's map im transferring it to digital rn

[fushitoru]

helloooo i literally ADOREEE your writing and have read ALL of your jjk works istg!!! i was wondering if you had any recs for any series? ive been in a slump lately and i rlly wanna read some new fics but cant find any :((

oh i gotchu. all of these are NSFW (unless otherwise indicated), well written, and untragic ending (uhhh unless i remember wrong, some of these i read a long time ago) because i'm picky and a pussy.

completed

gojo satoru

convergence theory (ao3)

canon au, marriage of convenience au. tension is well written, and gojo is a little shit lke he would be in canon. beautiful and yummy characterization of him as the complex character he is.

shame on me by @starmapz

canon au. i love how gojo is written, and i love trish's writing style, lol. reader has a curse inside her, like sukuna is inside yuji, and gojo comes to take her to jjt. it's very well written the yearning >

games and matches by @lostfracturess

modern au, dad's best friend au. AHHH HE'S SOSOSO FINE IN THIS like i need him so bad. i just love reader's inner conflict and also the drama. i need dilf gojo <3

pandora's box by @c0pkiller

priest au. it's just so interesting to see them battle their impulses and what their religion has told them to do. the pining is chef's kiss, and satoru is realllyyy sweet in this one. i didn't know what to expect when i was reading it but wow it was very, very well written.

moonlight (ao3)

canon au, mating bond au. sort of omega verse but not really. the sexual tension is INSANE and it's genuinely so well written. the angst is delicious and the comfort that follows is even more delicious.

family formation by @dellalyra

found family au in canon universe. i love this one, super fluffy and well written. it's super domestic, and very comforting. i love gojo (as a father and daddy :p)

ukiyo (ao3)

secret marriage au in canon. super flufy as well baha gojo is adorbs :3

baby steps by @lemonlover1110

pregnancy au, and if i remember correctly canon au. the tea in this is crazyyy actually, and i felt the angst as gojo and reader grappled with the pregnancy. i loved the ending, it felt so rewarding <3

nanami kento

inflitration by @pseudowho

canon au, fake marriage au. i loved the pining in this. It had a lot of my favorite tropes, including forced proximity, the classic making out to avoid getting caught, and fake marriage (to overthrow a cult). also haitch writes this man beautifully so ik it was going to a banger

strangers in love by @ayyy-pee

exes to lover au, and the angst hurts really good. they make up very well by the end and i love this series a lottt. lexi writes conflicts out so beautifully, and im so in love. the end had me on my toes but i was so glad nanami pulled thru <3

your best friend's brother by @delirious-donna

modern au, best friend's brother au. the humor is done amazingly well, and their writing style is amazing. The sexual tension is actually INSANE there were times I was screaming at them to fuck because of the chemistry they had :3

toji fushiguro

unscripted (ao3) by @ryowriten / @kasukuna

modern au, toji's a erotic va in this. ITS SO FUNNy and megumi is super super silly. reader is so me coded (she's a loser basically) and toji is super hot. the sexual tension is amazing and it feels like reading a rom com.

sukuna ryomen

hesitance by @yenayaps

modern au, gym employees au SO FLUFFFYYY READER IS ME. i love sukuna like this, where he's so down bad. the ending is sooo sweeet it'll make you cry

defiance by @yenayaps

heian era au. GRAAHHHHHH THIS ONE WAS SO SWEET IT'S SO CUTE LIKE THE ENDING MADE ME CRY BC IT WAS SO SWEET. everyone needs to read this one, i love heian era aus like this

ongoing (BUT i have very strong faith that they are going to be finished because the authors are active with frequent updates. otherwise i'll kms live on camera)

what you know by @starmapz

sukuna x reader college AU. SUPER self indulgent, sukuna is such a cutie. i would even say found family au because sukuna takes care of his brothers and AHHH IT'S ADORABLEEE <3 it's also really steamy bc sukuna is SO HOT so :333

kickoff by @celestie0

gojo x reader, college AU. oh my god i love this series gojo is so lore accurate if he was a college student in 2024. he's just ughhhh so well written you will have such a crush on him. also reader is a baddie too what can i say

in holy matrimony by @celestie0

gojo x reader, modern au, fake marriage au. the banter in this is BEAUTIFUL it's so fucking funny. it's sort of like a rom com, and the angst is just written so beautifully. reader is just a girl :(

motherhood and matrimony by @alygator77

gojo x reader, fake marriage au ceo au. AHH THIS FIC IS MY GUILTY PLEASURE. please im always on my toes with this one, reader's a single mom and her son's interaction w gojo are sooo cute. gojo best dad :(

controller by @yenayaps

sukuna x reader, ceo au. i haven't gotten the chance to fully read this one but WOW seeing the tags + knowing how sienna writes this is gonna be FIRE

angels in the snow (ao3)

nanami x reader, strangers to lovers. don't be afraid to pick this one up just because it's ongoing, you'll feel very satisfied because it feels like a collection (and has 52 chapters already) than an incomplete series. nanami and reader meet at an airport and have to drive home together bc their flight gets canceled. the progression of their relationship is so sweet, and he's suchhh a green flag. very comfy <3

[moonlight-prose]

“please don’t make me say it if you aren’t going to say it back” with a desperately in love with joel reader would hit so much…

weaved around your finger like yarn

a/n: me writing for joel again?? this has sat in my inbox for over a year and i never meant to actually take this long with it. but i finally figured out how to write this concept. and now i am actually obsessed with the small world of softness i created for these two. this is yes jackson joel, but nothing bad happens ever to him because why would it? it's all fine right?

summary: he never made space in his life for love in the aftermath of destruction. the after of his life he once thought would extend past decades of gray hair, smile lines carved in around his mouth now set in frowns and sneers. but snowfall and alcohol blur the lines for both of you when winter comes to jackson.

word count: 1.6k+

pairing: joel miller x reader

warnings: not explicit, love confessions, heavy makeout sessions, alcohol consumption, tipsy joel, sad joel, laughter at the end of the world, hope.

He can't remember laughing until his stomach hurt. The ache that spilled into his chest, warming his insides with a sun like quality that left him shivering. He can't recall the feel of his cheeks pulled so wide the sensation became a phantom pain seconds after. He knows it happened. He can distinctly recall the jokes, the joy. But the laughter lingers like a ghost at the back of his mind—translucent and gray and distorted enough to feel false.

Alcohol simmers in his stomach with a rueful intent. A malignant aftermath that would hit him in a few hours after two months of attempted sobriety. Ellie insisted, he accepted. Easy enough to say. Difficult to follow through with.

He had his days where whiskey sounded better than the flavor of bacon Tommy would bring him in the early mornings. But the dismay in your eyes helped him hold off, regain his awareness of a world not yet shattered. For once in quite a long time...he finally lived. For you, for Ellie, for Sarah.

He lived to see his hair grow longer and the grays appear more frequently. To drink coffee in the mornings on a porch you were already settled on. To help you fix small things here and there in your cabin next door. He lived for your smile, the light in your eyes. The curve of your lips as they pulled up into bolstering peals of laughter—the furrow in your brow as you frowned from endless frustrations on long hard days.

Joel Miller lived to love you.

He existed to dig his heels in and wait shit out—it's what he was good at, what he knew how to do. But for you he relented quicker than ice on a hot asphalt driveway back home in Texas. His mind became sand that slipped through your giving hands—heart a fluttering mess that sang a tune he could never get right on the guitar stashed in his living room.

Days bloomed into weeks which grew into months. Eventually a year passed and what used to be difficult and awkward to be around people again, felt like breathing the fresh winter air. The jackets he managed to find hung on hooks by the door, a pair of heavy boots beside the small table Tommy crafted him.

The mornings were nice. When hot water hit ground coffee and the aroma plagued his kitchen for hours at a time. The evenings called you towards him—simple cooking skills shared in the confines of a home he pined for you to reside in.

Life was a sliver of peace he never imagined he'd get again. But the hole in his heart never faded, the pain still rang out sharp enough to have him clamping down on the inside of his cheek. And your smile made his stomach ache with a longing deep enough to scar.

Tommy told him to buck up and do something. Ellie called him a fucking idiot.

You...gave no indication you felt the same way. So silent and reserved he would remain.

Your feet slid on icy, fingers gripping tightly to his jacket with a yelp in a quick attempt to save yourself from slamming to the ground. Joel snickered loud and brash and a wash of embarrassment burned under frozen cheeks. Dragging you up, his arm looped tightly around your waist—hand pressed harsh and insistent to the small of your back. You swallowed the butterflies at the sight of his face flushed red—eyes shining from the effect of too much whiskey.

"We were bad tonight," you muttered, breath forming a cloud between your faces.

He grinned—skin buzzing at the close proximity of your form. "Only a little bit."

"You're not supposed to drink Joel."

Leaning in he traded his smile like a secret; you tucked it into your chest with a sharp breath. "I won't tell if you don't, darlin'."

"Joel..."

"C'mon. No one's gettin' in trouble here."

A blade pierced your heart brutally—spilling crimson along pale white snow. Even as Joel remained entirely unaware of how you clung to him. How your body called his name—your mind plagued with thoughts of his being, with images of his smile, with the sound of his raspy voice. He'd never know the way you cherished each moment with him. The mornings tucked away from an unruly world—the nights shared between friends who might one day be more.

Your teeth scraped along the cracked skin of your bottom lip, eyes cast up to the curl of his lips. The words sprang forth faster than you could drag them back. Your chest of secrets unlocked and bared to the man who drowned you in his small flecks of joy. Later you'd blame the alcohol. When the headache ravaged your head and an ache lingered between your thighs.

Later you'd comb over every small glance and breathy word.

"I like spending time with you Joel," you breathed, fingers toying with the front of his leather coat. "I like...um..."

The breath caught in his throat, gaze desperate to catch yours. "Yeah sugar?"

"It's a hard thing to say." Another cloud of your whiskey tinged breath filled the air.

"You can tell me anythin'. You know that right?" Even as hope flared bright and scorching through the width of his chest. "I'll listen."

Hesitation spilled into the night, your voice a soft whisper he barely caught. "Please don't make me say it if you aren't going to say it back."

Oh didn't you know?

Did you not see how his gaze dug beneath the layers of flesh and bone, of tendons and veins that clung to your form? Did you not understand he would take a bullet for you? That he'd bear the wound of a warrior's death to keep you alive? How could you not know that his love stuck to his tongue with a saccharine bitterness he swallowed down like the drugs he once took to numb his mind?

You healed pieces of his soul you never broke. A marred and fucked puzzle that was meant to find a home six feet underground. By his own hand no less. He was destined to die—born to suffer—yet you swathed him wool with the promise of a peaceful life.

A future etched by the hands of love.

"Say it," he pleaded, frozen hand cupping your cheek.

"It's more than just that." The breath you took shot adrenaline down his spine. "I like our mornings. I like our dinners and conversation. And even when you come into town with me. But I...I love..."

The glossy nature of your eyes created by unshed tears that pooled at your waterline dug the knife deep enough to meld it within his heart. You didn't know. You couldn't have. His silence, his hesitation, swallowed every emotion he might have told you—every secret uttered in the shadows of night that told only half his story.

He told you about Sarah. About their life together, about her smile. That in itself felt like a proclamation of love—a key to the heart he thought stopped beating long ago.

"I knew it would freak you out," you muttered, pulling away from his hold.

Only for him to panic. His hand gripped the back of your jacket, pushing you towards him hard enough for your feet to slip again. But your gasp was swallowed by the cold press of his mouth to yours. Lips chapped by the winter air slid against your parted mouth as you froze against his chest. Your hands hung listlessly at your sides. He kissed you tenderly, attempting to wake you from the spell of shock, but to no avail did it bring you back.

"'M sorry." His words were muffled against your chin, forehead pressed to yours and eyes squeezed shut. "I shouldn't have–"

The press of your fingers into his cheeks jolted him back—eyes wide as you dragged him back with a stifled moan. Your mouth found his tongue hot and wet along his bottom lip in a pleading motion he complied to instantly. Stepping forward he fell into you with a deep groan. One that echoed and vibrated right down to your stomach—one you savored with a lick along his back teeth.

Hands cupped your ass with an insistent need to mold you closer, fingers digging into the plush flesh he longed to bite and taste. You tasted like whiskey. You smelled like him. It made him dizzy with want, anxious to lead you back to his porch—to seat you on his kitchen counter in the mornings while the coffee went cold.

"Fuck I wanna take ya home sugar," he grunted, biting at your lower lip with a grin.

Your breathless reply made the hair stand on the back of his neck. "You can."

"No." He shook his head, stealing another kiss with a gritty moan. "Not tonight. 'M gonna do this proper."

"Proper," you smiled, tugging on the longer curls you refused to let him cut. "You're such an old man Miller."

The large breadth of his hand cupped your chin, pushing the cheeks he lightly bit into together. "Won't be sayin' that tomorrow when I ain't got all this fuckin' alcohol in me."

"Yeah?" The droop of your eyelids—the darkened iris now filled with lust—set his teeth on edge. His body hummed with a new buzz he craved since meeting you. "Prove it."

"Oh I will." He grinned sharply, licking his teeth like a wolf waiting to pounce. "Don't you worry 'bout that."

A glimmer in your eyes caught his attention, the grip on your face loosening. "You know I love you right darlin'?"

You smiled—big and bright—and Joel felt another piece of his soul set back into place. "I love you too Joel."

[sanguineterrain]

Hello sanne! I have a request, if it inspires you: what about reader who's been hurt and has amnesia when they wake up. And Jason is there and reader gets all flustered because pretty boy alert!! Pretty boy is speaking gently to them!! And in actuality Jason and reader are together. I hope that made sense 😭 love your writing so so much!!

this is such a sweet request!

jason todd x gn!reader. tw medical setting, reader is on pain meds and has been in an accident, major major fluff, established relationship.

****

The first thing you notice is that your mouth tastes... not good.

You try to swallow and clear out the taste. All that happens is a useless smack of your tongue. Your throat is too dry for any swallowing to happen.

"...been out for about twelve hours. Yeah, I've been here the whole time."

You're pretty sure that you know that voice. You're drawing a blank on that voice's name, but you swear you know the voice.

"They're awake. Yeah, bye."

It's deep and warm and soft and yes. You definitely know the voice.

Okay. Opening your eyes.

You do so with substantial effort. Your vision is bleary. All you can make out are blobs of gray. You've got a lot of eye boogies in your eyes. You can feel them.

But you're not really sure about where your hands are at this moment in time, so the eye boogies will have to camp out for a little longer.

"Hey." The bed shifts. That warm voice gets closer. "Hey, hey. Y'thirsty?"

A straw taps your lips. You clumsily take it and drink until it gurgles and there's no more water.

"Yeah, I'll bet you're thirsty. Want more?"

You shake your head. A cool, rough hand pets your forehead. Oh, that's nice. That's very nice. The bedside manner in this hospital is impeccable. A little forward, but you don't mind. The voice and his hand are both very polite.

Time to try to actually see some shit. You hone in on your vision, putting every iota of brainpower into processing what your eyes are telling your brain.

A figure. A man. Huzzah!

Oh. Oh, wow. A very beautiful man. A big, hulking, beautiful man.

He's young, boyishly handsome. His eyes are bright. A scar is etched from the top of his right temple to his lip. There's a white streak in his dark hair. Is that a trend now? You can't remember.

"Where 'm I?" you ask.

"You're in the Batcave. How much do you remember, honey?" the gorgeous, beautiful, dreamboat nurse asks.

Well, you remember being in a car, and then being ejected from that car, and then hot, blinding pain, and then... waking up.

"Car accident?" you manage.

Pretty Nurse nods. Is he a nurse? He looks more like a biker, with his leather jacket and empty holsters. He looks like he could pin you down with one arm and—

Whoa. Chill.

"Yeah, kinda. There was an explosion. You hit your head pretty hard." He strokes the back of your head, frowning. "How do you feel?"

You feel like your head has an anvil tied to it. But it's okay, because look at this biker-nurse! Wowza!

He takes your hand (you have hands! Huzzah!) and strokes your knuckles with his thumb, which is fine, actually, because he has really nice eyes. You want to tell him.

"You h've nice eyes," you say.

Pretty Nurse blinks, looking startled. His cheeks go a little pink. "Oh. Um, thanks, baby. Y'sweet."

Baby? Do you really have that much rizz as a medical patient? You can't imagine how irresistible you must be when you haven't been in an explosion.

But then everything shatters when you look down and see a silver band on his hand. What the shit! He's married? Or engaged, at least. Son of a biscuit.

And he's flirting with you? What a pig!

You snatch your hand back, suddenly sour. Pretty Nurse raises his eyebrows.

"What's a'matter?"

"You have a ring," you say, voice dripping in contempt.

"I—" He looks down. "Uh, well, yeah. I do."

Devastating. "If you're taken, you shouldn't be flirting with me, jerk."

He squints. "Wh—oh. Oh. Huh."

Pretty Biker Nurse looks like you've just said something funny. You don't see what's so funny about infidelity. May God strike him down!

He smiles coyly. "D'you know who I am, sweetheart?"

"Yes," you say, glowering. "Y'just a no-good philanderer who should be ashamed of hi'self. Don't care how handsome you are; I won't enter your web of lies!"

He laughs, bright and sweet. Damn him! You need a different nurse. This one is the epitome of temptation.

"Oh, baby. Oh, you're too cute. Can I take your hand?"

"Not if you're gonna flirt more," you say, lifting your chin. "Dirtbag."

"Your moral code is incredible, honey. Good to know I'll never have anything to worry about, though I never doubted you. Can I show you something, though?"

He lifts your hand and on your finger is a gold band. More delicately shaped than his ring, but similar.

"Oh my God," you say, panic growing. "I'm cheating on my husband."

He laughs louder this time. "Your fiancé, actually. Wedding isn't till August. And no, honeylove. You're not cheatin', 'cause I'm right here."

He leans in and kisses your forehead. Your hackles raise for a moment until... wait...

"You're my fiancé?" you ask, eyes huge.

He smiles shyly. "In the flesh. Y'remember my name?"

You feel like it's a J name. "J..."

"Jason," he says gently. "Yeah, wow. They got you on some pretty strong meds, huh? Leslie said you should start to remember more stuff in a day."

Jason. Pretty Biker Nurse Jason. Holy moly. He's engaged to you? About to marry you?

"You are so pretty," you blurt.

That makes Jason more shy. He smiles like he's done something he's not supposed to do. "Not as pretty as you, honey pie."

"No, you're... I mean, wow. Sorry I called you a jerk. How did I get with you? That's crazy. You're fine as hell."

Jason snorts, wide shoulders shaking. His cheeks are red. "Jesus, you're shameless."

Well, yeah. You're still not sure this isn't a dream. You have to let your fiancé know exactly what you think about him.

You prepare to tell him something smooth and romantic. Something about how kissable he looks.

"Y'look like a sexy biker."

Hm. Not exactly what you had in mind. Your brain feels like a blue raspberry slushie.

Jason grins. "Oh, yeah? That why you been starin' at me? Didn't know you had a thing for bikers. You're terrified of going on my motorcycle."

How does he know that? It's true; you like bikers from afar but you're not about to get on a death machine, thanks.

"You can rev my engine," you say, head slumping against the pillow.

"Oh my God," Jason says, clearly delighted. "Don't think I've ever seen this reaction to pain meds."

"Can't believe we're engaged," you say again. "How'd we even meet?"

"Well, I'm a vigilante of sorts, and the first time we met was after I saved you from a mugging. And then we kinda just... kept running into each other. You bought me coffee without realizing who I was. And we, uh, fell in love. As people do."

"You proposed to me in Spain," you say suddenly, the memory rushing back. "You... you wanted to prove you wouldn't put work above us."

Jason nods, lacing your and his fingers together. "Yeah, that's right. Three weeks in Spain." He pulls out his phone and shows you the lockscreen. It's of you two. Jason has sunglasses on. You're smiling. You can't remember ever smiling like that before.

Tears suddenly spring to your eyes, emotion smacking into you like an eighteen-wheeler. Jason leans in, concerned.

"Baby? Hey, what's wrong? Something hurts?" he asks, inspecting your head.

Your mouth quivers. "You... you love me so much."

Jason stops, tilting his head. "I... uh, yeah. 'Course I do. You're the person I love the most in the world."

That makes you cry, tears running down your cheeks. Jason's eyes widen in alarm.

"Sweetheart? What's—hey, it's okay. Why're y'crying, huh?"

He brushes your tears away with his thumbs, cradling your face. You sniffle.

"I'm s-sorry I called you a dirtbag," you blubber. "Y'not a dirtbag. You love me so much."

"Oh-ho, oh, honey. Baby, you've been unconscious for twelve hours. You're under heavy medication. I know you didn't recognize me, it's okay. Trust me, I've been called far worse," Jason says tenderly.

Dear God, you're a beast. What kind of person doesn't recognize their own fiancé?! You cry harder.

"I should've remembered you! I'm a bad fiancé," you wail.

"Aw, sweetheart. No, no, it's okay. C'mere."

Jason scoots you over slightly and pulls you into his arms. You cry into his shoulder, slobbering all over his sexy biker jacket. He rubs circles on your back.

"You're really cute and nice and I'm glad y'marrying me," you say, muffled in his shoulder.

Jason hums, the sound vibrating through you. "I'm really happy to be marrying you, sweetheart. You rock my world."

You sniff. "Really?"

"Mmhm." Jason kisses the side of your neck. "How 'bout you sleep a little more, hm? I bet you're exhausted."

Now that he mentions it, you do feel pretty worn-out. Especially after crying. And almost getting blown up.

"Will you be here when I wake up?"

"Absolutely, honey. I swear."

Jason eases you onto your back. Your eyes are beginning to feel heavy.

"Sleep, beautiful. I'm right here."

[chuluoyi]

MARRIED ON PURPOSE

- gojo satoru x reader

"for one, i can show you incredible things!" jujutsu, madness, heaven, sin. the strongest sorcerer is sure to show you all of that during the whole duration of your six-month marriage contract.

genre/warnings: marriage of convenience, enemies to lovers, crack, fluff, slight satosugu angst/comfort, kamo!reader, very suggestive. gojo clan is portrayed as very traditional, meanwhile kamo clan is rather unpleasant here

note: the unholy amount of times i've edited this story *sigh* but okay i must drop it here or else i'm going to keep editing it and losing my mind. despite my misgivings and all, i really had fun writing this and i hope you enjoy it! wc. 5k !

a part of 1K MILESTONE EVENT

general masterlist

Some would say... marrying Gojo Satoru would be living the dream.

“Don't look that sour now, wife.”

“…sigh.”

A playful nudge at your side, a lighthearted voice— “You're going to make them question our veeery happy marriage, you know… We don't want that now, do we?”

But to you, it was more like nightmare dressed in a daydream.

It was peak comedy because why would you put marrying Gojo Satoru in your life plans? He was incorrigible, a child trapped in a man's body, and there was also the very fact that you hate him. His only redeeming trait was being born in the esteemed Gojo clan, and now held the title of the strongest.

You know you must have accumulated karma, but out of everything else, why must you end up in this predicament?

Hailing from the great clans of jujutsu society, both of you know well that marriage is the essence to make the clan greater. And when it involves the big three clans, its importance amplifies even further.

It was just that you two were too rebellious to follow it through, for one reason or another. Everyone knows Gojo Satoru was faithless to any woman, and you were not exactly thrilled with the idea of marriage as a whole.

He was the one who came to you, proposing this insane idea of a temporary marriage.

"Look at it this way," Satoru said with a wry grin, contrasting your puzzled frown on that fateful afternoon. "It's either me or Zen'in Naoya for you, isn't it? It's so clear which is the better man."

That was what grated you the most. You would be damned if you married the misogynist.

"What do you get from this arrangement, really?" you questioned begrudgingly.

His name would give you security, stop the harassment from your clan, and maybe even a better life, but you didn't quite get what he'd get from the offer he willingly extended to you.

Satoru flippantly shrugged. "Nah, you are not exactly my type, but you're still far better than the boring puppet my family have considered to be my wife."

"Who?"

"Don't remember her name. All she goes on about is that she'll be the good wife and mother of my child. Ew."

Seven hells. You scowled. Gojo Satoru and his penchant for chasing the thrill. Boring women would kill him before an actual curse would.

"And hey, for one," he shot you a smirk, visibly smug. "I can show you incredible things!"

"That's not the point! Gojo, do you even realize—" your voice rose, pulsating with righteous fury, "—how serious all of this is? My life, your life! We're going to be stuck—together!"

"Six months," he blurted, tilting his head slightly. His sunglasses slipped down just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his sparkling eyes. "It's enough time to work through our shits, and by then if you have enough, we're through."

At that time, it seemed feasible. Both of you tolerating each other to avoid a much worse match.

. . .

BACK TO PRESENT—barely a week ever since you were paraded around as his wife, now you and Satoru were stiffly poised in the studio in your formal garbs, capturing your official wedding photos.

At that time, it seemed feasible, but now, it felt like a chore, as you realized that conversing with him either spiked your blood pressure so much that you wouldn't even be surprised if you ended up with hypertension or completely sapped your energy that you were left exhausted.

"Come on, show a smiiile," Satoru said in a sing-song voice, gesturing toward the camera as it flashed for the pictures. You were beyond appalled, shooting a glare in his direction.

"I am smiling, Gojo."

"Liar. You're pouting, wifey~"

Sigh… this really is going to be one hella of a ride, huh?

MONTH ONE, and you found out that Gojo Satoru is apparently as mad as people made him out to be.

"You've got to be kidding me!" you fumed, right after he hauled you into one of the rooms in his grand, traditional estate. Your glare pierced through him, a blood vessel ready to burst. "We never agreed on ‘consummating’ the marriage!"

You wrote him a goddamn contract. And the three conditions of this chaotic marriage are: one, it would only last six months; two, no personal feelings involved; and three, nothing borderline disturbing.

And this, you concluded, was the height of what could be called as disturbing.

"We will not," Satoru replied with a hint of disdain, grimacing, as if the notion didn't sit well with him either. The audacity! "We're just going to make it as if we are—"

"And why?! Why should I do that?!"

"Why else? Because my old fart believes that we indeed haven't done so."

"Then it's your fault? For failing to convince him? Why turn it into my problem!"

"Because, dear wife," he drawled, his tone taunting on the final note. "Now we're on the same page, in case you have forgotten."

Great clans and their hollow expectations spare no one, not even Gojo Satoru. They place importance in the most banal things, such as the continuity of sacred bloodlines and such.

The only alternative wasn't appealing either. Should you be found out that you married only to divorce... sigh, you didn't even want to know how big of a scandal it would be. One thing was certain: your clan would chop you to shreds.

You really had no choice, huh?

"Five minutes," you warned, glaring at him. "Make it loud. Make it so that no one wouldn't question this anymore."

Oh and sure he would. As Satoru pulled that shit-eating grin, you were in for another ride. You waited out until several maids were nearby, left the wooden door ajar, and began the show—

His hands wrapped around your waist—the feeling was peculiar, but you ignored it—and you let him pull you near that open door. He snuggled his face on your neck—his hair tickling you in the process, but you ignored that peculiarity again—as he started making suggestive noises. "Mm, you're so pretty, darling."

You could hear those maids gasp in surprise. And to add the flavor, you faked a moan.

This is... kinda fun? A twisted part of you suddenly found satisfaction in fooling the maids. A smile tugged at your lips as you shoved him away, and Satoru eyed you in surprise and irritation.

"Husband, you're... insatiable," you worded languidly, and he immediately caught on your act, grinning. "Anyone can walk by, you know."

"Oh? But that's the point." Satoru's bright blue eyes twinkled with utter mischief, and even you couldn't deny the exhilarating rush. "I want them to know."

And suddenly you got this very brilliant idea. You swiftly moved past him and sent the books and trinkets on his desk flying to the floor, causing questionable noises.

"Oh my!" a girlish voice exclaimed.

"The master! And the lady!"

Satoru shook his head, thoroughly entertained. And you rolled your eyes. Those nosy maids would finally have enough now, and this charade would end—

"What's happening here?"

The old fart. Both you and Satoru grunted in unison. You really thought you would leave it up to the maids to spread the word, but then you were taken by surprise when he wrapped his hands around you and flung the door open, slamming you against it—and damn it hurt!—offering everyone a front-row seat to your charade.

The maids squealed. His grandfather raised a righteous, demanding eyebrow. You wanted to scream.

"Hey, gramps," he greeted jovially, breathless, his grip on you tightening and you felt heat radiating from his palm. "Ah, sorry, opened it by accident—the wife here is feisty, you see."

Your veins felt ready to burst. Was this a part of his plan all along? How would you show your face before your grandfather-in-law now that he had seen this... atrocity?!

"So, yeah, we'll resume our business!" Satoru, the idiot, said it as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "See ya!"

With that the door slammed shut, but oh no, it was not the end.

"Mmmph!?" you protested, unintentionally loud and eyes widening in alarm when Satoru muffled your mouth with his hand.

The rotten bastard! You found it nearly impossible to breathe, shooting daggers at him. "Mmmrgh! Mmmrrgh!"

"Oh... so that boy really does it huh," you heard the elder mutter in thoughtful manner from outside—and you were in disbelief at how trusting he was—before rounding the stunned maids and barked, "What are all you doing here? Go!"

You nearly sagged with relief when Satoru loosened his grip slightly, allowing you to breathe, as his meddlesome grandpa finally stalked away. Done. This horrible act was over! But wait, why did he still had his hand on your mouth?

"That went splendidly!" he snickered, appearing rather pleased with what had unfolded. "Now, if only we work together like this more often—"

This is… my life now, you lamented the reality. The feeling of his calloused hand on you made you feel things, honestly speaking, but another emotion—and impulse—currently overpowered that.

Seething with resentment, you fiercely chomped down on his hand hard, causing him to swear and pull his hand out of you.

"You—you devil! You bit me!"

"Serves you right!"

Okay, he was bad. He was insufferable. But to be frank, sometimes it wasn't all chaos.

And what's more, by MONTH TWO, you realized that being married to Gojo Satoru also comes with several perks.

"Miss, please, you're trespassing—"

You looked at the police with the haughtiest look you could muster, unamused. "Don't you know who I am?"

"No, but it shouldn't—"

"I'm that man's wife," you declared regally, motioning towards a certain tall shuttlecock a few meters away. "Is that not clear enough for you?"

For one, no one can look down on you anymore, because should they try, you have the power to raise your chin high and declare yourself as the wife of the infamous sorcerer. The very moment you did, that nosy police stopped yapping, and let you through.

The cursed boy, Yuta and his classmate had just been trapped inside a barrier a curse user pulled down, and you were assigned to look into this case by the headquarters. As much as it boggled you—because certainly, the strongest sorcerer was enough to investigate this—you still had to do your job.

“What is this?” you asked Satoru, who was observing something far beyond what your measly ordinary eyes could see. “What happened here?”

He turned to you, all with bandaged eyes. “Hmm? Oh, you’re here too?”

“Don't act surprised. Answer my question, Gojo.”

"You’re too uptight, wifey," Satoru's lips curved upwards playfully. He had taken to addressing you with pet names as of late, if anything, only to get a rise out of you. "Isn't it the time for you to start calling me by my given name?"

You let out a weary exhale, exasperated. "I'm serious, did you find anything? Who is behind this?"

"Nah, nothing for you to worry about," Satoru waved his hand dismissively, grinning. "More importantly! Let's head back and have dinner! My treat!"

You weren't that oblivious. You noticed things too.

"What do you want tonight? Sukiyaki? Sushi?" he hummed nonchalantly. "Or shabu-shabu?"

You gave him the stink eye. "Is that all you think about? Food?"

"As a responsible husband, it's my duty to feed my wife, no?"

"News flash: temporary wife."

"But still my wife, regardless. I overheard you earlier. Being Mrs. Gojo is convenient, yeah?"

You ignored how a part of your jolted at the emphasis he placed on that word, grunting. "Nah, it's meh."

Call it a feeling or hypothesis. It was similar to how he treated his students. He always said the dumbest things, but it actually served to make them feel at ease.

Then it occurred to you, could this be actually his attempt to change the subject?

"You can't cheat your way out of this." You shot him a pointed look. "You know something. Tell me."

"Hmmm? And what would I get in return?"

"Don't make this difficult. I'm on this assignment too!"

"Nah, if you call me by my name, I might consider it."

Hah. You should really read a parenting book one of these days. Taking on your husband was more or less the same as facing a kid.

"Satoru," you tested, the name rolling out of your lips far easier than you thought. Somehow, using his given name felt like some sort of a leap of faith.

He stopped right in his tracks, turning to you. His glossy lips quirked into a meaningful smile, and you felt funny.

"Wasn't that difficult, was it?" he winked, and you covered the strange heat creeping onto your face by rolling your eyes and huffed.

Needless to say, he still didn't tell you even a clue. You finally gave up, thinking that if he insisted on not disclosing it, then so be it. You trusted him on this, even as he turned your help away, and you hated admitting it, because, well…

You’d trust him with your life. He knows how to handle this better than anyone.

Being a a woman in Kamo clan is, in fact, not any better than in Zen'in—you're regarded more as a commodity than a human being.

"When will you bear the child of the bearer of Six Eyes?" in your father's eyes, you were but a tool to tie the Gojo at his hip, and your worth probably wasn't even twice of Noritoshi's. You had known he would ask this when he summoned you to Kamo ancestral home, and you weren't that naive—you had asked Satoru to join you too. But your father had insisted him to stay at the foyer, while he dragged you into his chamber.

Just because you had seen it coming didn’t mean you liked it. "Is that all? Do you really make me come here just to ask me that?"

And what came next was like a crack of thunder.

"How insolent!"

You shuddered, hating how his voice still had control over you. You wanted to stay deviant, but you couldn't keep yourself from shaking. You thought you would have to endure this shit just like you did before, until—

"Now, now... That's my wife you're talking to. I'd watch your words, if I were you."

You had never whipped your head so fast.

There stood Gojo Satoru, your husband, in all his glory. He was smiling but it was clear that he was displeased, evident from his cutting remark, and most notably, how he had unveiled his striking cerulean eyes for all to see. Truth to be told, you didn't expect him to barge in here at all.

"Gojo-sama," your father bowed his head, displaying utter respect towards him, contrasting the blatant disrespect he showed towards you just now. Satoru paid him no heed, as took big strides towards you and seized your arm, prompting you to rise to your feet.

"What is this? Why are you yelling at her?" His voice lacked its usual hint of amusement or teasing, sending a chill down your spine.

"Gojo-sama, I apologize for my tone towards my daughter earlier. I was just trying to educate—"

“My wife. She is my wife now, and it would do you better to remember that,” Satoru asserted firmly, putting emphasis in the way he addressed you, his gaze hardening. "She is an adult. There's nothing left for you to educate her." Pausing, he added, "And the way I saw it, you were just unnecessarily rude."

"Gojo-sama, there were just certain things in our clan that—"

"Please, don't call on us again," Satoru interjected decisively with a light yet firm voice. You could swear your heart was somersaulting at the sight of him staring down your natural enemy. "I'm sure you're aware, but your daughter bears my name now, and she will get the respect she is due. I will have a word with anyone who fails to treat her accordingly."

Somehow or another, Satoru whisked you away from that hellhole, your hand tightly clasped in his. Your relieved sigh didn't go unnoticed by him, as he looked back to you.

"Have you gone soft?" he teased, eyeing you with a playful snort. "Did you forget who your husband is? You've got nothing to fear. Not even him."

"Thank you," you murmured. Your heart was still pounding and your mind blanked, rendering you unable to engage in your usual banters.

His clear blue eyes widened a touch, blinking at your display of vulnerability, Then, he wore the most innocent expression, even sporting a silly smirk—the hardness from earlier gone. "I was really cool, huh? Totally made you swoon I bet."

And in MONTH THREE, you realized, as he laced his fingers with yours, as his laughter filled the air, as calmness swelled on your chest, and as you loudly snorted at his remark, that—

You felt warm, so warm, in fact, and maybe—

"Pfft, you wish."

—maybe... being with him isn't so bad after all.

MONTH FOUR, and you finally found out that it was Geto Suguru.

Everyone knew that your husband and the criminal used to be the best of friends. You saw them during your high school days, and heck, you used to think that Geto was the better man.

You could only imagine what he must feel.

. . .

When he got back to your shared house after the whole ordeal—after he ended his best friend with his own hands, Satoru honestly didn't expect that you would be waiting for him.

"You okay?" you asked him, brows furrowed in concern. It was probably one of the very few times you had displayed emotions other than contempt towards him.

It felt strange because he was used to your jabs, and he was not sure what sort of expression he should pull now, because truthfully, now he felt empty. Blank. All he comprehended was that he had killed Suguru, that he was gone, and that was something he must do.

It would be just like any other day if hadn't just committed a murder. On someone he held dear.

"Of course, who do you think I am?" Satoru swiftly replied, sounding smug—or at least tried to. "I'm the strongest. I’m unscat—"

"No, not that." You frowned, meeting his gaze squarely. "After everything."

Satoru struggled to choose how he should react, partly because most of his energy had gone after walking Yuta back and reassuring him earlier, and by default, the two of you should be hellbent on hating each other and wishing for this contract to end soon.

"Aww, are you worried about me?" he quipped with a touch of sarcasm just because he had to, to show you that it wasn't enough to ruffle him.

Because he is still the strongest, even when alone. Especially when he is alone.

You let out a sigh, looking away. "Can't I?"

"Whoa, that's sweet of—"

"Don't fool yourself," you stated in straight-laced manner, meeting his gaze with a composed expression. "You're not okay. You might be Gojo Satoru, but no one will be after doing what you just did."

You might be Gojo Satoru, but no one will be after doing what you just did.

Despite himself, his smile fell, and his chest burns. What is this? Were you sympathizing with him?

Does that mean that you don't see him as the entity... that was the strongest?

Before now, Satoru remembered you as the most uncooperative Kyoto girl he had ever met. Your first meeting in high school sealed your fate as the two of you could hardly get along. You didn't mince words, you didn't take shit from anyone else—heck, sometimes when he thought of you, what came up to mind was an impenetrable diamond.

Which was why he chose you. You were someone he could trust. You were pretty in the eyes and certainly wouldn't bore him either. His reasons were purely based on logic. And after four months with you, Satoru came to a conclusion that you indeed fulfilled all his expectations, if not more.

And he felt comfortable, or dare he say, secure even. He felt like he had gained a friend, who could see past his bravado and wouldn't judge him for it.

"You're..." you sighed, casting a sympathetic glance at him, your forehead slightly creased. At that moment, Satoru couldn't help but think you were incredibly endearing, fretting over him. "...an idiot."

"Heh." I really am, aren't I?

"I never knew him well..." you chose your words carefully, hesitant. "Did you try to convince him, before this?"

He barked a bitter laugh. "I did, we even made a scene in front of freaking KFC," he remarked with a scoff. "He didn't listen to me, until the very end."

You wanted to tell him “You have done everything you could” but the words faltered on your tongue. You couldn't bring yourself to say it when you saw the faint quiver of his lips, the slump of his shoulders—the very sight of a boy grieving the loss of his friend.

Your heart pricked too, somehow, seeing that expression on him. And you once again realized that your silly, exalted husband was just as human as anyone else who made him think he wasn’t.

"And you know what he said in the end?" Satoru's tone was flippant, as if asking the most normal thing around, but carried a trace of grief, evident in the slight drop in his tone if you squinted. "He said he didn't regret it, not even a bit."

"I'm sorry," was all you could manage.

Satoru's smile was lopsided. Now that he had finally accepted it, something inside him finally bleeds, and it freaking hurts. The pain gripped his chest like a swirling inferno.

But then, you boldly clasped his hand in yours, gently tracing soothing circles on its back.

"What?" he peered at you, feeling a ghost of a smile forming.

"Consider this emotional support."

And he chuckled softly. Despite the lingering ache, despite the gloom he was sure he would carry for the rest of his life, he felt the pain was more bearable with you by his side, somewhat.

How?

You blamed it on the alcohol, because it was MONTH FIVE and you were kissing Gojo Satoru, daringly.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you rasped between kisses, breathless, as your own sinful hands plucked the buttons off his shirt. The intoxication might have played a part, but the intense heat coursing through you made it hard to think straight.

Satoru crashed his lips against yours again, consumed by blind lust. "Yeah, we shouldn't," he replied in a rush. His breath was hot as he trailed his lips down your jaw and neck next, savoring the softness of your skin.

You two had attended a banquet for the elite, and you were unbelievably beautiful. Standing by his side as his wife, you drew admiring glances, with everyone marveling at what a remarkable couple you made. The Gojo heir who was born with the legendary Limitless and the Kamo heiress, as lovely as her clan's name was powerful.

His deft hands roamed the curves of your body, exploring every inch of you. The warmth of his hands tickled something inside you as you closed your eyes to sink into this very moment. Next you knew, his bare body was against yours and you were stripped out of your evening dress.

Lust flickered in his honored eyes, as he took in the sight of you in your undergarments.

"You're really pretty, you know," he whispered. The intensity with which his eyes scanned your form made you nearly squirm. "Shame we don't always get along."

"You're one to talk," you retorted, a hint of exasperation in your tone, as you willed all other thoughts away. Thoughts like what comes after this. Thoughts like—

Is it heaven or sin, if you feel both at once?

His thumb tenderly caressed your plush lips, a hint of a smirk on his beautiful face.

He has long been thinking about your body. He was but a man, after all. He just didn't expect that you wanted this too.

There was always this tension, only this time, neither of you could hold it back anymore. Perhaps it was impulse—hell, most certainly it is, but there was another thing, something more that even Gojo Satoru still didn't dare to say out loud.

"Eager, are we?" he taunted when you leaned in, yearning for the touch of his lips on yours again.

You huffed. “Shut up and kiss me.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks at the slip of those words. You were about to rectify it, taken aback by your own boldness, but then he drew you close, silencing any further protest with a gentle hush—

"Too late, sweetheart," his husky voice entered your ears, lips curling into the most wicked smile, and you were in a trance. And Satoru was once again convinced, that choosing you as his wife was the rightest thing there was.

If the two of you went with this, then there would be consequences. Things would become more complicated, harder to sort out.

But, he decided, as he captured your lips in another heated kiss, everything else can wait.

MONTH SIX, and you were dreading the day of your divorce.

You brought this upon yourself. Whenever you reminisced about that night, you wanted to smack yourself in the face and bang your head against the nearest wall.

This marriage has a time limit. And you were doing it out of convenience in the first place.

You weren't supposed to… goddammit—fall in love with him.

But what's done is done, there is no going back in time. Awkward exchanges and lingering stares had been gnawing at your insides these days, and you were sure Satoru too must have noticed them too. You two used to be more relaxed with each other, and he'd even flirt with you, but weeks ever since that night of drunken passion, you almost reverted back to your high school personas—ignoring each other.

This was tough. You didn't like this. And more than that, you were faced with a more pressuring matter...

Gojo Satoru, with everything he possessed, could have had any woman he wanted. This arrangement with you was temporary in the first place, soon he would forget you and flit to the next woman.

The thought made your heart ache, because you had involuntarily gave your heart away to him. Siiigh… What a predicament you put yourself into, huh?

With just a month left together, maybe you should just make the best of it.

. . .

If you thought that things were any better with Satoru, then you were sorely wrong because he too, was debating with himself often nowadays.

Days spent with you were fun and fulfilling. You irked expression somehow had made its mark in his heart. You were pretty, fit to be by his side publicly and preferably, behind the closed doors. With you, he didn't feel the need to carry this facade of being strong—he could be a clown tripping over his own trap and you would amuse him with your deadpan expression.

And ever since that night, he was constantly reminded by how soft your skin was against his. It almost drove him crazy now that he was deprived of it.

How was it the last month already? He wasn't ready to let you go yet.

When he got back home later after his class ended and found you in the dinner table setting the food, all he could muster was, "Hey. Haven't eaten?"

You whirled around to face him in surprise. "Oh... you're back. Just about to. Want to join me?"

Of course he would. And yet as the two of you sat down, it was so painfully awkward Satoru felt like he was dying inside.

Why couldn't he pull off a smart line or two? Where did his suaveness go? He was smoother than this, surely, with his colorful history. One night of passion was supposed to enhance the relationship, not to derail it. What happened to you both?

The salt was near his side when you reached to grab it and bumped into his hand. "Uh-oh."

Turning towards you, he found your spooked expression and your adorable eyes widening in surprise. "S-sorry..."

It was just freaking salt! Salt! Why on earth were you apologizing?!

Enough, he thought. This utter madness of being jumpy with each other. He'd start from his side.

Does he want you to keep being his wife even after all this ends? Yes.

Why? All reasons already listed above.

Does this mean he likes you? Apparently and supposedly, yes. Because if it isn't then he doesn't know what this funny feeling driving him mad is.

With that sorted out, then he only had one more thing to confirm. He put down his spoon and crossed his arms together. "Tell me the truth. Do you like living with me?"

His question obviously took you by surprise. "Huh? What brought this on?"

"Just give me an answer."

"You're so pushy," you grumbled, lips pursed, and he felt like you were finally back to your usual dynamics somewhat. Good.

"Sooo, the verdict? Do you enjoy being with me or not?"

Because to him, it was a resounding yes and more.

Ignoring the warmth that surged to your cheeks, you rolled your eyes. "Surprisingly, not bad, yeah," you admitted, mustering the courage to meet his gaze. "You're annoying, an idiot, a bit crazy—"

"Hey!"

"—but eventually you're still... manageable," you added, feeling your face truly start to sizzle. But covered it up by looking down and playing with your fingers as you still had more to go on. "What I want to say is... I'm glad that I agreed to this—with you—because I can’t imagine it with anyone else."

An unfamiliar tingling emotion rushed to his chest as his face too started to heat up, letting your words sink in. Is he blushing? Oh God. He sure is. And so did he feel hella giddy.

Then it’s sealed.

Suddenly he procured a piece of paper from his work uniform and showed it to you. You first saw his lazily scrawled signature before it dawned on you.

The contract. You almost forgot that you made him sign that looming piece of paper. You were almost dismayed, thinking that he would end this right then and there, but then—

“Well, then… I suppose we no longer need this.”

Riiip~

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when Gojo Satoru tore out your contract right in front of your face, the most brilliant of his devilish grin adorned his handsome face, as he took off his blindfold to see you far clearly than ever. Heavens, you are cute, he thought.

“Soooo~ seems like you’re stuck with me from now on!”

You gaped, awestruck at the blatant meaning of it all, feeling how your heartbeat started to pick up the pace, when he pulled the rag out of your feet once more by tilting his head to the side, looking at you with a winning smile.

“Let’s start over! What did they say again? Ah, yeah. Here’s to the first day of our lives!”

[churipu]

STRAIGHT TO VOICEMAIL 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

ִ ࣪𖤐 featuring. gojo satoru

ִ ࣪𖤐 warnings. cursing, mentions of death, gojo being sad and angry, 2006 gojo geto shoko.

note. for some reason i feel angsty today and i just saw this prompt on pin, just had to write it lol.

gojo has never loathed himself more than when he missed your call — your very last call.

"i could've fuckin' saved them, suguru." gojo blankly stared at the ceiling, his head thrown back onto the couch's rest; he was conflicted, he didn't know what to do. it was as if his motoric abilities had just stopped all of a sudden.

"satoru . . ."

"i could've fuckin' saved y/n." the white haired male mumbled out, his face scrunching in frustration.

gojo has dealt with death. a lot. the concept of death isn't a stranger to him anymore, not in this world — and to think that he'd actually be alive to experience deaths of his loved ones, thinking he could have done so much more made him hate himself.

god, gojo hated crying in front of other people. the aura in the room was palpable. nobody spoke —nobody dared to speak— and the only sound resounding was the vague ticking belonging to the clock hanging on the wall.

"i could've fuckin' saved them," the male repeated for the third time, his voice breaking that he had to inhale sharply to stop himself from breaking down right there.

gojo pushed himself up, placing his palms above his eyes, pressing down on them harshly; he lets out a loud sigh, "where the fuck did it all go wrong?"

"y/n was killed in action . . ." god, gojo wanted to rip his hair out when yaga called him in privately to say that. the male had lost count of how many times the statement repeated in his mind.

frankly, it's haunting.

out of all the news he could have received today, he never expected to hear your death lulling into his eardrums. so soon. so many things swirling in his mind all at once that even he, deemed the strongest, felt the sensation of losing. he felt weak.

"hi, 'toru — you're probably busy since my call went straight to voice mail, but 'm just saying . . . i love you, and i miss you. so much." there was a slight pause and your breathing shallowed into the mic, every single detail in your last moments were graved in that file, "'m not sure if . . . i'll be back as soon as i promised, but, i just want you to know that whatever happens. happens."

there was a slight static before your soft voice recoiled back into the mic, "i've never broken any promises to you, but this might be the very first time — and just know that i've never wanted to do this, i fucking hate myself for this," your voice broke slightly, "'m bleeding. a lot. but 'm trying to stop it just like how ieiri taught me. and i think 'm doing shit at it . . . i don't know what happened, and how it happened; but 'm not doing okay."

"i don't want to die, 'toru." you whispered into the mic, hoarse and weak — feeling the life drain out, "i really don't want to die . . . i have so many things i want to do with you, and suguru, and ieiri . . ." you murmur out, inhaling sharply but it all ended up with you coughing out in pain.

"remember that time i said i wanted to open a pet hotel . . ? i don't know if you think i was joking, but i was really serious about opening one," you began to mumble out, all in random directions — none of your words make any sense anymore, and you could barely keep yourself awake.

"i don't want to die, please," you pleaded, desperate for life. no matter what you did at this point — the light inside of you was almost out, and you can't do anything about it, "fuck. i hate this. so much, 'toru."

"i want to see you again. i miss you. i miss you so so much," you softly murmur out, " . . . i love you. i love you so much, satoru."

and everything ended right after. including you.

gojo has never loathed himself more than when he missed your call. your. very. last. call.

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[sceletaflores]

where there’s sparks, there’s fire!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: you can’t tell if patrick hates you as much as you hate him. every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. but he’s only doing all that to piss you off. you think back to tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. you don’t see it. patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special.

—or: patrick zweig is a slut. you can't stand him.

word count: 4.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), public sex (doing it in a coat closet lmao), more hate sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, light choking, light hair pulling, degradation, even more hints of mean!reader cause i really do live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties always, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: i originally wanted to post a tashi fic next but i realized i don't have any like actual full on plot filled patrick works lmao i felt bad neglecting him and my patrick girlies so yeah. once again had literally so much fun writing this, like i hardcore love this niche!!! i ride so hard for it!!! the tashi fic i'm working on also falls into this category lols and yes this is fourth of july themed and it's late shut up i cannot write fast for the life of me...anyway! to the anons who requested something like this, hope you love it! okay bye mwah xoxo.

Patrick Zweig is a huge slut.

Everyone knows that. He doesn't even go to Stanford but he's still somehow managed to sleep with a third of the girls on campus, maybe even more than a few guys too if the rumors going around are true.

You hate him. Hate isn't even a strong enough word. You loathe him. You despise him. You detest him. Pick any other fancy synonym, the point still stands. You just really fucking hate him.

It blows your mind that someone as sweet and angelic as Art would be best friends with someone like him. Someone who's so obnoxious, so arrogant, so crass. Art’s the guy that goes out of his way to protect you from the gross frat bros at parties, only to bring his very own as a plus one.

Sigma Nu throws a rager every year on the fourth, extending invites to those who are still in Stanford for the summer. The women’s tennis team is always invited, and Tashi always ends up convincing you to go. Well, she’s less convincing than she is more forcing you, but it’s basically the same thing to her anyway. She did your makeup and wrestled you into a Hollister dress, vowing to get you laid as she straightened your hair.

Tashi’s almost more invested in your sex life than you are, constantly hand-picking guys on campus for your consideration. She actually offered up Patrick once when you told her you wouldn’t fuck any of the guys on campus at all. The two of you were practicing, she suggested it as casual as ever while returning your serve. You were so shocked you stopped in your tracks, letting the ball fly right past you. She assured you she wouldn’t mind if you did, that what the two of them had was quote “Nothing serious, he’s just a really good fuck.” and that you should “Totally do it. He definitely wants to fuck you, I can tell.” 

You just brushed her off, ignored the way she smirked knowingly at you over the net. Your cheeks burned as you served again, you wrote it off as annoyance. As if you would ever let Patrick Zweig fuck you.

You lost Tashi when she took off to the bathroom, texting you that she’d be a while thanks to a long line outside the door. You were leaning against a wall nursing a half-empty cup of jungle juice when he came up to you. You can’t remember his name, you think it starts with a B. Something like Brandon? Or maybe Brian? One or the other.

He’s Sigma Nu’s secretary, you sit three seats down from him in your economics lecture. Tashi says he has a crush on you, and he’s nice for a frat guy but he’s definitely not your type. He’s been droning on about his upcoming trip to his family's summer house in Cabo for almost ten minutes. You try your best to seem interested, humming and nodding every couple seconds. You’re in the middle of tuning him out when a loud, familiar voice calls out your name. 

“There you are!” Patrick Zweig shouts from a few feet away, ugly American flag patterned flip flops smacking against the ground as he makes his way over to you. He’s wearing a bright red button down and white cargo shorts you scrunch your nose up at. He’s tanner than the last time you saw him, legs long and even more toned. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that pretty face.” He coos sweetly, his hand that isn't holding a bottle of Bud Light comes up to pinch your cheek.

You scoff, smacking his hand off your face. “You found me, so you can go bother someone else now,” you say, rubbing your cheek lightly. “Bye.” You press, waving your hand dismissively when he makes no move to walk away.

Patrick grins, unfazed by your reaction, he steps in even closer. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he says breezily, his breath smells like cheap beer and camel blues. He’s just as tall as you remember. He has tacky blue shutter shades resting on the top of his head. His eyes rake over your body shamelessly, lingering on the low dip of your neckline. “Cute dress.” 

You ignore him, rolling your eyes before turning your attention back towards Brandon/Brian. He’s silent now, eyes flicking between you and Patrick skeptically. “Are you like, together, or something?” 

You laugh loudly, quickly shaking your head ‘No’. Patrick beats you to speaking though, “God no, man.” he says through a laugh, dark curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “I came over here to warn you.” He continues, voice and expression going overly serious like he’s not talking out of his ass.

Brandon/Brian’s brows furrow, clearly confused. “Warn me?” he asks, head tilting to the left slightly. His puka shell necklace makes a small clicking sound as he moves. 

Patrick nods his head gravely, clapping his free hand down on Brandon/Brian's shoulder a little too roughly to be considered friendly, shaking him back and forth like a rag doll. “Yeah, best of luck trying to get inside that snatch, man.” he says earnestly, jerking his head in your direction. “Cause’ she’s really fucking picky–”

You whip your head in his direction to cut him off, grimacing in disgust. “You would say snatch, you sick fuck.” you snap, red solo cup crunching quietly in your hand. Patrick just laughs, dropping his hand from Brandon/Brian’s shoulder. Anger stews inside you the longer he looks at you with that stupid shit-eating smirk on his face. 

You can’t tell if Patrick hates you as much as you hate him. Every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. But he’s only doing all that to piss you off. You think back to Tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. You don’t see it.

Patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special. Sure, he may feel the constant need to be a horn-dog when he’s around you. That doesn’t mean anything. Patrick’s just gross, constantly making crude comments or lame innuendos. What Tashi fails to see is him making sex jokes around you is just another way he can piss you off. It’s not an open invitation into those god-awful shorts. 

Patrick takes a small step back, big hands raising in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Put the claws away,” You try to ignore the way him saying your name in that goddamn infuriating condescending tone makes your cheeks start heating up. Patrick leans his shoulder on the wall next to you, looking down at you with a small grin on his face. “I actually wanted to congratulate you on cracking the top twenty.” He takes a long sip of his beer, head lolling to the side lazily as he swallows. “Lucky number 14.”

You’re not too proud to admit that Patrick is kind of hot, especially in this lighting. He’s objectively a hot guy, and he knows it. All tall and firm looking even in his horrendous outfit. But he’s kind of cute too, in an ass-holey way. His hair's a mess of soft-looking black curls and his ears stick out from his head sort of endearingly. He’s close enough that you can see he’s got a little brown in his eyes, and long lashes. There’s a handful of freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose. 

His big, strong nose that looks like it could work wonders between your legs. Or at least that’s what you’ve heard from Jen in your chem lab. Maybe this jungle juice is stronger than you thought.

Patrick's smirk widens, wolfish and dirty like he can see what you’re thinking. “That’s pretty impressive.” he continues, his tone a mix of genuine admiration and teasing. "Especially for someone who's always so...busy." He lets the last word hang in the air, a clear innuendo that makes your blood boil all over again.

"Busy training," you snap back, not willing to let him get under your skin any more than he already has. "Some of us have actual work ethic, Patrick. We put in the hours on the court instead of fucking anything that breathes, you know? So we don’t look like idiots that get their ass handed to them on tour by nobody scrubs."

You can feel the heat start to simmer in your stomach, anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface as Patrick's presence continues to grate on your nerves. The tension between you is thick, amplified by the chaotic energy of the party swirling around you. You see Brandon/Brian take a long, awkward sip of his beer as he steps away, turning on his heel to quickly disappear into the sea of bodies crowding the living room. You roll your eyes internally, pussy.

Patrick grins, not deterred in the slightest. “You’ve been keeping up with my matches?” His voice is low and pleased sounding, shiny green eyes slowly getting swallowed by the black of his pupils. 

You pause, owlishly blinking up at him in silence. You’ve been caught. Shit.

You can feel the immediate warmth of embarrassment burning hot on your cheeks as you cast your gaze to the floor. “Only when I need to cheer myself up, a losing streak that high is actually laughable.” You mutter to the floor, lightly swirling your drink in your cup. 

Patrick laughs loudly, throwing his head back in amusement. “Still thinking about me though.” he says matter-of-factly, a lazy grin taking over his face.

His audacity sends another wave of anger and embarrassment through you, your grip tightens around your cup. "Only because you make such a spectacle of yourself," you retort sharply. "It's hard not to notice when you're crashing and burning so publicly."

Patrick's grin doesn't falter. If anything, it widens. "I'll take what I can get from you," he says, his tone a blend of amusement and something else that you can't place. "But seriously, congratulations. You deserve it."

His unexpected sincerity throws you off, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. It's rare to see Patrick in a light that isn’t coated in sarcasm or sleaze. You catch a glimpse of something genuine in his expression, something that almost resembles respect, and it confuses you.

It confuses you, and it makes something warm start to burn in your stomach. You can’t afford to feel any warm, fuzzy feelings around a guy like Patrick, not if you don’t want to get majorly fucked over the second he gets bored of you. 

You don’t know how to react so you do what makes sense, you lash out.

“God, will you just fuck off and leave me alone Patrick,” you say, tone over-dramatic and long-suffering as you tip your head up to the ceiling in annoyance. “I’m trying to have fun.” A lie. The party kind of sucked compared to last years. You were planning on talking Tashi into leaving when she came back, but he didn’t need to know that.

Patrick’s cool exterior finally cracks, letting out a quiet huff of disbelief as a frown starts tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is your fucking problem? I’m being sincere.” The playful light in his eyes is gone, replaced by something darker.

You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head in amusement. “Maybe I’d believe that if you weren’t such an ass. I know you too well, Patrick.” You say, tone mean and condescending. You know he’s right, on some level, but that doesn’t stop you. 

Patrick is silent for a beat, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes you want to start squirming. He lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, bringing his beer up to his lips to take a long sip. You watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, the way his lips look wrapped around the neck of the bottle. You feel a familiar heat start to pool between your legs, thighs clenching involuntarily as your mind envisions something else his slick, pink lips would look good wrapped around. 

He drops the bottle to his side, finally breaking the silence. “You know, now I do believe you.” he says casually, swiping his tongue over his lips lazily. “You must really not be getting any dick acting like this much of an uptight bitch.”

You reel back in shock, his words hitting you like a punch in the gut. The wave of fury that sweeps through you is almost tangible, your vision narrowing to a tunnel that begins and ends with Patrick’s infuriatingly smug face. “What did you just say?” you ask completely taken aback, voice low and rough. Your hand twitches at your side with the need to throw your drink in his face, anger and embarrassment lapping white hot flames in your stomach. 

Patrick just scoffs, heated gaze not breaking from your own. “You heard me.” He says, jaw set stubbornly. “You need like, emergency dick, or something to chill the fuck out for once.” 

You feel your heart rate spike, your free hand clenching into a tight wrist by your side. “You’re a fucking pig.” your voice shakes with anger, you feel sweaty and hot all over. The heat swirling between your legs is persistent.

Patrick laughs, a loud and infuriating sound. “Come on, we both know you’re fucking begging for someone to give you what you need.” He says like it’s obvious, you clench your fist a little tighter. He takes a step closer, voice dropping down to a whisper meant just for you. “I can help you with that. I can fuck all that bratty shit right out of yo–”

You’re reacting before you can stop yourself, hand flying up to slap him hard across the face. The loud crack pierces through the room, loud enough that a few eyes turn in your direction. Patrick's head snaps to the side, the shades resting on the top of his head fly off. 

Your heart stops, hands shaking with the realization of what you just did. You expect Patrick to flip out, start shouting and threatening to sue you or whatever else it is that rich people do. Time seems to slow down as he turns his head, and when he looks back at you, there's no trace of anger in his eyes. Instead, they're dark with something else entirely— something that makes your stomach flip.

He licks his lips, a slow, deliberate motion, and then he laughs, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. A clear hand print grows steadily, red and angry on his cheek. "Fuck." he breathes, his hazy eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. 

You’re stuck staring at each other for what feels like hours, the music and chatter from the party reduced down to a low hum as you’re caught under Patrick’s heavy gaze.

He drops his beer bottle on the floor carelessly, hand shooting out to grab your wrist tightly and drag you away from the living room. Your cup falls from your grip, splashing down onto the hardwood in a red sticky mess. You fall into step behind him, letting him guide you into the hallway outside the living room before he lurches to a stop in front of a closed door, ripping it open and shoving you inside. Patrick follows quickly, closing the door behind him and bathing the coat closet in darkness. 

It’s a tiny closet, you’re pressed up against too many coats fighting for space on the tiny rack, kicking loose shoes around as you try to find your footing. “Patrick, I–” You start, but you're cut off by a strong hand gripping your forearm and whipping you around. Your back hits the door with a dull thud, you don’t have any time to react before his lips are on yours.

The kiss is the opposite of gentle, Patrick’s lips are almost violent as they move with yours. Your hands tangle in his soft hair, kissing back just as roughly. He hisses into your mouth as you twist the strands in your grip meanly, pressing you into the door harder. His tongue forces its way past your parted lips, claiming your mouth fiercely. He tastes like beer, his fingertips are rough and calloused on your skin, pulling you closer as if he wants to meld into you.

“If you don’t want this, say the word and I’ll stop right now.” He says against your lips, breathless and rumbly. His hands squeeze your hips reassuringly, his own version of sincerity softening the moment.

Yeah fucking right.

“Zweig,” you say slowly, yanking his hair roughly. “If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next ten seconds, I’ll kill you.”

Patrick grins wildly, surging forward to connect your lips again. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt as the two of you kiss, working them open one by one until you get too frustrated and rip the two half-open sides apart. Buttons clatter onto the floor of the closet, Patrick groans into your mouth, breaking the kiss with a huff. “I liked that shirt, dick. You owe me twenty bucks.”

You’re not listening, eyes trained on the bare skin of his chest as everything seems to slow down for a second. Of course, you’ve seen Patrick shirtless before, when he’s on the court and it’s above ninety or when he’s taking up space in Art’s dorm. This feels different, a completely new situation where it’s actually okay for you to stare at the expanse of his torso. 

You can’t help reaching out to touch him again— running your greedy hands down his chest, his abs, the sharp ‘v’ cut of his hips that makes its way into the waistband of his shorts. Your manicured nails scratch through the dark hair of his happy trail, you can see the muscles in his stomach jump.

“Fuck,” you whisper breathlessly and immediately regret it. He was already insufferable— all you fucking needed was for him to know how you felt right now. How the sight of his barely undressed body is making your pussy soak through your panties.

Patrick doesn’t even gloat, just uses his tight grip on your hips to flip you so you’re pressing onto the door harshly. He impatiently yanks the skirt of your dress up, wasting no time in hooking a finger on the lace of your panties and moving the fabric to the side for easier access.

You hear him pop the button of his shorts open, his zipper following close behind. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” He says, sliding the thick tip of his cock through your slick lips, brushing himself against your entrance teasingly. “I’m gonna make you think twice about bitching me out ever again.” He seals his promise by grabbing your hair and yanking, causing a surprised whine to fall from your lips. His voice is so patronizing, but you aren’t getting mad like you should be. You’re just getting wetter, getting desperate with the need for him to get inside you right fucking now.

You grit your teeth in frustration, exhaling sharply through your nose. “I hate you.” You hiss, grinding back against his hard cock. You gasp raggedly as he starts to sink himself inside you, not stopping until his hips are flush against your ass. “Shit!” Your hands grip the door so hard you’re scared one of your nails will break. The stretch of him burns in the best way possible. You’d never say it out loud, not wanting to inflate his ego anymore than you probably already have, but he’s definitely the biggest cock you’ve taken. Almost porn-star big.

“I know.” He replies easily, hiking your thigh up with his hand as his hips start to pound mercilessly into the meat of your ass, not even giving you time to get used to the thick stretch of him. The loud smack of skin on skin fills the tiny closet easily, you hope to God the amount of clothes shoved in here somehow muffles the sound. The rough denim of his shorts scratches against your raw skin, adding to the sting of his hips.

Patrick was pounding into you in a way that makes you feel every inch of him. His cock felt impossibly big, filling you up like he was carving a place for himself inside of you. The sting in your pussy at the stretch of him is mind-numbing, you think you’d collapse from how hard your thighs were shaking if he wasn’t practically holding you up.

His big hand grips the sensitive skin of your inner thigh hard enough that it’ll probably be bruised by tomorrow. You distantly hope he’s high up enough that your tennis skirt will cover it, because if not it’ll be a hard thing to talk your way out of.

You throw your head back, a strained moan erupting from your lips. Your nails scratch at the paint on the door's edges, raking small lines down the wall. The loud squelch of your pussy’s overflowing wetness every time he sinks back inside you would be embarrassing if you had the mental capacity to care.

“Fuck yeah, keep making those slutty sounds, baby. Want the whole fucking party to hear how good I’m making you feel on this cock,” he mutters, hiking your leg up higher so he can pound into you deeper.

He drops your thigh, sliding his hand up your body and around your throat. You whine loudly, pushing back into his thrusts harder. Guys have tried the choking thing in the past, but Patrick’s hand is the only one that’s felt right. His long fingers curling around your throat like they belong there.

“Shit, fuck- don’t stop.” you mewl, lips parted in ecstasy. His hand squeezes a little tighter, not enough to cut off your breathing, just enough to get your eyes rolling back into your head as your pussy weeps around the thick length of his cock.

“That’s it, taking my fucking cock like you were made for it,” Patrick grates through a groan, gripping your hips and pulling out from your tight hole to spit on where his cock bumps up against your entrance before plunging back in.  You jolt at the extra wetness, whining at how dirty it is. “So fucking tight— does it hurt, baby?” he asks in a barely breathless voice, laughter edging his tone. “Is my fat cock hurting your tight little pussy?”

“God– shit, yes!” you sob loudly, cheek rubbing against the wood of the door as you nod your head frantically. “Hurts so fucking good.” You stop caring about inflating his ego, letting moans fall freely from your lips as you get closer to the edge.

“Fuck yeah, I’m gonna come,” he grunts, his rhythm growing sloppy and erratic as his muscles tense. He wraps your hair in his other hand, pulling hard enough to make your neck crane back awkwardly. He leans forward, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I can feel you, fucking clenching up on me so tight,” he whispers, still pounding into you roughly. “I know you’re close. Do it. Come all over my cock like a slut.”

Patrick's hand tightens around your throat as he talks, cutting off your air for just a second. “Patrick!” Your voice sounds weak and strained, your hand coming up to wrap around his wrist desperately.

He pulls out abruptly, dropping your hair from his fist to frantically jerk his cock, burying his face in your neck. You can hear the lewd shlick shlick shlick of your wetness help his hand glide over the skin of his cock quickly. Patrick lets out a loud growl before you feel the sharp bite of his teeth sinking in where your shoulder meets your neck, muffling a loud groan of your name as he sprays hot come over the skin of your lower back and the swell of your ass. 

The feeling of Patrick’s hand wrapped around your throat as his come paints your skin has you catapulting over the edge. Eyes rolling back in your head as your convulsing pussy gushes wet over his spent cock. 

You drag in greedy lungfuls of air, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “You came first.” You say breathlessly, voice scratchy and hushed. Patrick chuckles against your skin, swatting the tender flesh of your ass lightly. 

“Shut the fuck up.” He mutters half-heartedly, nuzzling his nose in your neck in a way that seems far too intimate for what the two of you just did. You don’t say anything.

Patrick eventually peels himself off your back, but the warmth of his body stays wrapped around you as he starts to gently wipe your skin clean. You’re ready to scold him for using some poor guy's coat as a come-rag, but when you turn your head to glare at him he’s using the inside of his own shirt. You wrinkle your nose, but a tiny smile fights its way onto your lips. So gross, you think with a sort of reluctant fondness.

He leans over to fix your panties back over your puffy, abused pussy. Your thighs continue to shake weakly as you try to stand on your own, still unsteady without Patrick holding you up. He gives you a sweet kiss on the back of your shoulder, smacking his lips loudly. You huff out a tiny laugh, pushing away from the door to face him.

You watch him as he languidly gets re-dressed. He looks well-fucked, his hair and clothes are mess, his face is flushed and sweaty. Your eyes trail down to where he’s buttoning up his atrocious shorts. 

The fabric around the crotch is darkened with your release, wetness soaking the denim around the zipper and front pockets. You gawk at it, a mix of terror and excitement swirling through your stomach. “You can’t go back out like that.” you say to his shorts, shame burning your cheeks. 

Patrick follows your gaze down to his crotch. A pleased smirk plays on his lips when he looks back at you. “I’ll text you later.” Is all he says, zipping his fly and turning towards the door. 

“You don’t have my number.” You say, tugging the skirt of your dress down over your hips. You can slowly feel the horny fog leave your brain, leaving you clear-minded and a little panicked.

He cracks the door open, but before walking out of the closet he looks back at you over his shoulder. “Art’ll give me your number. “ He says casually with a small shrug of his shoulder. You suddenly feel sick, wondering how many other people have heard that line before getting completely ghosted. 

Patrick must see the negative thoughts running through your mind play out on your face. He gives you an actual smile, one that has his eyes crinkling up the tiniest bit at the corners. “Promise.” He says with a reassuring nod, it’s the most sincere you’ve ever seen him. You bite your lip to stop from smiling at the hope blooming in your stomach, nodding back at him slowly. He throws you one last toothy grin before he’s walking out and closing the door behind him.

You sigh contently, staring at the closed door for a few beats before your phone buzzes to life from where it's laying on the floor. You bend over to search for it, blindly rooting around until you see the tiny display light. The ringing stops before you can answer, when you flip the screen up to check your inbox you have seven missed texts and two missed calls.

Four texts and two calls from Art, and just three texts from Tashi.

arty where are you? i’ve been looking for you are you okay? hello???

tash you know you're not invisible right? everyone saw your little show have fun <3

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini a/n: yes i did change the title leave me lmao love you!

[mattybsgroupie]

— tape ★ matt sturniolo

— CONTENTS: cursing, fighting; established relationship; oral (m receiving); spanking (f receiving); degradation; p in v; creampie; use of “y/n”; dom!matt

— NOTES: posting this and another one later this week in celebration of almost 600 followers. so thankful for this community and for every single person that enjoys my writing (but if one gets more likes than the other im KILLING MYSELF) <3 not proofread blablabla hope you enjoy i love y’all so so much

“y/n!” matt slammed the door shut, loud voice taking over the kitchen, where i was peacefully sitting. “are you fucking dumb?!” he hissed at me, throwing his phone on the table.

“wow, chill” i said, frowning my eyebrows, confused look in my face. “what are you talking about?”

“what did you do with our camera’s flashcard?” matt crossed his arms, impatiently tapping his foot on the ground. my mouth hung open, but no words came out of it. matt looked so angry, and i knew i had cause us trouble. as i kept searching on my mind, he screamed once again “fucking tell me!”

“i don’t fucking know!” i hissed back at him, throwing my hands in the air. “i changed it the last time, i told you we were out of memory but i don’t remember where i put the other one!”

“oh you don’t?” he narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to me and removing a tiny object from his pocket. he showed me the flashcard, holding it with his thumb and index right at my face. “what about leaving it on this fucking table next to nick’s work stuff?”

my eyes widened. “matt i-i’m so sorry, fuck” i stuttered, realizing what i had done.

“you’re sorry now? after nick saw everything? we have so much shit here y/n, for christ’s sake!” matt kept holding the memory card, free hand running through his hair as he tried to calm himself down. “he saw your naked pictures, he saw mine! there are compromising videos in here y/n, can you imagine if he had uploaded any of them by mistake?”

“matt, please” i got up, walking closer to matt and resting my hand on his chest. “babe, i didn’t mean it, i’m really fucking sorry.” he looked away, scratching his freshly shaved beard.

“sometimes i think you’re asking for it, you know?” he said grabbing my wrist. “you fucking want our pics to get leaked, so that way everyone can know how much of a slut you are”. matt finished, pulling me to his room as he walked, grip in my skin getting stronger.

he slammed the door once again and pushed me on his bed, my breath turning heavy from his sudden change of behavior. matt went next to his computer, grabbing our camera. it was one of the first cameras the boys ever used to record their youtube videos, and nick gifted it matt after they changed to a new, more modern equipment. matt opened the video screen and turned it on, green light signaling he had started recording.

“take your shorts off” he demanded and i knew i could no longer run from my punishment. i kept sitting, slowly removing the cloth down my legs, kicking it away with my foot. i was wearing pink panties and a t-shirt i borrowed from him, not looking my best.

“you wanted this so bad, didn't you?” he asked, positioning the camera on the nightstand. matt sat next to me, but only to pull my legs over him. he turned me over, my belly now resting on his thighs and my head falling down, only my left arm resting on the mattress. i opened my mouth in disbelief, my calves trying to move away from him somehow.

“what are you doing?” i asked, trying to at least get a bit more comfortable in that position.

“giving you what you wanted” matt said, his arm locking my legs together while the other one held me by my breasts - at least my head wouldn’t be spinning. one of his cold hands smacked my ass, the sudden contact making me choke on a moan. i could feel matt’s grin growing wide as he palmed my skin, preparing me for another slap.

“fuck!” i groaned as the burning sensation started. i knew matt didn’t actually want to hurt me, he rubbed my butt after each smack, soothing the tingles i felt as my blood started to run faster.

“matt- please” i tried to speak, but another spank interrupted me. “behave, yeah?” matt whispered in my ear and pointed to the camera. “everyone’s gonna see how much of a fucking slut you are. can’t even take a punishment, right?” he teased, long fingers now travelling between my buttcheeks, brushing lightly over my panties. matt pressed his digits harder over my cunt, feeling the wetness there “soaked already?”

i looked away, trying to cover my embarrassment with my hands - it was humiliating, my ass in the air being spanked by matt after a mistake i didn’t even mean to make. “you’re fucking embarassed? can you imagine how i was after nick gave this to me? my brother saw everything, your dirty whore” he didn’t stop the slaps, and i couldn’t stop whimpering as his hand kept on marking my skin.

“ah!” i cried once more, until he two other spanks were enough. matt gave a kiss on each of my senstive buttcheeks and tossed me out of his lap, getting up and standing in front of me. he grabbed the camera once again, turning the screen so that only him could see what he was filming. my face was burning red and i was already exhausted. matt looked at me, rising his eyebrows, wide grin on his face.

“come on” he said, zooming the lenses on me. “you’re gonna look so pretty with your mouth wrapped around my cock”.

i gulped, quickly nodding and moving my hands to his belt. i had barely unbuckled it, but i could feel matthew’s impatience growing. i pulled matt’s pants down along with his underwear, revealing his hardened dick. matt moved the camera to show off his own length, eager for me to touch him, even when he was the one in charge.

i wrapped my fingers around his shaft, veins pulsing in my palm. i brought my mouth closer to his tip, lips wrapping around the sensitive area as i received a groan in response, matt finally getting some relief to his aching cock. i couldn’t fit him entirely - matt was huge - so both of my hands started pumping the missing part as i moved my head down.

i heard matt chuckling, delighted with the view of my teary eyes begging for him. he started to slowly move his hips forward, trying to thrust his leaking dick inside of my throat. one of his hands went to my hair, already messy and tangled, in order to set my pace as he pleased.

i mumbled on his cock, asking if i could please, please, please, take a breath. of course, no words came out, my muffled voice only sent vibrations and warmth to his length which made him push his cock forward in my mouth, making me gag.

i could feel the saliva running down the sides of my lips when i softly tapped matt’s thigh and he slowly removed his cock, realizing he might have been a little too rough. i coughed, catching my breath as he pouted at me, faux sympathy showing by the lust in his eyes.

“can’t you take anything?” he asked, tugging the hem of my - his - shirt. “you cry when i spank you, you can’t even blow me properly… weren’t you supposed to act like a good slut?” matt said, helping me remove the white cloth, exposing my breasts. my nipples had been poking through the shirt from a long while, but only now matt decided to zoom in on my nubs. i caught him licking his lips as i positioned myself further on the bed, showing off my body to him. my fingers around as his followed from my neck to my collarbones and down to my tits as i teased my hardened nipples with my own digits.

“so pretty” matt whispered so low i wouldn’t have heard it if i wasn’t paying attention to his lips. “on fours” he said in a serious tone, making my pussy clench.

i turned my body over, standing on my elbows and knees, sticking my ass out as he placed himself on the bed with his knees behind me. matt’s cold fingers touched the waistband of my panties, slowly pulling it down my legs as he filmed everything.

he grabbed his own cock and pumped a few times, spreading the pre-cum along his length before dragging his dick between my buttcheeks and moving it down my cunt, lazily rubbing my folds, not really trying to fuck me. after teasing me a bit more, matt quickly put the camera back on his nightstand, now filming both of us.

matt placed his digits on my entrance, pressing my wet hole with two fingers. he slowly started to push in, but didn’t go all the way, pulling out when he saw me biting my own lips. i whined in protest - i needed him to fill me up. “fucking shut up” he spoke in a lighter mood than in the beginning of the night, showing that he was now just as needy as me.

his hands rested on my hips, holding it tight as he gradually buried himself inside of me. his pre-cum and all of my juices made it easier for matt to slide in, quickly stretching my walls and not giving me time to adjust to his size before pounding into me. “gosh- matt!” i moaned, throwing my head back as my cunt throbbed.

“always so tight for me” he said, hovering his body over mine. his chest was almost glued to my back, one of matt’s hands holding my jaw so he could kiss me. “who owns that pretty cunt, huh?” matt asked, my mouth hanging open as i could no longer stop my gruntings “y-you! ah-”.

“my fucking slut” he kept on talking while jointing his hips forward, cock finally hitting my spot. “only mine”.

“yes matt, fuck!” i pleaded, feeling my cunt clench its own walls against his dick. “i’m gonna cum, please!”

“don’t you fucking dare coming before me” matt said as his thrusts turned sloppier, trying to reach his orgasm. “f-fuck, taking me so well” he groaned loudly, palm once again meeting my ass as he slapped my skin. suddenly, i felt matt’s release filling me up completely, his sticky spurt leaking down my thighs as he finally allowed me to cum as well. my whole body trembled as my orgasm washed over me, my chest panting heavily, letting my head fall on the mattress.

matt slowly pulled out of me, lying down by my side as he came back from his high.

“are you okay?” matt asked, his hand resting on my back while i still recovered. “was i too rough?” he caressed my skin and i could feel the concern in his voice starting to show as i didn’t say anything in response.

“i’m never” i started, still out of breath. “losing the fucking card again”. i heard matt chuckle as he moved his other arm further, trying to reach the nightstand. he grabbed the camera and placed it next to my face. “say hi, pretty”

“hi pretty” i joked, matt giggling before turning the lenses to himself and winking to the video, pressing the finish button and closing the video screen. “and yes, babe. i’m okay” i assured him. “im sorry for being irresponsible and-“ he cut me off with a kiss. as he pressed his lips against mine, i realized he was no longer mad at me, and i could finally let myself relax.

“by the way” he spoke, throwing the camera on his side of the bed “you can leak this one” i giggled, hugging him, both of us acknowledging we could never - ever - lose this flash card again.

[moonstruckme]

you rang for steve requests!!!

you write him so soft and boyish and nice, i've been wanting to request something and i just got an idea!

maybe some hurt comfort about reader coming to the starcourt parking lot to pick up steve (and robin and dustin) as soon as they hear abt the fire? or the emts asking steve who they should call and he just says rs phone number, and then like a "you came" "you called" moment?

I did ring, thank you for requesting lovely!

cw: season 3 canon events, reader is in the dark but won't be for much longer, mentions of physical injury, fire, suspicious governement folks covering shit up as suspicious government folks do

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 868 words

Your throat is impossibly dry the whole drive to the mall. Dry, and tight, like you couldn’t swallow if you tried. The parking lot is filled with everything from firetrucks to military helicopters, which you won’t think to wonder about until later. You’re scanning the smattering of people for Steve before you’re even out of the car. 

You don’t actually remember parking. Or pulling your keys from the ignition, or opening your door. The next thing you know you’re breathing in smoke and bumping shoulders with firefighters, your focus narrowed on the back of an ambulance. 

“Steve?” 

Your voice is hoarse, but he looks up like he can sense you. You see his lips form your name, brow bunching in that cute way of his. You start running. 

“Steve!” 

“Hey, hi.” He stands from the chassis of the ambulance, rocking back a little when he catches you. You hug him fiercely. “What’re you doing here?” 

He smells like smoke and oddly like iron, his skin damp with sweat. You don’t care; you curl your face into his neck. “I saw the fire on the news.”

“So you…drove towards it?” 

“I knew you were here!” You pull away from him, suddenly furious. “Why do you always have to work on your stupid project at night?” Steve’s been up to something lately. He won’t tell you about it, but you know it involves Robin and Dustin and something to do with translation. Steve says it’s not important but he acts like it is, and he’s been uncharacteristically tight-lipped about the whole thing. “Where’s Robin? Is she—” 

“She’s fine, she’s over there.” Steve juts his chin to the right. Through the smoke and chaos, you can just make out her familiar silhouette. She’s standing with a couple of kids about Dustin’s age. 

You let out a breath that turns into a shiver, and Steve cups your arms, rubbing up and down almost thoughtlessly. It melts down your anger into something wetter. When you look at him again, your voice is rough. 

“What happened to you?” 

“I’m fine, honey.” 

“Steve, your face.” 

He touches it, as though the tableau of black and purple bruises had slipped his mind. It’s hard to tell if his wince is from pain or remorse. “Right, yeah. Um…” 

“Mr. Harrington.” A voice comes from behind you, brusque and tired-sounding. You press closer to Steve instinctively, protective, but Steve’s face lights with recognition. 

“Oh. Hey, Doc.” 

You turn, too surprised to do much for covering your bemusement. Why would a doctor be wearing military gear like this, and be followed by a soldier carrying a gun? 

“Can we speak to you for a minute?” 

“Sure,” Steve says, but you talk over him. 

“No.” 

The man—Doc, whoever he is—looks at you as though just noticing you’re there. You steel yourself, but his gaze is more kind than hostile. Sympathetic, even. 

Steve squeezes your hip gently. “Y/n—” 

“No.” 

You don’t know what these people want with Steve, but you know you don’t like it. Your instincts are screaming at you not to let him go. To keep him close, preferably forever. 

Steve looks past you. “Can you give us a minute?” 

They go without a fight, seemingly assured in your boyfriend’s ability to placate you. You don’t want to be placated. You feel patronized and pent-up, and you blame that for the stinging tears that invade your vision. You cling to the fabric of Steve’s shirt like a vice. 

“Hey,” he lowers his voice, head dropping to meet your eyes. “It’s fine, they just wanna talk to me.” 

“Why? Can’t it wait? You just got out of a burning building, you—” 

“It won’t take long. They just want me to tell them what happened.” 

“You haven’t even told me what happened.” Your voice tightens and splinters, fist clenching so hard in Steve’s shirt you can feel your own nails through the fabric. Steve grabs your face in a panic. 

“Honey, it’s fine. Okay? It’s fine. I’ll tell you,” he says in a rush, then pauses. Something new comes over his expression, and he drops his forehead to yours. Lets out a breath. “I’ll tell you, I promise. Later, okay? This’ll just take a minute, and then we’ll go back to my place and talk. Alright?” 

You feel silly, sniffling and with tears on your cheeks, but you nod. 

“Okay,” Steve breathes out. His grip on your face gentles, cradling your jaw as he bends to kiss you. 

It’s meant to be a brief, conciliatory kiss, you know, but with all your overwhelm and all Steve has no doubt been through it heats up fast. You’re both gasping when he pulls away, using a thumb to wipe the wetness from your cheeks. 

“I’ll be right back,” he promises you. 

“You better be,” you threaten. You’re really quite serious, but Steve smiles, and naturally the sight of it makes your lips tug too. 

“I will,” he says. “Just, wait here, okay? Right back.” 

You hop up on the ambulance as he goes, making his way through the smoke to where Doc and his armed buddies wait for him by a helicopter. You couldn’t take your eyes off him if you tried.