#and yet idk i like it enough to stick around it with for a while

[helladventurers]

I was gonna stop playing after I beat the story but honestly I'm enjoying the game enough, I'll continue playing through high rank until I get tired, I still got two months of ps+ so there's no need to rush things, and if I can't play the games I enjoy then what's the point of this whole thing

[hoshigray]

Heyyy. Can I request a college au. Reader is an average, socially awkward person but somehow managed to pulled the campus heartthrob, Geto (or gojo). And he's lowkey obsessed with her and try to be fucking her every chance he gets.

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: why not both? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ idk, felt like doing a threesome for some reason lmao

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Geto + Gojo x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! college setting - sex in public places; gymnasium locker room + dining hall + college dorms - oral (m! + f! receiving) - face + throat-fucking - fingering (f! receiving) - clitoral play (swiping, grinding and licking/sucking) - face-sitting - threesome - double penetration; anal and vaginal - cowgirl dp position - anal fingering (f! receiving) - kissing/making out - protected sex (psa: warp it up or get tf up) - overstimulation - pet names (angel, baby, cutie, my love, pretty girl, princess, sweetie, sweetheart) - sato + sugu being whipped over you, hehe~ - slight humor - mention of tears and drool.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.1k (pretty long for a req, lol)

“Oh, Y/n, it’s good to see you. Did you have a good weekend? Let’s walk each other to class; I was waiting for you.”

“Y/nnnn! This cold day is so much warmer now that you’re here. Let’s grab something to eat at the dining hall, okay?”

You thought college life couldn’t get any more difficult than it already is. Oh, how you were so wrong… 

Being on your own on campus was hard enough; states away from your family and having to rely on and take care of yourself while also striving for a better education. On top of this, making friends (outside of your roommates Shoko and Utahime) is such a social and excruciating chore as it’s challenging to put yourself out for people to notice you. Making small talk with your peers or talking/discussing group material in classes has your heart racing enough – not to mention trying to commit to clubs – making you feel a bit of a failure as a human being.

With that, you almost dwell on not trying at all. You’re utterly content with your inner circle with your roommates, waking up and heading to classes and back, eating college food, and sleeping after reading for a lecture. This routine of sticking to yourself was a notion you’ve grown to accept and find comfort in — no need to change it if it’s been doing you well this far.

That is until you meet them — Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru, the best friends of your roommate Shoko. 

Gojo is the star player of the school’s basketball team, a famous face among the class years, and the “disgustingly tactless, cutesy prince” of your year, as described by Utahime. By morning, he’s a dedicated student in his business administration major and history minor classes; by afternoon, he is his playful, social, and charismatic snow-haired soul, grabbing the attention of others and bringing life to those around him with his bright cadence. In addition, he’s a talented figure, capturing the hearts of many with his model work in fashion shows and playing fan-favorite roles in plays.

In contrast, Geto was a much more mellow star that pulled the hearts of students and professors alike. The raven-haired bioengineering major was a boy whose presence was easy not to notice yet quick to pull you in when making himself known. His tall, docile figure emitted an aura that accompanied the soothing tune of his voice, the perfect combination that made him trustworthy and obliging to the students around him and his lacrosse teammates. With the charming features of a heartthrob and the alluring speech of a leader, he’s someone many would turn to in search of a person to follow and praise.

Satoru and Suguru, two complete opposites – two best friends – who are, without a doubt, the twin stars of this school. However, there was one thing the two shared in common, something that made your heart skip and your mind race every time knowing this fact: the two were unmistakably and sickeningly in love with you!

How? You do not know. It all started when Shoko brought them over one night for dinner, and you saw them for a quick moment in the kitchen, quickly greeting them before rushing back into your room. Next thing you knew, you had begun to see and run into them every so often, which soon turned to at least once per day. And now, like a white bubbly puppy and a black, quietly affectionate cat, you could not shake them off you when and wherever you went.

Oh, it was something you were not used to, being sneaked up from behind by Gojo, who’d pull you in for a hug or lift you with every greeting in public (as if you weighed like nothing)! Especially in classes where Geto would surprise you with his calm voice and a warm hand on your shoulder to check if you were okay before claiming the chair next to you. And you couldn’t push them away — how could you when two of the most renowned faces on school grounds want to be around your presence!? Good Lord, it was all overwhelming, Shoko and Utahime having to step in to beat the boys into shape for making you uncomfortable.

And then there are those times when the two would butt heads with each other because of you! There have been a handful of times where if one had you to themselves, the other would bore glares to the former’s skull. Gojo would suck his teeth with his arm wrapped around your shoulder, white brows furrowed and ticked off blue eyes concealed by his dark circle shades. “Yo, Buddha with bangs, can you let go? Y/n promised to hang with me after their classes ended, and I’d be damned if you’d be third-wheeling.”

“That’s not happening, Satoru,” Geto’s hand grasps yours with more grip, royal purple eyes narrowed at his white-haired friend. “Y/n and I have a presentation to work on for tomorrow. Go lollygag somewhere else.”

Two positive bundles of life will immediately turn hostile when it comes to you, suffocating your very being as you’re stuck in the middle of them. It’s bad enough being with either of them has people notice and talk about you; it’s another thing when you’re being fought over like some small bunny between two snarling wolves. Oh God, why me!!??

But it wasn’t all bad. If anything, being fawned over by the two was a strange thing that has happened to you thus far, and not in a terrible way. Gojo has made you a lot more open and social than before, dragging you to parties he’s been invited to and to his crowded games (where he’s always sure to find you and blow a kiss). And spending time with Geto has sparked instances where you’re courageous enough to speak for yourself with a bit of a push from him, throwing in your inputs for class discussions or having him aid you in knowing your material when you two study together.

The two most popular guys in school who flatter and are obsequious over you. That in itself is enough to make your cheeks and ears dial in warmth, shielding your face in your pillows just thinking about them. You like them both, bound to be drawn in by the handsome boys and their pursuit of you.

However, their infatuation was something you’d find out goes beyond words and handholds. An obsession for you embroidered in their very minds…and bodies.

“…Mhahhh, Go—Mmmph! Gojooo…we shouldn’t be doing this…”

“Aww, c’mon, Y/n, you know I don’t like it when you call me by last name. It’s just the two of us here…Fuck, keep licking it like that…”

Sneaking into the basketball team’s locker room is one thing; sneaking in with the star player in the team with you between his legs on the bench and sucking his dick? Oh, that’s a can of worms you never thought you’d open in your entire life. 

Gojo brings his head back, banging on the locker behind him as the contact of your tongue on his pink tip sends shivers up to his shoulders. “Fuuuck, you feel so good, baby. Gonna make me cum again…” You peer up with lidded eyes as you suck his tip into your mouth, him humming at the warm sensation of your mouth swallowing his length whole. Your face is hot of embarrassment, being looked down on by him as you do such an indecent thing on him in a place of changing for men. 

This was his idea – bringing you to the gymnasium to watch him practice with his teammates for an upcoming game. Then, he pulls you aside once the guys want another fifteen-minute water break, bargaining into the men’s locker room and pulling you in for a hot kiss. Sucking on and nibbling on your lips and tongue has you mewl sweetly for him, distracted as he pulls his shorts and briefs down to expose the erection growing inside him. “Sorry, you just looked too cute watching me from the side,” he’d say with a hazy glint in his eyes shielded by his shades.

So here you are, sucking him off to the hilt, where your lips meet strands of his white pubes, making your boyfriend cum for the second time. Gojo brings a hand to your head for purchase, moaning as your hand massages his balls. “—Ahh, fuck…God, you’ve gotten so good at that, cutie. Can’t get enough of you...”

His words burn your ears, his aroused tone making your face even more hot to bear. Gosh, this was such a dangerous game; your nerves constantly on edge in hopes nobody would walk in.

However, your worries might have been what jinxed your fate because you two heard the door to the locker room open. You instantly move your mouth away from Gojo’s cock and stand to panic. But before you could, Gojo quickly grabbed you by the wrist and took you to one of the bathroom stalls. You sat on the toilet, bewildered at being dragged all over this fitness center. Then, Gojo brings his dick to your face again, and you give him the most shockingly confused expression as if he can’t hear the commotion of two people speaking where they used to be.

“Relax, no one’s coming here,” Liar, we almost got caught! He pushes the tip to your mouth, and you murmur on his length, filling your mouth and throat. “Let’s make this one quick, okay?”

You were too busy registering him place his hands on your head before he could slam himself to your mouth; the sudden thrust of his hips propelling his cock deep into the tight crevices of your throat makes you grip onto his shorts for dear life. The slap of his ruts fills your eardrums; you can’t tell how far or close the two guys who entered the locker room are. He’s making you focus on nothing but him — a selfish objection from a selfish man as he’s using you to relieve himself in the men’s locker room. God, this was such a bad situation, and yet your lower half couldn’t stop the throbs that have you shifting your thighs together. How embarrassing! 

“Hhnnn, fucking shit, your throat feels so good,”  he praises, his slender fingers massaging your scalp. Your tongue brushes the underside of his length in a way that has his pace go faster, and he has to keep his moans to a lower volume. “Shiiit, baby, I’m gonna cum…Take it all in…!”

You have no choice but to, forced to gulp down all of his load that he spills into your tight, warm throat. He still rocks his pelvis into you until every pump of his jizz is inside you. When your ears pick up the sound of the locker room door opening and closing with the dismissal of the two strangers, that’s when Gojo takes his long shaft out of your mouth, spit connecting from your tongue to his cockhead is wiped with haste. 

But then, Gojo pokes your cheek with his tip, a sign that he wants to go again. You throw quiet pleas, “N–No, Gojo! You have to get back to practice—“

“Shhh, those guys can survive a few games without me. And besides,” he gently slaps your cheek with his cock. How vulgar! “I’ll fuck your mouth til the end of the day if you don’t stop using my last name when it’s just the two of us here.” The playful grin on his lips doesn’t make that threat any better. “One more time, please?”

With hesitant eyes, you place kisses on his shaft while stroking him. “Only one more…okay, Satoru?”

He beams with the dimples of his cheeks. “Yes, pretty girl~.”

And it doesn’t stop there — because Geto is no better. 

“Aww, you two are so cute together~”

You squirm on the booth seat you’re sharing with your other boyfriend, you two sitting across from his friends — a senior couple he shares a lab with that invited him for dinner. Unsurprisingly, you were his plus one, knowing you’re not one for being around people you’re not familiar with. And yet here you are, caged by the wall and Geto’s frame to keep you in this conversation on the side of the busy dining hall.

Geto chuckles before brushing your cheek, "Aren’t we? But they’re the cutest thing to me.” He says as he places a swift kiss on your cheek; it’s an action that has your face grow in warmth — and the couple “awwing” at his affection.

The guy of the couple speaks to the dark, long-haired other. “I never knew you were one for relationships, Geto; you seem so busy with Bio and your clubs that you don’t seem to have time to lay low and be with someone.”

“Mmm, I thought so, too. That is until I met Y/n through a friend of mine,” you jerk at the silent touch of his pinkie grazing your thigh, noting it had sneaked under your skirt to graze its skin. Your eyes peek in his direction, finding that he remains eye contact with the guy he’s talking with. “And, you know, I got to know them here and there, shared some classes with them on the side. Now, I just can’t imagine them being out of my line of sight.”

The guy across laughs. “Sounds kinda obsessive!”

Geto shrugs with a chortle. “I guess it’s like that, I don’t know. I’m just really crazy about them; they’re my sweetheart after all.”

“That’s so sweet!” The girl senior across exclaims, turning to you to ask, “So, how long have you and Geto been a thing, Y/n?”

The question has you stumped for a bit as you weren’t ready to be thrown inquiries. And before you answer, you feel Geto’s hand rub on your thigh. “U-Umm, me—ahem—Geto and I have been a couple for quite a while now? My roommate was the one who introduced me to him—Mmmm!” You briskly flatten your lips at your squeak because the fingers inside your skirt pinch your skin. On command, you spread your legs for Geto to insert his hand inside your panties.

The girl asks more questions. “Oh? So, your roommate brought you two together. Did you know of them before?” 

“Well, not really…She and Geto—Ohh!” You bring your hand to your lips at the graze of Geto’s forefinger on your clit. You turn to him and are immediately locked into his violet gaze. He lifts a brow with an undisturbed smile, and you gulp. “I–I mean, Suguru and my roommate have been best friends since high school, so I kinda got…Nnmm,” you chew your lips when he bullies a digit between your folds to play and tease. “She was the one who introduced me to him…”

“Is that so? Hehe, it’s amazing how the world works, huh?” You listen, but your mind is too focused on Geto’s digits swiping and nestling across your wetness to have your body more excited about his touch. And it gets worse as he inserts his forefinger inside your vagina, causing you to jolt and suppress your mewl by leaning into his shoulder, gripping onto the sleeve of his turtleneck. “Here are two lovebirds all lovey-dovey with each other thanks to one friend bringing them together. It’s crazy imagining you two would’ve never met hadn’t that happened.”

Geto hums at that comment, “I agree; I have to thank Shoko for bringing this little angel to my arms.” He places a soft kiss on your forehead, completely nonchalant compared to the quickened pace of the digit scraping your insides. “Isn’t that right, my love?”

With trenched brows and a shaky breath, you try to reply to the awaiting couple. “Mhmm, yes, I’m so grateful that Suguru is in my life…He’s been such a help to me,” his forefinger goes slow, having you feel every dent and knuckle. “Hahhh, he’s so good to me, and I love him just as mu—Mmmph!!”

“Hmm? Are you okay, Y/n?” How can you tell the guy across from you that your boyfriend’s thumb just surprised your clit with a swipe?  You’d rather melt on this floor had you not buried your face into Geto’s shoulder. 

Speaking of who, he takes the initiative to answer for you. “I think they’re a little parched, must’ve been this lemonade I got for them. I’ll go get them some water—“

“Oh, no, no! I’ll go get the water; I was gonna get more of those garlic knots anyways.” The girl stops Geto from moving, sliding from the booth seat with her boyfriend’s hand to follow suit. “C’mon, let’s leave these lovebirds for a bit. We’ll be right back!”

And so they leave, thanking your lucky stars. Once their figures are nowhere to be seen within the sea of students, you probe the man with a trembling whimper. “Mmmph, Suguru, please, take it out before—Ahhh…! They come back…”

Luckily, he listens to your request with no argument, withdrawing his digit from your wet slick and underwear. And to your horror, he brings the finger to lick and suck and says with a dark look, “Just checking to see what I’ll be having later.”

It doesn’t matter wherever or whenever; Gojo and Geto will be sure that their love for you is expressed to you every chance they get. 

It doesn’t matter the day or hour, whether you are free from assignments, spending time with your roommates, or on your way out to study; those two will find a way to get to be with you. And, to be honest, it can be a bit overstimulating! 

When there are dates to the movies with Gojo, there’s private alone time with Geto on his bed as he eats you out. And when there are days when Geto holds hands with you and walks you to your classes, there are nights when Gojo will fuck you til his cock is warmed inside you in his slumber. It can go either way, the two competing for your affection and time when the other is out of sight. 

Again, sometimes it’s overwhelming for you, never knowing which of the two will have you all to themselves, nor knowing when you can have time to yourself! And it’s not like you haven’t tried putting your foot down to express your wish to be alone. But, albeit it can be utterly exhausting, you know those two love and cherish you so much that it drives them crazy. Hell, it’s driving you crazy just how much they can’t keep their hands off you! 

Especially now when they drag you to their shared dorm room, experiencing one of those days when the two wish to have you in the same presence. 

“Hahhh, damn, Y/n…you’re sucking me off so good,” Geto purrs with a whistle while lovingly patting your head. “So good for me, huh, sweetie?” 

The two stripped you off your clothes to be nude with them on the bed. Your naked frame straddles above Gojo, lying on his back with his face buried into your bare cunt for his mouth and tongue to please you orally. Meanwhile, you suck on Geto’s girth as he leans on the pillows and headboard. It’s his turn after sucking off Gojo (they settled this over rock-paper-scissors) and fingering you to warm you up first.

You whine of his member, Gojo’s tongue doing wonders on your delicate body. He licks on your clit just as you lap yours around Geto’s glans, and then he’ll suck your pearl right as you take in the tip with pursed cheeks. It’s such a mutual shared experience, with how Gojo’s hands wrap to your thighs to keep your chasm on his lips while you have Geto keen to your mouth and hands stroking him. 

“—Khhhh, Jesus Christ…Hohhh, right there, sweetie…” The raven-haired one coos as you kiss your way down to his balls to suck one as you continue to jerk him. “Heh, you doing good down there, Satoru?”

The snow-haired other removes his mouth from your folds, licking your essence that sticks to his lips like honey mixed with his saliva. “Hahaa, you have no idea. I could stay like this for hours,” his tongue licks your come to your clit tantalizingly slow, evoking you to almost choke on Geto’s girth. “Aww, look at you trying to move from me,” Gojo brings your hips back down to him for him to swirl around your labia, his grip on your thighs refusing to submit. “Don’t go anywhere, princess; I’m not finished until you cum on my face again.”

“Ohhh, shit, keep doing what you’re doing, Satoru,” Geto subtly bucks his hips, “I love the way they’re whining on my dick…”

With your puffy lips being busy in the front and your cunt being lapped and nibbled on from below, your senses are clouded by the two boys who seek nothing but your participation in experiencing pleasure. Your head gradually turns into mush with every rut to your throat and every lap around your clitoris. It’s to no surprise that your release seeps out of your body without preparation, crying on Geto’s length as your frame quivers in euphoric bliss. 

And if you think you couldn’t get swamped enough, think again. 

“—Nnngh, fuck, Y/n, you’re gripping on my dick like crazy…Hehe, is it because you can’t look me in the face? Damn, you’re such a cutie…”

Your face is nuzzled in the crook of Gojo’s neck as you’re straddling on top of him, your nude, sweaty bodies melted together to share heat. Your hips bounce up and down on his pelvis, where his rubber-covered length is scraping the walls of your vagina. His left curve grazes and jabs your sweet spots, and your body lies on top of Gojo, which brings more friction to your clitoris. 

“Hahhh, ahhnn—Ohhhh!” Your phrases have doubled down to that of whimpers of pleasure, thinking straight is impossible, and your mind is too deep in a haze to focus on anything outside of what’s happening. And it’s not like you can’t stop your hips from bouncing on his shaft — you’ve tried! But the moment your legs express so much as reluctance or fatigue, Gojo’s hands are right there on your ass to guide you back into the rhythm. So it’s expected when you climax on him once more, clamping onto him as you ride out another orgasmic wave. “Ahhaaa! Sa’toruuu, stooohhp—hic…! I’m ‘oo sens' tiveee!!” 

“You say that, but—hnnn! You’re rocking those hips of yours on your own, baby.” He chuckles at your slurred speech, placing kisses on your cheek as his hands massage your asscheeks. “Holy shit, you feel so unreal; wanna fuck you raw so bad with how tight you are.” 

“Don’t even think about it, Satoru,” you hear Geto’s voice from behind, the dent of the twin-size bed shifting with his added weight. “If I can’t go condom-less, you’re not getting any special treatment out of it either.”

“Psssh, yeah, yeah,” Gojo says with rolled azure eyes before he whispers to your ear. “Come on, angel, let’s get you prepped up.” The white-haired boy’s hands spread your butt, exposing his dick buried deep into your tight slit and your taint.  

Geto grins salaciously. “My, what a dirty sight for me, my love.” You chew your lips to his words, the heat in your ears causing them to ring. You then feel his fingers smothered in lube to meet your asshole, spiraling around it before inserting them one by one. Your holes instinctively contract, making Gojo hiss. “Relax, pretty girl,” he kisses your temple. “We’re gonna make you feel so good.”

You remind your figure to calm down, allowing Geto to play with your anus for it to accommodate the next foreign limb he’ll put inside. Gojo keeps kneading your butt, but he throws furtive thrusts up to your chasm to keep you on your toes. You gasp when Geto removes his digits suddenly, and now you bite your bottom lip at the contact of his cockhead touching your puckered entrance. “Stay calm for me, princess. Gonna go slow just for you…”

Breathing with your mouth is the only way you can function through his insertion; even after he properly lubed himself and the rubber, it never fails to amaze you how you’ve been able to take in his girthy dick times before. Every inch pushed inside you feels as if your breath is pulled away, feeling both your holes become occupied. And your head goes up at the snap of Geto’s pelvis smacking on your ass, mouth agape for drool to sneak down puffy lips. 

“Heh, there you are,” Gojo licks your spit before placing a kiss on your lips. “What a pretty face when you’re going dumb on our dicks, Y/n.”

You couldn’t even reply in modesty because Geto immediately goes pounding your ass with hunger. Your wails come out freely at the pacing of both boys propelling themselves into you. And it doesn’t help that your holes don’t stop contracting on their dicks as they push, the motion making you move your clit against Gojo and having your sore nerves active again. 

“Holy fuck,”Geto drills his cock into your taint, grinding his hips into you to make you whine aloud. He then bends to kiss your sweaty shoulder down to your spine. “You’re so tight, Y/n…like you’re gonna milk me dry.”

Words are exhilarated squeaks and shrills, your arms coming around Gojo’s neck and pressing your hot cheek on his. He snickers at how touchy you are, “Hey, baby,” he coaxes you through the onslaught of ruts that quicken in tempo. “God, you sound so fucking cute, angel…” 

“—Ahhahh…! Ohhh, guysss, pleaseee, slow d—Owwhhnn!!” You cry, eyes watering with the pokes and jabs on your velvety insides, the curve of Gojo scraping you in places you can’t reach, and Geto’s girth having your backside completely stretched for him. It’s all too much to focus on as your delicate bud is pressed on by your weight. “…Nhooo, God, I’m gonna—“

“Gonna cum, cutie?” You nod hurriedly, amusing Gojo for more chuckles. “Let’s cum together, yeah? Such a pretty girl…” And then, Gojo claims your lips for a steamy, passionate kiss, bringing a hand from your bottom to place behind your head to keep you on him. 

“—Hnngh!! Wait, sweetheart, don’t clamp onto me so sudden—Ohh, shit, shit, shiiit,” Black hair strands fall from Geto’s shoulders as he falters at your grip. “Gonna cum, too….Gahhh—“

Your crescendo is the first to appear, howling and mewling into Gojo’s lips while your trembling figure undergoes the shocks of the deep penetration on both ends. The fluttering sensations of your cunt and anus are what prompt the two men to spill their load into you simultaneously, groaning with pleasure from your body. Your head is undoubtedly dizzy, your brain spiraling with impulses as your frame jerks with every wave of your orgasm. 

After his climax is done, Geto slowly withdraws his cock from you. The condom filled with his essence. “Phew, that felt way too good.”

“For real, can’t get enough of this.” Gojo sighs while groping your asscheeks and kissing your forehead. “Ready for another round, baby? C’mon, let’s switch before Suguru gets all crybaby on us.” His sweet tone immediately flips to narrow his eyes at Geto for throwing his used, tied condom at Gojo's face for that comment. “Oh, you disgusting son of a bitch…”

“Shut up and switch, or else I’ll have you watch me pound Y/n for fifteen minutes.”

Being loved and obsessed by the two heartthrobs of the school is no easy work, which is evident when you can’t even get to nap by yourself after the sexual activities. With Gojo spooning Geto while he spoons you, there is no rest with these two; they might as well put collars around their necks and give you their leashes with how smitten they are to be around you.

Yet, at the same time, you don’t hate it — far from that. Because you know their feelings for you are genuine, you can see it in their sleeping faces as they’re probably thinking about you in your dreams as you observe. With a smile, you place kisses on their cheeks and silently leave the bed to use their shower. 

The warm water is just as welcoming and temperate as their love, keeping you safe and washing your anxiousness away. In your thoughts, you reflect on all the times you’ve grown because of them, and it goes to show that their involvement has done substantial help for you. And for that, you are forever grateful for them and will always reciprocate their feelings as you feel the same. 

“Hey, Y/n.”

Well, minus the immediate sense of apprehension that skyrockets once you hear Geto’s voice come behind you. You turn to see his naked self coming towards you to wrap his arms around your waist. “Suguru!? I–I thought you were sleep—“

“I was until you left my arms,” he says to your ear with his dulcet voice, his hands kneading the flesh of your wet hips. “Besides, saves us a lot of time if we share the shower, right?”

“Oh, Y/n~,” another voice enters the bathroom, and your dread plummets even further when Gojo opens the curtains with glee. “Don’t tell me you decided to shower without m—…Oh, you’re here, too.”

“Obviously,” Geto sucks his teeth at his roommate. “I live in this apartment and use this same shower, dumbass.”

Snowy eyebrows crease with irritation as Gojo enters the walk-in shower, sandwiching you between the two. “Well, don’t you think it’s rude for you to use the shower when our guest is using it first?”

“I could be asking you the same thing because who told you to come here?”

“Duh! I’m here to shower with my lover; are you stupid?”

“Are you? Don’t you see a boyfriend is trying to have some alone time with their partner?”

“Oh, eat horse shit.”

“Croak and die.”

You can only stand there and be mushed by the two tall boys arguing over you, unable to flee the scene as they both have their hands on you. Again, you don’t hate it at all. You love them just as much as they love and adore you. They may be the school favorites; however, you are the most precious thing they wish to engage with and want to keep to themselves.

…But would it kill them to give you some room once in a while!?

Jesus, how am I gonna survive with these two…

requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/benkeibear.

[dilf-docs]

I'm Happy Where The Devils Are

dbf!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: something something about forbidden things; you never learn, not until the heart you gave returns to you in shreds, bleeding out of love. what's left when you've given all of your heaven away? hell.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (but this time it's sad not hot or both idk), smut, p. in v., virgin!reader, (forced??) creampie, fingering, riding, oral (f. receiving), corruption kink, reader has no daddy issues ++her dad is lovely nor mommy issues like me but a secret third thing, ANGST IN CAPITAL, situationship™, jumping very late to this trend or series IDK hope someone still lurks around this neighbourhood, joel has no kids and is unmarried cause i need him to be BITTER, in short this is very AU canon divergence at max coded

word count: 7,629 words

side note: IF U SAW IT POSTED BEFORE NO U DIDN'T IT WAS A HONEST MISTAKE (clicked publish instead of save draft) OKAY i just searched thru my top 2024 songs by spotify for some inspo and well!!!!!! my yet to be dilf RM's (or joon as i, his wife, loves to call him endearingly) song called heaven popped up! those are the vibes if u wanna give it a listen (PLS DO OKAY HE RANKED TOP KOREAN ALBUM THIS YEAR AND I SEE I'M GETTING OFF THE HOOK BUT HE DESERVES IT RAHH I LOVE HIM SO MUCH) and yk i said it's got the miller vibe going on: ANGST™ okay stopping my rambling and letting y'all enjoy (or suffer, idk anymore: as u see, i have a thing for sad complicated old man and suffering myself, because i could've choose any other idea but here goes user dilf-docs the angst whore choosing to suffer again lolz)

part: I / II

It was winter when he first touched you.

Joel Miller: a name you've learned to pronounce like it was spoken on a different language that only you knew.

You've known him for years, a familiar face that stands in corners and only laughs when spoken to, begrundingly, like it's rather a favor than something of his amusement. A guy who would drop by your house until you learned his name like he'd learn the games you'd force him to play. A friend of your dad, who moved back to town and has haunted your house since he stepped a foot inside, tainting the walls with his pine phantom.

Joel's a face you've seen age as much as he's seen you grow out of your pigtails and child-like wonder: and perhaps that's why it's wrong.

It is all so wrong: the way your gaze lingers a bit too long over his tired and bitter expresion, looking for those flickers of softeness that appear when your dad calls him. Old friend, filled with affection, and Joel can't deny the only man who hasn't left his side a smile that he hopes is enough to express what he can't; he's not good with words.

It is all so wrong: how the sheets stick to your body while you scream his name, the sound drowning against your pillow, your body leaking with the secret of an unspoken desire that gets harder to hide with each passing day.

But you can't help it: one day the feelings started to blossom and the admiration left for the crush to harvest until it fully bloomed in your chest. Its petals have asfixiated you ever since.

On winter, you returned to town, like a vice. You always came back for the holidays, a silver of hope that shouldn't exist. You felt it in the air, impregnated with a heartbreak so cutting, it was hard to remember when the winter carried the happiness it should've; all that's left was the cold, harsh feeling.

"Y/n!" your dad embraces your body on a hug as warm as a fireplace, "you're home"

He passes you around the people over, because that's how he always is: joyful, the house full with guests that don't stop at family, but feel as close as those of blood. She came! he loudly yet proudly announces your homecoming, adding small sprinkles of how's college and how smart his little girl is (a nickname he can't let go of, not caring if you were ten then and now just above twenty), not caring if your face is as red as christmas easters.

"You have to stop, dad" you plead with annoyance, but a small smile betrays you, "no one wants to hear how I'm top of my class again, for the millionth time"

"Well, it's my house" he jokes, "so they better get used to it" he then looks around the room, as if he's forgetting something, "ah, someone I must bore with your stories is missing..."

He talks to some more people around and you have to plaster a smile and salute faces you can't recognize, but as on cue, the door flings open, some people near the entrance greeting a face you've yet to see and recognize. Your father gets there first, the smile that spreads across his face making your stomach tie in knots.

"Joel's here!" he delivers with excitement, unaware of how your polite smile falters.

"Joel's here" you repeat, grief laced within your words. Grief of what? You don't know, but you do know a part of you dies the more you look at Joel Miller the way you're not supposed to.

"Come say hi" your father insists, happy in his ignorance, despite your paced walk and stiff demeanor.

And walking your way is him, the man who owns your heart without knowing.

His hair is still as soft as ever, more tints of grey sprinkled through it. Your fingers itch to trace it, so you keep your fists closed until the red nails dig into the tight white flesh. He has more wrinkles, pronounced when his brows furrow at the sight of you.

"I know she's grown a lot, but I hope you still recognize her" your dad says with affection, "isn't she beautiful, my y/n? Grown into a whole lady"

Your heart hammers against your chest as Joel looks you up and down, but there is no emotion across his face.

"It's only been a year, but sure, she has" as stoic as ever, but it's enough to make your nerves wreck. You can't believe how much a simple stare and a few words can get to you.

But you were always like this: weak. Back then, at kindergarten grounds, when making a friend seemed the hardest task. Now, at university, when you wonder if something is wrong with you that always makes you the last option to choose.

Maybe that's why Joel, a man so strong in appearance and character, never liked you: that all those memories were a dream, and he just did it as an extension of his affection for your dad.

You'll never forget that dinner last year, on these same days, when for the first time, both your parents left you alone with Joel, their guest for the night. There was a storm outside, and it was almost funny how the brash wind against the window mimicked your steady heart. You didn't know he was coming, but when you did, you put on your best dress on purpose and dusted a makeup palette a friend gave you, yet he didn't even look your way.

"Do you hate me, Joel?" you asked in a whispered breathe, the cold silence as answer.

It's contradictory, really: your love grows where his hate does. More like hate, it's a disregard so cruel, you can't help but wonder if there's something wrong with you, making you attached to an older man that only seems to have apathy for you. Because one thing is attraction, but other is the deep adoration where you'd die if he were to ask you.

It's your fault, really, for turning his life into folklore. You still remember sitting on your father's lap as he talked your ear off, full of stories that Joel, always by his side, would quietly laugh, the fireplace casting shadow over a man who seemed to overpower the darkness that now is palpable on his gaze. He'd said your dad was making him greater than he really was, pinching your cheeks as he called you sugar, reasoning you were so sweet.

But since last year, something shifted: he started avoiding you, like he resented you.

And you never understood why. So every season you've searched in his eyes for a sign, anything, that can make you go back to that speacial relationship you had, missing him like a little kid. It's been a year, and you feel, if possible, more at loss than before.

Back to now, it's almost midnight, and most of the guests have gone already. You've tried to look cool in the eyes of those who are still there, conversation flowing easily through your eggnog-tinted tongue, yet you know it's all pretend.

"Excuse me" you can't take it anymore, the air suffocating you in anxiousness.

"Where are you going?" questions your mom, stopping you in your tracks before going up the stairs.

You turn around and feign a smile, "Up to my room"

"Are you okay?" your dad asks with worry.

"Yeah, just tired" you lie with ease, and the miles you've driven back it up.

"If you need anything, just tell" she says.

When you fall against the mattress, all the weight settles in. You close your eyes and count to ten, breathing in and breathing out.

The door creaks, so you get up as you open your eyes. "Dad" you start, knowing he's all about giving you talks, "Not now, please-"

"M' not y'r daddy"

You shiver despite the closed windows.

"Joel!" you jump, straightening yourself, "did dad send you?"

He doesn't respond, looking at you through brown warm eyes that reveal nothing. The pit in your stomach grows along awkward silence.

"It's cold outside, isn't it?" you attempt to make conversation, hating the silence. But you fail: he's still here, and regardless of his indifference, he doesn't leave.

Maybe it's the bit of alcohol from before, but you're standing over until you get close to his resting figure against the doorframe, the darkness of your room leaving his face, now barely lit by the light outside in the hallway. Joel's so close you can hear his breathing, and it surprises you the way it drags like a cigarette.

You feel confident for the first time, defiant even, tired of it all, like if it was his fault you loved him. You're sick of him viewing you like a naive kid who knows no better.

"Joel, why are you here?"

The lavender gets under his nose, his skin on fire. He looks at you again, but this time, the brown in his eyes darkens.

"Joel...?" you ask on a shaky breath.

Before you can register, there's warmth against your cheek. His fingers graze your face with an unspoken yearning on his fingertips, as he gently grabs your chin.

Your breath hitches, hand traveling to feel his on your face, to see if it's real and not a dream.

"Joel, what are you doing?"

He backs up, like your touch burns. And then looks at you, as if you're a stone on his shoe: just like all those boys back at the city, who have rejected you. You feel small, like crying.

"M' sorry" and walks out of your room, his scent up your nose. His limping figure walks down the hallway that now looks longer. You don't realize how long you've stared until you hear your father ask downstairs where was he.

It's like he was never there.

It was spring when he first kissed you.

It's funny how you still came back home after such disastrous holidays.

Joel stayed for the rest of the holidays, including Christmas and New Years, and when he hugged you in the living room full of guests, you had to pretend his fingers hadn't hold you differently before. You both lied your way out, and when you left, for the first time, you felt relieved, which is why it took some convincing from your father to make you return for spring.

"You couldn't miss this" he insists, "it's the best time to visit the cabin"

And you have to agree: a small cabin by the lake that your parents bought when they first moved in to town, a place you spent most of your childhood. Your father taught you how to fish there, and ever since, even as you moved away for college, you came back to do so, a tradition kept intact despite the years.

Your mom looks at you from the rear view mirror. "He wouldn't stop talking about it, afraid you wouldn't join us this year" your dad hushes her, embarrased, "oh! Don't act like you didn't"

Truth is, you'd still come: you miss the green tickling your bare feet, the cold water, and the sun kissing your skin as you lay outside. It's a lie you don't wait all year to leave the cold city and embrace the blooming spring.

"I wouldn't miss it for anything, dad" you lay against the car's door, closing your eyes as you smile. He doesn't say anything, yet with the way your mom giggles, you know he probably got teary or something―your sappy old man.

The car stops, the cabin in front of you. You feel like crying, so many memories flooding you. Alright, you're being sappy just like your dad, but it's been a hard semester and you missed your family.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you something" he says as you get out. The small denim short rides up as you stretch, your legs numb from the trip.

"Yeah?"

A car honks from behind. You jump, loosing balance as you trip. "Ow!" you land on the grass, embarrasingly so.

"C'mere" you look up, the sun blinding his face. "Lemme help ya', sugar"

The nickname feels like a slap to your face, so you stay there stupid, body stiff as you raise up, Joel's face flooding your field of vision.

"That's what I forgot to tell you" your dad laughs, "or who"

You're not laughing. Joel Miller is here and it's ruines your trip.

"Well, you should've" you took his hand just for the show, because you know your mom is observant. If there was an electric rush, you must've imagined it, just as the way his hands fall to his sides, twitching.

Over the next couple of days, you try to ignore him as much as you can, pretending your spring hasn't changed: fishing, laying down, sun and baths.

"Hey"

Your sun glasses rest on your nose as you raise from your spot, laying on a towel on the grass as you sunbathe.

"What'd want, Joel?" your tone is icy, contrasting the warmer climate.

"M' going to the lake" he mumbles, then stays silent. It's almost as if he's waiting for you to answer.

"Okay?" you lay down again, "have fun"

"Y'r dad said you'd teach me" he raises a fishing row.

You groan in annoyance, getting up from your spot, "why doesn't he do it?"

"Said y'r the best" then coughs, "besides, I think him and your momma needed some time alone..."

You walk past, shoulder brushing against his. You've never been this childish before, but your anger fuels your emotions: rage when you see him and remember how the warm of his touch turned cold in seconds.

You arrive at the small dock, sitting on the rather hot wood. You don't flinch, trying to prove nothing. Joel sits next to you and makes a face at the burning sensation.

"What?" you mock, venom dripping from your tone, "can't handle some heat?"

He just scoffs, passing the row to you with a little more force than necessary.

Your petty revenge is splashing his shirt, damping the cotton with the lake's water.

"I'm sorry" you apologize, feigning an innocent tone, "wanted to freshen up"

"Thought ya could handle the heat" Joel grumbles.

Then he curses under his breath, taking the shirt off and tossing it to the side.

You take in now shirtless body, admiring the strong muscles, broad shoulders and sturdy back. He sits next to you, his belly pushing just above the seam of his shorts. You recoil, almost as if heat radiated off his body, your cheeks burning. Your hands tremble as you hold the row, and it takes every strength of you to not succumb to the dangerous view; it's all too tempting.

"Y'r gonna teach me or what?" he breaks your train of thoughts, his voice so low, as if you were a little animal he was trying not to scare off, "just gonna stare? Ain't y'r daddy taught ya some manners?"

A current shoots through your body and looses itself in the middle of your legs.

You divert your gaze, ashamed. "Don't know what you're talking about"

"Liar" but it's so soft, it sounds more like an observation than an accusation.

"Drop it, Joel" you focus on the water but you know your mind is elsewhere.

"Sugar..."

You feel like throwing up. Why after ignoring you is he calling you like he used to? When he was your favorite person in the world and you were his. He used to hold you close, but now acts like your touch is poisoned. Joel confuses you too much; he's got you feeling like screaming at the sky.

"I said drop it, Joel" you seethe, "you may be old, but you're not deaf"

"And you may be young" his fingers remove the glasses from your face, your wary eyes in exhibit, "but y'r too bold"

They stay there, on your face, his rough fingertips touching your soft sun-kissed skin.

You don't know why you do it, but you do.

You get up, your legs on his face. Until then, you don't realize how close you two were.

"I'm not bold, Joel" you whisper, "I'm scared"

And then you jump.

The world reduces to a blur, body as light as a feather. The sensation of falling is familiar and you don't know why.

It's barely a second, like a blink.

The cold water hitting your body brings you back to reality.

You can't see, it's all dark. But you feel free: you may be underwater, but over him.

You feel like you got the upper hand, but then the water starts moving and a huge splash next to you makes you look back.

Joel jumped too.

"What are you doing?!" you shout.

What are you doing to me? What do you want from me? What will you do to me?

"Takin' a splash" he answers, like it's obvious.

"You know what I meant" your tone is rather spiteful.

"And you had'a teach me" he's again in front of you, barely inches away, "so I guess we're both dissapointed we didn't get what we wanted"

There's water dripping from his hair, falling to his face. Water drops adorn his eyelashes, warm eyes deeper than ever, and you feel like drowning even as your body floats.

"And what do you want?" you challenge, the question implying only so much.

His lips clash into yours, hungry like a wolf. Your hands immediately grip his neck for support as his tongue forcefully gets inside of you, water droplets filling your taste buds. You gasp for air, all of your body pressed against his.

"That answer y'r question?" tone defiant, as if he's also a player on this game that's just started.

You just don't know yet how much you've got to loose.

It was summer when he became yours.

You'd never anticipated coming back home as much as now.

The lingering feeling of his scruffy beard against yours, back pressed against the walls of the shed at midnight while he devoured your lips in a hungry kiss has stayed with you since you left the cabin, trapped in the salt air. Now you're coming back for more, butterflies in the low of your belly as you remember his words:

"When y'get back, I'll have ya' a surprise"

You park at your house, searching for the keys under the rug, but they aren't there. You knock to no answer, so you call your dad and mom, only for both of the calls to go directly to voicemail. Yes, you came a day earlier than planned, but your parents are always home the week you arrive, so something must be going on.

Before you worry, a voice behind you says:

"Ain't nobody inside. Y'r folks went out"

It's Joel, looking as good as the last day you saw him. Just to taste him again, you were complaint on every single of his requirements, one being no contact. He claimed he didn't want to distract you back at college, and you didn't ask any more questions, afraid you'd press a wrong button and loose what felt like a dream.

"Really?" you walk out of your porch to where he is, resisting the urge to kiss him in the middle of your neighbourhood's street.

"Hmh" he nods, "said they ain't comin' back soon"

"They told you so?" you question, "why do I feel you had something to do with it?"

"Ain't do shit" he crosses his arms, the t-shirt sleeves making his arm muscles more prominent. He then coughs, "just recommended y'r dad a nice restaurant outside town. Maybe they'll be later than night, traffic is kinda packed at late"

You smile, "Joel?"

He doesn't look at you, "yes?"

You fail to suppress a giggle, "did you just get rid of my parents?"

"No" he answers, stern. "Now" he looks around, all doors closed, "why don't 'cha come inside? Sun is hittin' hard"

He's a terrible liar.

As soon as you enter his house, you can't believe you've never been there before, visits usually in your house.

It's exactly what you expected: a simple and sober decoration that hides a welcoming feeling somewhere. There's something else you notice: the lack of pictures.

"Make yourself comfortable" he says, coughing, looking akward all of a sudden. You want to laugh and coo his now insecure demeanor, shy in your present. If he seemed sure before, he doesn't anymore. "I''ll get ya' some water"

"Joel?" your voice comes out low, equalling a purr. His cock twitches in his pants at the way you call him.

"Yes?" he swallows, adam's apple bobbing.

"I hope you didn't bring me into your house just for a glass" then you sit on the couch, the small short you're wearing riding up your thighs. "Besides, I'm not thirsty"

He doesn't move, almost as if he's lost the ability to react; in a trance.

"What do you want?" voice deep, like he'd give you anything you ask.

"Have you forgot already, old man?" you quip. "You promised me something" even if your voice is steady, your fingers tremble when you start un-buttoning your shirt, "and I'm waiting for it"

If he could drool like a dog, he would. He slowly gets closer to you, until he's towering over your sitting figure.

"Ya' think it's funny tempting me like that, sugar? Playing with an old fuck as me like that?"

You whimper, resolve melting quickly. "N-no" you feel ashamed, hand ready to button yourself again until his hand grabs yours, stopping you from doing so.

"I'm sorry, sugar" he raises your body swiftly, making you stand up. "Actions have consequences, and I'm gonna teach ya' some"

When his lips land on yours, you feel you've reached heaven again. His mouth easily know your roads, traveling to every spot he can to deepen the kiss. He eats you out like he's starved, sweat starting to pool in your foreheads. He grabs you by the waist, pulling your closer if possible, your chest clashing against his pecs. His heart hammers against you, and that's all you hear aside your raggedy breaths and famished clashing. You grab his hair again, feeling the soft texture under your fingers. Joel moans against your lips when you bite his, something a friend told you to do, and it's proven to work.

"Where'd you learn that, huh?" you taste like strawberries, the proof on his now coated shiny lips and your disheveled gloss. His grip turns stronger, "thought ya' were innocent, little vixen"

"I still am" you avoid his gaze, and even if his hold falters, when you look again into his eyes, there's a flame burning in them. "But I want you to have it, Joel"

"Sugar-" starts, condescending.

"Don't" you immediatly cut him off. "I'm an adult, I know what I want"

"I just want ya' to be sure" but his cock is already hard, "don't want ya' to regret it"

"I could never regret you, Joel" you whisper.

He picks up your body, that despite the years, is still as strong as ever. He goes up the stairs, looking at you so lovingly, you feel like anything is possible.

Maybe this is how it feels like.

He softly drops you onto the mattress, that dips under your weight. You place yourself against the bed head, and when Joel gets in, it creaks.

"I'm gonna make ya' feel so good, sugar. I promise" he slurs, "Now be a good girl and open up for me"

Your part your legs, and he's taking down your shorts until your lingerine is exposed. With wandering fingers, he traces your inner thights, delighted at the way you squirm under his touch. He then travels to your pussy, the clothe the only thing separating him from your bare cunt.

"Has anyone eat ya' down here before?" he can smell your arousal, seeing the wet spot in the middle of your panties. He's salivating at the fresh meal. You deny, embarrased, but he seems content at that, "those dumb college boys haven't treated you right? Then lemme show y'how a real man's supposed to eat ya'"

He strips you off your panties, landing somewhere on the floor. You shudder at the sudden breeze on your bare core.

"Already drippin' for me?" he softly laughs, "we ain't even started"

He dives down, the rough of his facial hair sending tickles through your body. He gives a small lick at first, as if testing. When you let out a small moan, he feels invencible. He keeps the ministrations going, more cute sounds escaping your lips. He wants to hear more of them, addicted to the sound, heat pooling when he remembers he's the one causing them.

"Liking it, sugar?" he stops to ask, his voice provoking more vibrations that hit your core in a pleasant way.

"D-don't stop" you plead in the middle of a whine.

He eats you like a madman. Slurping and sloshing sounds bounce off the walls, your hands gripping his greying locks tightly as his face pushes further into your puffy heat, sucking on the sensitive clit. With his filthy mouth, he takes on of the lips on his mouth, robbing a loud groan out of you.

"Your pussy, God" his breath fans against it, "tastes so good, sugar, sweet like you" he licks more, making it get wetter. You didn't know you had that in you, nothing compared to when you tried to touch yourself back at your dorm, too ashamed to try anything else.

He groans against your heat, sending another wave of pleasure through your body.

He then gets up, showing you his thick digits like one shows something new to a baby, "guess what?" you have no idea, and your innocent doe eye'd gaze makes him squirm at the thought of being the first to touch untainted territories (in many ways).

"M' gonna finger you baby, okay? I promise's gonna feel good" Joel assures as he slowly inserts one of his fingers. You arch your back as you felt his fingers in your warm walls. He then puts another, thick fingers in and out of your pussy, your arousal dripping down his wrist. You squirm and whine, thighs shaking at the intensity of the pleasure he was giving you. There's a weird tension happening down there. "J-Joel" you pant, "I feel-" 

"Let it go, sugar" he doesn't stop, "I'm here for ya' and y'r sweet cunt"

Liquid soon gushes out. "Fuck" he curses. You shy away and looking everywhere but his eyes. 

"Feels good?" you nodded incoherently, "wanna feel even better?"

He gets rid of his pants, the silhoutte hard under his underwear. You gulp, afraid you might not take it.

"Joel..." you call his name, hesitant. Fuck, he's so horny he could care less if he's too big for your first.

"We'll go slow" he leans forward to kiss your forehead, "I know'll take it"

"O-okay" you're still not sure and a bit afraid, but you want him, so you surrender to him.

You feel something heavy go inside your folds. You look down to see his enormous cock sliding in between your tight walls, the skin glistening in your slick,round tip leaking with his precum.

"Tell me" he's soft on you, despite what you're doing, "I'll stop if it hurts"

It does. It burns: how your cunt tries to adapt to his girth, stretching in a painful but delicious feeling.

"N-no" your voice comes out strained, drops of blood falling into the sheets, "keep going"

"Such a greedy thing are ya'?" Joel laughs, truly laughs, the rich sound coming deep from his chest, "what would daddy say?"

"Shut up" you bite, holding onto his shoulders for stability. Please, don't let me fall.

Half way in, he pulls out before diving back in, helping you adjust to his size slowly. Your eyes are trained on the way his cock disappears inside your leaking pussy.

"Should'I keep goin'?" he asks.

"K-keep going" you say softly, and with that, he gently starts inching into you.

"Good girl" he coos.

His cock stretches out your virgin hole perfectly, like it was meant for him. He feels himself melting at the sight of you, something to worry about later. Not now, when your breath hitches as he fills you up. Your cunt fit snug around his length, like you were made for him.

Joel drops his head on your shoulder as he fully entered you, tired, his energy not as much as when he was young. Beads of summer sweat shimmer in your bodies, as not only that but the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his dick make you warm.

Joel takes in a moment to see the mess he's made of you: parted lips, shut eyes, nails digging on his neck. You were deep in pleasure: because of him. His dick twitches at that, and inside of you, it makes you whimper.

"M' gonna start movin', 'kay? Tell me if it's too much"

His weight presses over your body before starting to pull out and push back in. The thrusts start slow, soon picking up a rhytmic pace. Joel grips your hips with his rough big hands, to then start fucking into you.

"Mhm" you whine.

"Mhm, what? Use your words, sugar"

"I-it feels so good, Joel" despite the pain, despite the doubts, the haze is so envolving, he's made of you a moaning mess, drunk in pleasure; the feeling of him inside of you has you seeing stars.

"Y-you feel good too, baby" he pants, your pussy gushing at each thrust. He starts going harder, making you scream.

"Who you belong to, sugar?" his hot breath pours in your ear, "say it"

"You, Joel" you whisper the answer like a sacred oath, "Just you. I'm all yours"

Before you can say anything else, his dick touches a spot within you. Such a sweet spot, that has you moaning and feeling something unlike anything you've experienced before: it washes over you as you clamp down on him. You hear yourself cry, voice barely recognizable. Your vision goes blurry, then mind blank.

Joel groans with your pretty cries of pleasure, watching the way your cunt milks his cock, drooling with your juice.

"Such a nice girl for me, sugar. Did so well" he whispers, and a dark tought crosses his mind. He feels dirty, taking advantage of your age and naivety, your figure still half-gone, "think you want me, all of me?"

You nod, still out of your mind, and before you can process the real meaning of his words, hot stripes of his seed plaster your walls, coating each inch of you. Joel presses his lips into yours to shut your moans, kissing you hard.

"You good?" you can only nod, still in shock, the events dawning over you. "Don't worry, I'll buy ya' a pill before your folks come back"

The sun shines outside; there's still time. You just wonder how much.

It was autumn when he said I love you.

Yellow and orange leaves fall in the roads not taken as you've fallen for Joel.

Ever since summer, you've been waiting for the next time to see him: sleeping with him being the last thought, touching yourself to his voice on your mind, drawing hearts in the bylines of your notes. His figure, first a dream, then a fleeting hope and now a high you need to feel once again, because you can't let go of the way he fucked you, your cries of pleasure, how your walls stretched for him and the way he held you that afternoon and the next nights you escaped your house, crossing the street under the moonlight, hiding as a criminal.

But you'd do anything to feel him, his heart beating against your chest like it was yours to bear. You need to see him, so you're doing the most stupid choice of your life.

There's a pause after you knock, and then Joel opens his door.

"Sugar!" he looks surprised, then angry and finally scared. "The fuck you doin' here? Ain't you supposed to come 'til winter?"

"I couldn't wait" you whine in desperation, clinging onto him like a koala. You'd searched for something, anything, that smelled like him back at the city, but even his flannel shirt you'd stolen had started to loose its smell.

He looks around, "do your-"

"No" you pause, "they don't know I'm here"

He curses under his breath, realizing just how much you're deep in this. He's fucked: fucked because he'll comply even if he knows this has to stop.

"I have the keys" you pick the dirt under your nails, a nervous habit of yours, "for the cabin"

Joel remembers last spring, how he ate you inside the walls of the shed, wishing for more. More came the next summer, and now you're hear again, looking at with with that look he hates: like you'd burn the world just to keep him warm.

"How'd you do that?"

"Took them last summer" you reveal your plan all along, "just in case" yet you had already made your mind before leaving town.

"Damn it, sugar" he's speechless, "you're fucking crazy"

You giggle despite the uneasiness creeping up, "just for you, Joel"

He takes you to the cabin on his car, yours already there. And you'd walked to his house? You have indeed, lost your mind.

"What're we supposed to do?" he thinks out loud.

You groan, "I don't know, Joel. But I didn't drive miles just for you to stand there"

He can't lie and say he hasn't thought about you: your lashes, soft when closed; the way his room still smelled like you even after two weeks of your parting, or how the sun seemed to highlight all your perfect spots. He even thinks of you on his bathroom while he grabs his dick, fucking himself to the memorized song of your moans and uneven breaths as he pulled in and out of you.

"Then get inside" he's demanding, and your panties wet at the tone and the voice you missed so much, "it's cold out'ere"

As soon as you close the door, he's grabbing your face with force, that it almost seems like two people fighting, not two who missed each other.

"Joel" you mumble, breathless.

"Missed ya' so much, sugar" he confesses against your lips. A trail of saliva hangs; silver of hope. "It was killin' me"

"I missed you too, Joel" you deepen the kiss, tears threatening to spill from the corner of your eyes. "Couldn't stop thinking about you"

"Yeah?" he sits on the living room's couch, creaking under the sudden weight. "Tell me what that pretty head of yours was thinkin'"

"You" in a heartbeat, and you see his gaze go from dark to something else, lurking behind; you're scared to find out what it is.

Joel motions you to come over. You take your shoes and pants off, siting on his lap.

"Yeah-?" his voice falters, "tell me what"

"How our names sound together, how pretty you are..." you wander. "I also thought about you, all of you, inside of me"

"Watch that filthy mout of yours, sugar" he chastises but there's no anger behind his reprimand, "one summer bouncing on my cock an' y'r already a needy slut"

You whine at his words, rubbing yourself against his tight.

"D-don't" he undoes his belt and jeans, leaving only his underwear. Your desperate fingers pull them down, revealing his already pulsating cock, "don't tease this ole' man and just do the real thing"

He lets you use him, his hips rocking forwards despite his creaking bones, your swollen clit dragging against his pelvis. He sees your face, how you bite your lip as you test your needs, fucking yourself while you ride him. He lets you because: one, he's old and tired, and two, he wants to see you until he's memorized every small detail of your face. He lets you edge yourself close, crying as you feel it coming, but then he plants his feet onto the wooden floor, his boots making a hollow sound that echoes through the walls, the only other sound aside your cries, and thrusts his length up into you.

You yelp at the sudden sensation of his cock inside of you again.

"Think I'd let ya' have it all?" he mocks, "need to fuck y'r pretty pussy too; gotta have it for myself. Would ya' let me?"

You can't deny him anything.

"Yes, Joel" his hands immediatly grab your hips with a pressure so strong, you fear there'll soon be a bruise there. His cock buries fully within you. The air fills with a strong scent, just your moans and his grunts bouncing off the walls, soon warming up from the cold, the crease of his eyebrow pronounced as he realeases, coating your folds with his cum.

"God, sugar" he sounds a bit embarrased, "look at you, makin' me cum so fast"

But he's too enamoured by the sight of you on top of him, still riding him despite his quick orgasm, so he cups your face gently, the beads of sweat on your forehead falling into his hand. He feels more alive than ever, like his life has just started. Oh, he can picture it: coming home to the smell of your food, kissing the absence of the day off your mouth, to then bend you over the counter. He wants so much more, but he knows it can't be, yet, he's far too gone to even think about turning around.

You lift your hips until his cock slips out of you, using your fingers to bring it back. His cum clings to your folds as you sink back down, hips barely lifting you back up before you keep him buried inside of you. He loves watching you slide down his length, slipping in and out of your puffy cunt as his cock softens. It pushes his cum back into your cunt, sticky over your clit as it drips to your thighs.

You did bring a pill this time, so you don't care of the mess his thick flood of cum that dribbles out of you has made on your pussy and his clothes.

"Fuck" you let out, sex-filled mind speaking up. "Don't ever leave me again"

"I won't" he answers hastily, then regrets it. But you don't know that.

Instead, numbness takes over your body, the events of last hours finally draining your body. Sleep settles in, and you nest your head on Joel's sweaty shoulder.

"Lemme take you to bed" you hear his half-drowned voice, carrying your body to the main bedroom.

Joel Miller was always a mystery to you: a man who seemed impossible to break, his world hiding behind a permanent scowl. It felt like his heart was locked, seemingly unbreakable, but where he was rough, his edges had softened for you.

He places you over the bed softly, dipping next to you. Joel's strong arms embrace you, pulling your tired figure closer. His face hides in your neck and his soft belly pushes against the curve of your back, all while he presses a soft kiss to it.

"I think I love you" he murmurs to no one in particular.

But you hear.

It was winter again, when he broke your heart.

Before the holidays, you'd drop by every other weekend. Cancelling plans, waiting for his call. For his grave voice to say Come over, and you'd speed up the brakes with an urgency only he had taught you.

You'd find yourself in the cabin, loosing track of time that rushed like a bottle of wine. Kissing until your mouth was swollen and the only thing that satisfied your hunger was his lips, fucking until sunrise and his bones ached. He'd then offer a tired smile, and you'd sing a soft tune in front of the fireplace while cuddling.

They say home is where the heart is. And it felt like one.

It was during one of those escapades that you showed up with your newest adquisition: a small cursive J just above your thigh, hiding under the plaid of your skirt.

It was your first fight. He shouted at you like he had never before, scolding you like a father would to a naive kid, the hatred you hadn't seen since he touched you that night a year ago, resurfacing.

"We're loosing ourselves" his voice cracked, sounding defeated. But then he'd suck the skin around it until it turned red.

The back and forth became the only thing keeping you alive, the need for his touch as addictive and destructive as a drug.

Which is why Christmas hadn't felt this jolly since being a kid.

You're back, and as you hug your dad and mom, you scour the place for his face: the one you've grown to yearn and love.

Your dad exchanges a glance with your mother and then looks at you weirdly before answering.

"He isn't coming; I thought you knew"

You don't care about the future explanations or the calls of your name, storming off and crossing the street to his place.

"Joel!" you shout, knocking desperately, "open the door!"

When you don't get an answer, you search for the spare key hiding under a pot in the porch. As you make your way inside, you spot Joel sitting in front of the fireplace, his eyes lost in the fire.

"Joel" you softly call his name. At that, he snaps, standing up. His eyes glow with the flames, circling in doubt.

"Sugar?" like he didn't expect you to actually search him on his absence, "what'd doing here?"

"I could ask you the same" you laugh, sardonically. "Don't know how I'll explain running off like that, so thanks, by the way"

"M' sorry"

The words fall heavy in the air, suddenly thick. Something tells you he isn't apologizing exactly for that.

There's something like guilt and fear simmering in his eyes. You think about all those times in the cabin, spring and autumn, and you're reminded of those three words he's said and you haven't. The realization hits you, and you're quick to reach him, grabbing his hand.

"Joel?" you call again. "I- I need to tell you something"

"So do I" but he sounds reluctant, "you go first"

"I don't know what's happening" your lip quivers, eyes glossy. God, he feels terrible, "but I want you to know that I love you"

He gasps, like you've slapped him across the face.

"No" he starts, pushing you away. He lets go of your hand, and the sudden cold hits you.

"I thought I still had time..." his shoulders slump in defeat, "guess I'm wrong"

"What do you mean?" anger and sadness flood your words.

"You can't love me" the words cut through you, and you're sick.

Sick of your rusting wheels that only move when he tells you to. Because that force, the dominance, Joel Miller seems to carry over the rest of the people, doesn't cut as deep as it cuts through you.

It's almost done with a benevolent authority, like he knows of said power and doesn't want to abuse it.

So now he's ordering you to stop loving him, like this year has meant nothing. Nothing.

"Love, funny word" your words carry rage, "do you even know what that means?" you try to hold back the tears in vain, "you don't, yet you say them so freely, like they mean nothing to you" he makes a surprised face, and you savour the pain reflected on his face, alike of yours. "Yes, I heard you, Joel. Y-you made me the happiest girl on the planet, but now I realize you're so full of shit"

You turn around, trying not to see his face, because you know that the more you look at him, the more seconds you add and the harder it would be to erase the memories you'll have to burn.

"Did you ever love me, Joel?" it pains you to whisper out loud.

"I love you, sugar" his voice is horse, like something had cut through it. "That's why I'm doing this"

"Are you, Joel?" you sigh, "if you loved me, wouldn't you want me to stay?"

"This won't end well" it's his answer, trying to reason, "I don't want to hold you back"

Coward. Asshole. Idiot.

Your tone is icy like the storm outside, "but it's already ended"

He's about to speak but you cut him off.

You can only smile. "I've given you everything and you took it. I really thought you were giving me your everything, but I realize now, that I know what you are. You don't need to hide it" he looks at you like it is you who's hurted him the most, "you're hard to love, Joel. But I tried"

He'll regret it. You know and you want to: you want him to feel the empty days blur with one another, that he remembers late at night what you had and he ended, so when he feels alone, the ghost of your free love haunts him with the happy days and sweet taste of your lips. Just then, he'll understand what your year of loving really meant.

You leave his house empty, a knife twisted in your heart. He's the only one who's got the key, and you know it will be long until anyone else can break it open.

But it's okay: if being with Joel was heaven, you'll happily burn in the flames of what's left.

cr: divider by @kodaswrld / gif @tomshiddles

[dreamersparacosm]

under the checkered flag - epilogue blurb 1!

prompt ; in which your boyfriend, who’s normally all confidence, cockiness and self-assured, turns into a pouty, jealous mess when he remembers how much of a catch his girlfriend really is.

warnings ; unprotected sex, lil bit of oral (m recieving) (also this is not even a blurb. this is a whole ass story. also wrote this hungover so if there’s grammar errors… welp. idk how i got so ahead of myself pls help)

request ; linked here

part of the under the checkered flag universe

You’re not entirely sure why you agreed to this.

The room is packed: it’s loud, buzzing with conversation, glittering lights and expensive diamonds you could never dream of affording, filled with the kind of people who look like they walked off the cover of Vogue. Jungkook, of course, is in his element, shaking hands, flashing his signature grin, seamlessly weaving through the crowd like he was born for this.

Meanwhile, you are hiding behind him like a child.

“Baby,” Jungkook murmurs over his shoulder, amused. His hand rests against your hip, keeping you tucked close as he greets another executive, another industry legend who already knows exactly who he is. “You gonna say hi or just use me as a human shield all night?”

You huff, clutching onto the sleeve of his tailored suit, peeking past his shoulder just enough to offer a shy, “Hi.”

The older man chuckles, shaking his head. “Cute one you got there, Jungkook.”

Jungkook beams, unbothered. “I know, right?” His fingers tighten around your waist, clearly very proud of you, and he wants everyone in this room to know exactly who you are.

And, to be fair, they already do. Your face has been plastered across every media outlet since his last race a few weeks ago, the headlines barely able to contain themselves. “Jeon Jungkook Off The Market: Meet the Woman Who Stole His Heart.” Paparazzi shots of him running to you after his win, kissing you in front of thousands, wrapping you in his arms like you’re his greatest trophy. Really, it was getting a little overwhelming.

You smile up at him as the aforementioned man turns away to entertain another person “Why are you doing this?”

He bites back a smirk. “Doing what?”

“Introducing me to every single person like I’m some mystery. They know who I am, Jungkook.”

“Do they?” He grins, leaning down, voice dropping just enough for only you to hear. “Because I don’t think they know you’re the love of my life yet. Want me to make a bigger announcement?”

Your face bursts into flames. You slap his side, making him laugh as he pulls you closer, not letting you escape even an inch.

“Relax, my love.” He presses a kiss to your temple, warm, grounding, very much second nature now. “Just wanna show you off a little.”

You groan, burying your face in his shoulder. “I hate you.”

“Liar liar pants on fire.” He says it so easily, so confidently, because he’s right. You’re completely, stupidly in love with him actually. However, the worst part of that? So is everyone else in this damn room.

The buzz of the party hums around you as you trail behind Jungkook, hands still lightly clinging to his arm like it’s your lifeline. He doesn’t seem to mind, laughing lightly as he introduces you to every person who approaches, all the while keeping one eye on you, making sure you’re still there, still close. You’re the quiet one, always in the background, but tonight? You’re sticking to him like glue.

The chaos around you only adds to the sensation of feeling out of place, and your mind pulses with the need to break free for a moment.

“I’m gonna get some champagne,” You tug on his arm to get his attention, hoping he won’t follow, aching for just a second alone.

“Alright,” Jungkook says, winking at you. “Dont wander far, I’ll miss you too much.”

You roll your eyes, the slight teasing in his voice making you smile despite yourself.

And finally, with a little space between you two, you head for the bar, where the bartender is already pouring multiple glass of champagne, a brand you hardly recognize besides the times that Jungkook has sprayed it over your head in his locker room after a win. You grab one, thank him with a smile, clutching your drink tightly, letting the warmth of the alcohol loosen some of the tension in your shoulders. You lean against the bar, taking in a deep breath, trying to shake off the intensity of the room.

You shift slightly, your heels pinching the back of your feet. Even though Jungkook is across the room now, deep in conversation with some high-profile men, you can still feel him, like a phantom touch, like gravity pulling you toward him even from a distance.

You’re halfway through your first sip when someone leans in beside you. His voice is warm, easy-going.

“Is it safe to assume you’re with Jungkook?”

The voice comes from your right, definitely belonging to someone who’s good at conversation.

You glance up, blinking at the tall, well-dressed man beside you. He’s… handsome, you suppose. Friendly. Dressed in a navy suit, collar slightly open, drink in hand. Polished, but not in an obnoxious way. He leans against the bar with a casual kind of confidence, the kind of presence that blends in rather than commands the room.

“Yeah, I am,” you admit, still feeling a little shy. “I’m his… well, girlfriend. Sort of.”

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “Sort of? That’s an interesting answer.”

You huff a small laugh. “I mean, yes. I am. He just… likes making a big deal out of it.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him,” he chuckles, taking a slow sip of his drink. “I take it you’re not used to all this?”

You shake your head immediately. “Not even a little.”

He laughs, genuinely, like he understands. “I get it. These events can be overwhelming.”

You tilt your head slightly, curiosity creeping in. “You say that like you’ve been to a lot of them.”

He grins, and that’s when it clicks. You suddenly recognize him, the familiar face.

“Wait—” Your eyes widen. “You’re a driver too, right? You raced today.”

His smile turns a little playful. “I did. And I did alright, if I say so myself.”

“You placed third, didn’t you?”

He blinks, slightly impressed. “Didn’t expect you to know that.”

You blush slightly, shrugging. “Well… I may have learned a thing or two from Jungkook.”

“Ah, so he’s been turning you into a racing expert, huh?” He teases.

“Not even close,” You laugh, shaking your head. “But congratulations. Third place is still huge.”

“Thanks,” He says, tipping his glass toward you. “Though, I have to admit, Jungkook is damn near impossible to beat. The guy drives like he’s invincible.”

You smile softly, the kind of smile that only comes when someone you love is being praised. “Yeah… he does.”

“You must be proud of him.”

“I am.” The words fall out before you can second-guess them, before you can hide them behind your usual shyness.

That much, you know is true. You are proud of Jungkook, more than he’ll ever know.

The man watches you for a second, a knowing look flashing in his eyes. Then, he smiles, shaking his head slightly. “He’s got a good one.”

You tilt your head. “What do you mean?”

He gestures toward Jungkook, who’s across the room, entertaining the guests, bright and effortless. “I mean, it’s not every day you see him this… settled. The guy used to be a bit of a wildcard.”

Your stomach flutters. You know that. You know exactly who Jungkook was before you.

You swallow, about to respond, when his next words catch you off guard. “Though, I have to admit…” He leans in slightly, voice dropping just a bit, teasing but still measured. “It must be tough, standing next to him all the time, knowing you stand out. ”

You feel your heart skip, your fingers tightening around your glass. You’ve always been completely oblivious when it comes to flirting. It’s not intentional—you just never assume anyone would be interested in you like that. Compliments fly over your head, teasing remarks get brushed off as jokes, and subtle advances? You don’t even register them.

Even with Jungkook, it took months of playful taunts, agreeing to do whatever you wanted, and blatantly flirty texts before you even considered the possibility that he might actually like you. And now, standing here at the bar, faced with a man who is clearly steering the conversation into dangerously suggestive waters, you’re a little slow to catch up. The moment finally clicks a beat too late, the realization washing over you like a delayed shockwave—oh. He’s not just making conversation. He’s flirting. And you? You walked right into that trap.

You let out a soft laugh, playing with the hem of your dress, trying to ignore the way his words sit uncomfortably in your chest.

“I mean, yeah,” You say lightly, swirling the champagne in your glass, forcing yourself to play it cool. “Jungkook has a lot of eyes on him. That’s kind of the deal when you’re one of the best, right?”

You try to steer the conversation back to Jungkook, hoping it’ll naturally fizzle out, but he gives you a look. A slow, appreciative glance. The kind that lingers just long enough to make your stomach twist in anxiety.

“That’s true,” He muses, his voice casual. “But I think most people would be looking at you tonight.”

Goddamnit.

Your fingers grip the glass so roughly it might shatter in your hands as you blink at him, processing. You laugh again, but this time it’s a little awkward, a tad nervous, like you’re trying to buy yourself a moment to think.

And then, as naturally as breathing, you look for him. Jungkook.

Your eyes search the crowd, scanning past the fitting dresses and tailored suits, past the photographers and the industry elites, until they land on him.

Of course, he’s right at the center of it all.

He’s laughing, head thrown back slightly, looking so alive, so magnetic, exuding the kind of confidence that made the world fall in love with him (and you as well, for that matter.) His suit jacket is long gone, probably thrown off on the back of a chair somewhere, replaced with a perfectly tailored white button-up, his sleeves pushed up just enough to tease the tattoos running along his forearm. He looks stupidly good.

He’s glowing, genuinely happy, his eyes crinkling as he talks, hands gesturing animatedly, completely and utterly in his element.

You bite your lip, a new kind of frustration blooming in your chest. How is he over there, completely fine, while you’re over here trying to figure out how to escape this conversation without being rude? Why must the universe put you, of all people, in the ring of fire?

“So,” The driver’s voice pulls you back, making you blink and turn your attention back to him. “How did you and Jungkook even meet? I don’t think I ever heard the full story.”

You shift again, clearing your throat, desperate to reroute the conversation away from yourself. “Oh—uh, through work, sort of. It’s actually kind of funny—”

Focus. Focus on Jungkook. Keep it safe. Keep it neutral.

You take another sip in between your sentence, the champagne fizzling against your lips, but the tightness in your chest doesn’t ease. You keep your focus on the man, trying to steer every single word back to Jungkook. It’s a delicate balancing act, keeping the conversation polite while dodging every veiled compliment, every lingering glance, every slight shift in tone that threatens to turn friendly into flirtatious.

“Yeah, it’s kind of funny, actually,” you pick up where you left off, still trying to keep it collected. “I had no idea who Jungkook even was when we first met. Everyone was freaking out about him, and I was just..”

You pause, shaking your head with a soft laugh. “Well, completely clueless.”

He chuckles, leaning in slightly, interest still flickering behind his eyes. “And now you’re wearing his jacket, front and center at every race.”

“Guess I learned who he was real quick,” You joke, though your fingers tighten slightly around your glass.

He tilts his head, like he’s about to say something else, perhaps even heavier, when two warm hands slip around your waist. They’re firm, familiar. A voice, deep, steady, and close enough to feel the breath of it against your temple. “Didn’t realize you two were getting so close.”

You blink, your entire body reacting before your mind even processes it. His presence is instant, all-consuming. You barely have time to react before you feel him pull you back against him, his grip on your waist just tight enough to send a message. The warmth of his chest presses against your back, solid and unwavering.

And when you tilt your head slightly, looking up at who you know damn well is your boyfriend — Oh. Oh, he’s not happy.

His jaw is tight, his lips pressed into a firm line. His usual easy-going expression is replaced by something darker, sharper, a quiet intensity simmering behind his eyes.

The man clears his throat, shifting awkwardly. He knows. Everyone in this room knows. Hell, even the higher powers know better than to mess with Jungkook’s girl.

“Jungkook,” he greets, nodding slightly. “Good race today, man.”

Jungkook doesn’t move. Doesn’t nod. Doesn’t blink.

He just keeps his eyes on the man in front of you, expression unreadable, until he finally speaks.

“Yeah?” he muses, voice deceptively smooth. “Guess I’m lucky I had my girl with me.”

His hold on your waist tightens, just slightly, as if reinforcing the point.

Your pulse spikes, warmth creeping up your neck as you become painfully aware of how close he is.

You’re not usually the center of attention. But right now, you may as well be standing in the eye of a storm.

The tension lingers for a moment more. Jungkook’s hands are possessive, fingers pressing slightly into the fabric of your dress. His presence is impossible to ignore, a wall of warmth at your back, his cologne—deep, musky, with some woodsy notes—wrapping around you like a second layer of skin.

The man shifts, clearly picking up on the shift in atmosphere. Still, he offers an easy smile, nodding toward you.

“She’s beautiful,” he comments, like it’s the most obvious fact in the world. “Guess I can’t blame you for keeping her close.”

Jungkook hums smugly.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly, like he’s weighing his next words carefully. “Prettiest girl in the whole damn room.”

Your stomach flips violently, a cage of butterflies releasing themselves in your body. You’ll never get used to the way he speaks about you.

The driver gives one last chuckle, his eyes flicking between the two of you before wisely deciding to move along with his night. He excuses himself, raising his glass towards both of you before scurrying away as quick as his legs can take him.

And then it’s just you and Jungkook.

You exhale, not even realizing you had been holding your breath, still feeling the ghost of his touch on your waist.

You’re about to say something, but before you can, he turns to you, leans down, presses a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek. The warmth of it spreads across your skin like wildfire.

He pulls back, just slightly, his lips hovering over your skin, his voice dropping into something quiet, “You really let that guy talk to you for that long?”

Your eyes widen. “What? I wasn’t—”

Jungkook pulls back, finally looking at you, and he’s pouting. Actually pouting. The 27 year old man. Lips jutted slightly, brows furrowed, his usual confidence slipping juuuust enough to reveal the jealousy simmering beneath. It might be the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

You can’t help it. You giggle, heart swelling in your chest.

“Jungkook,” You breathe out, leaning up, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He grumbles something under his breath. You kiss him again, again… one more time for safe measures. Tiny, peppered kisses, soft and teasing, trailing across his cheek until you feel the tension in his shoulders start to ease. He exhales slowly, tilting his head, still acting like he’s suffered through the potato famine, furthering your agenda on the sassy man apocalypse.

“I just don’t get it,” he mutters, dramatic. “Why does everyone love you?”

You giggle again, nose brushing against his as you murmur, “Maybe because I’m soooo beautiful?”

Jungkook scoffs. “You think I don’t know that?”

And for the rest of the night, Jungkook doesn’t let you go. Not for a millisecond.

His arm is wrapped around your waist like an iron band, keeping you flush against his side as he guides you through the afterparty. He greets people, nods along to conversations, but his attention never fully strays from you.

Every so often, he leans down, his lips brushing against your temple, the shell of your ear, whispering things only for you.

“Having fun, pretty girl?”

“Gonna keep breaking hearts tonight, or am I enough attention for you?”

“Can’t believe you almost let some other guy steal you away. The blasphemy.”

You laugh every time, eyes sparkling, cheeks warm from the champagne and from the way his voice wraps around you like velvet.

By the time you’re finally in his car, it’s even more obvious.

The moment he pulls onto the empty streets, one hand gripping the wheel, the other immediately finds your thigh. You’re all giggles and smiles, alcohol-induced laughs spilling from your lips as you shift beneath his touch.

“You’re being so touchy,” You tease, voice teasing, light, dripping with warmth.

Jungkook barely glances at you, but you see the smirk pulling at his lips. “Don’t see you pulling my hand away.”

You roll your eyes, but your skin betrays you, heat pooling everywhere his fingertips graze. His thumb circles slowly, rubbing absentminded patterns into your thigh, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“You’re ridiculous,” You mutter, biting back another laugh as you lean against the headrest, the world outside the car nothing but passing trees and shadows.

“And you’re also tipsy,” Jungkook counters, stealing a glance at you, his eyes dark, amused, playful.

He licks his lips, the silver of his piercing catching the streetlights, and you hate how mesmerizing it is.

“So?” you huff, crossing your arms in mock defense.

“So,” he drawls, fingers squeezing slightly around your thigh, watching with interest as you visibly react. “You’re all giggly and sweet right now, and I think I like it too much. My bad for wanting to get my hands on my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend.

God, the word rolls off him so easily it makes you dizzy.

“You like me all the time,” You poke his hand that’s on your thigh.

“Yeah, but I like you even more when you’re like this,” He plays with his lip ring as his eyes focus on the road.

You peek up at him through fluttering lashes, watching the way his jaw flexes, the way he glances at you just a little too long at a red light. And then, without thinking, you lean toward him, voice dropping into something soft, just shy of teasing. “You’re really that possessive, huh?”

Jungkook’s fingers flex, grip tightening, and for a split second, he looks like he might mount you in that car. “Oh, you have no idea.”

And, he proves it to you. The second his front door swings shut behind you, there’s barely a beat of silence before his lips crash onto yours. It’s immediate, it’s urgent, all-consuming from the tip of your scalp to your toes.

His hands are already on you, fingers digging into your hips, pulling you in like he’s been starving for this. You gasp against his mouth, the taste of champagne still lingering between you, and it makes you giggle yet again like a little high schooler. “Jungkook—”

“Mm,” He hums against your lips, not even bothering to let you finish.

“You’re so cute when you’re needy ,” You chortle in between, barely able to keep up with his pace. Jungkook groans, grinning against your lips before kissing you again, longer, slower.

“What did I tell you about calling me cute?” He mutters, voice low (definitely playing up the octave to seem even more menacing.)

“That it’s true?” You tease, bubbly from the way he won’t stop kissing you.

In a single swift motion, Jungkook grips your thighs and lifts you off the ground, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, and a squeal exits your mouth.

“Jungkook!” You yelp, arms looping around his neck in surprise. Except it’s really no surprise, because the man has made it clear he’ll throw you around like a rag-doll. He’s already moving, already carrying you toward the bedroom with so much ease your head is spinning.

“Tired of you running from me,” He murmurs, smiling cheek-to-cheek, his bunny teeth poking out as he shuffles quickly down the hall.

You can’t stop laughing, light and heady, fingers threading through his dark hair as he all but sprints the rest of the way. He nearly flings you onto the bed like you’re deadweight.

The laughter is still spilling from your lips when Jungkook slots your mouth with his again, swallowing every giggle, every teasing remark before it can fully form. He kisses you like he needs you to stay quiet, like he’s trying to erase every last trace of your playful remarks before they slip past your lips.

But, you are not letting him off that easy.

“You were so jealous tonight,” You whisper between kisses, smiling against his lips.

Jungkook groans, tilting his head back just slightly before diving back in, his mouth brushing yours in a way that feels punishing.“Maybe. Or maybe I was just passionate.”

You roll your eyes, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt as he leans into you.

“It was kinda hot,” You mock. “You couldn’t stand it, could you?”

Jungkook grumbles something under his breath, his fingers pressing into your waist, pulling you closer, as if kissing you harder will shut you up. But the moment his lips trail down to your jaw, your pulse leaping beneath his touch, you decide to take control.

In a swift motion, you push against his chest, sliding out from underneath him and standing up.

Jungkook stumbles back onto the bed, eyes wide for half a second before something darker, more intrigued, flickers through them.

You smirk down at him, your confidence surprising even yourself.

“Oh?” Jungkook muses, grinning as he props himself up on his elbows. “Taking charge today?”

You hum, sliding onto his lap, your knees pressing into the mattress as you settle yourself atop him.

“I think you need to be reminded,” You murmur, your fingers ghosting over the silver chain around his neck before trailing downward, nails grazing the buttons of his shirt.

“Of what?” He questions, eyes dark, eager, watching your every move.

You lower yourself, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth, not quite kissing him, just kind of floating.

Slowly, with a purpose, you start kissing down his jaw and the column of his throat. “That I’m all yours,” You whisper against his skin, letting your lips brush over him with every word.

“All mine?” His voice is rough, strained, his fingers practically imprinting upon your skin. He needs to hear it again.

You pull back slightly, rolling your eyes just a little. The man knows very well you’re all his, but the desperation in his voice has you a little more soaked than you’d like to admit.

“Yes, baby,” You breathe out, cupping his face, your thumbs brushing over the faint pink tinge dusting his cheeks. “All yours.”

Now, Jungkook has seen many sides of you. The quiet, reserved girl who hides behind him at events, the sweet and hesitant thing who blushed at every flirty remark he threw your way, the one who overthought every touch, every glance, every lingering silence between you. However, that’s not to say he’s not thoroughly enjoying how unbelievably attractive you looked sitting on top of him.

The girl—the one who is straddling his lap, fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, murmuring sinful things in that soft, teasing tone, the heat of breath sending shockwaves straight through him—he does not recognize.

His heartbeat pounds in his ears, blood rushing to his cock. He can hardly breathe or think, all logic stripped away. Jungkook watches, wind knocked out of him, as you shift in his lap, your hips rolling against the growing bulge in his pants. He is ever the patient man; almost as if he wants to see how far you’ll take it.

He continues to stare as your fingers reach behind you, tugging at the zipper of your dress, the soft fabric peeling away from your shoulders, slipping lower, revealing more, more…more. Good lord.

The room is silent except for the soft rustle of fabric, the faint collective gasp in his breath as your dress pools around your waist, leaving your bare skin kissed by the golden lamp light in the room. Jungkook is entranced, his pupils dark. He’s still propped up on his elbows, yet he’s barely keeping himself upright.

Your body is soft curves and slow movements, every roll of your hips against him smoother, more confident than the last, every movement calculated and precise .

His head tips back against the mattress, his long lashes fluttering, his cock throbbing beneath the confines of his pants. Just when he thinks he might combust, you lean down, your lips hovering near his ear, whispering something he doesn’t even hear properly through the haze in his mind. He doesn’t even know what language you’re speaking.

Every teasing shift of your body against his, every brush of bare skin against fabric is driving him to the brink of insanity.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” Your hands trail up his chest, slowly undoing every button, nails barely scratching the heated skin beneath his shirt. Your jaw slightly drops as you let out a soft, needy whimper, a sound so devastating it makes his cock twitch beneath his slacks. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

Jungkook’s resolve crumbles, and his hand flies up, fingers wrapping around your jaw. He tilts your face toward his, making sure you see him. His eyes are feral, his pupils so black and wide they nearly swallow you whole. “Want my cock in your mouth.”

The words send a bolt of heat straight to your core, your body clenching instinctively. There is a small part of you that’s not all that experienced, despite your past boyfriend and you having sexual experiences. It’s just.. different with Jungkook. You think he expects more, although he tells you he doesn’t. But you’ll do your best for him, like you always do.

He moves up, sitting against the headboard, and you wiggle down, your lips parting just slightly, like you’re already imagining how he’ll feel pushing past them, how he’ll taste on your tongue, which you 100% are.

Your fingers work slowly, methodically, undoing the zipper of his slacks with a deliberate precision that has Jungkook shaking beneath you.

The sound of the zipper unfurling is deafening in the quiet room, drowned only by the unsteady rhythm of his breath, the way it stutters every time your fingers brush against him, every time you shift or press a kiss just a little lower. The man is putty in your hands.

You slip his pants down his thighs, fabric pooling around his ankles, and you throw them somewhere in the room; it doesn’t even matter. What matters is beneath them, he is hard, aching, straining against the waistband of his boxers, the fabric doing nothing to hide just how much he needs you, letting you take control while he teeters on the edge of losing it completely.

Your lips press softly to the fabric, your breath warm, your hands gliding up his thighs, fingertips tracing the defined muscles there, feeling the way they tense under your touch, how they twitch with anticipation.

Jungkook watches you, his dark lashes heavy, his chest rising and falling too quickly. He gathers your hair for you gently, fingers running through the strands, pushing them away from your face, tucking them behind your ears, cradling the back of your head, making sure he can see you completely.

For the first time in a long time, you want to be seen.

You want him to watch as you shift, as you lean back, as you slowly kick off your dress, letting it slip down the length of your body, letting it pool onto the floor in a forgotten heap, leaving you bare and exposed.

The black lingerie set you had worn underneath is still intact, a stunning contrast against your skin, the delicate lace barely covering anything at all, making you feel utterly unbreakable under his gaze.

You finally pull his boxers down. His cock springs free, the thickness of it always making you gulp. It’s flushed an angry shade of red, the tip glistening with precum, leaking and throbbing.

You swallow, your mouth already watering, your thighs pressing together as you wrap your fingers around him, feeling the weight of him in your palm. “F-fuck, baby,” Jungkook gasps, his head tipping back against the headboard, his hands gripping your hair tightly.

You stroke him slowly, taking your time, watching every little reaction, fascinated by how his body responds to you, by how his hips barely lift off the bed, chasing your warmth, chasing more. There’s normally a slight hesitation from you, but between the mix of the champagne and how fucking good he looks, you lean in. The first kitten lick to his tip is tentative, barely a flick of your tongue, just a taste.

Jungkook groans, his body jerking, “Jesus fucking Christ,” he curses, his voice shaking, his grip trembling against your scalp.

You hum softly, the sound vibrating against him, your lips parting slightly, your tongue flattening against the tip this time, lapping up the bead of precum that had gathered there, savoring the salty, musky taste of him on your tongue.

“That’s it, baby, fuck, so good,” Jungkook moans, his thighs tensing, his abs clenching, eyes screwing shut, then flickering open again, desperate to watch you, desperate to see you taking him, loving him, making him fall apart in the most beautiful way possible.

His praise makes you braver, makes you bolder, makes you want to see him even more undone, even more at your mercy. You press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to his tip, feeling him pulse beneath your lips, hearing the way he gasps sharply.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” He whispers, his voice awe-struck that you’re letting him have this piece of you.

His cock is heavy, filling your mouth so perfectly, stretching your lips as you slowly bob your head, taking in as much as you can. You feel the weight of him glide over your tongue, your throat relaxing, your jaw straining in the best way possible.

“Shit, baby,” Jungkook groans. You’ve always loved how vocal he gets for you.

You steal a glance up at him, and that’s when your eyes meet. His gaze is so dark, pupils blown out, his lips parted, damp. The moment he catches your heavy-lidded, pleading stare, something in him breaks like a live-wire.

“F-fuck,” He chokes out, his abs flexing as his breath breaks. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

You get the urge to keep going, faster now, the wet, lewd sounds of your mouth working him filling the room. Your tongue flattens along the underside of his cock, the heat of your mouth searing, your hand wrapping around the length that won’t fit, pumping in time with your movements.

“So, so good, so fucking good,” He pants, voice cracking like a prepubescent boy, his self-control hanging by a thread.

You feel it when he starts to twitch on your tongue, when his hips stutter, when his grip tightens, when he pulls your hair just slightly, as if he’s trying to stop himself from spiraling completely.

“Shit, fuck, wait—” He pulls you off him suddenly, his cock leaving your mouth with a wet pop, a string of saliva still connecting you. Your lips are swollen and glossy, your breath ragged as you look up at him, dazed and a tad cock-drunk.

“But…” You sigh, your voice small, your fingers still gripping his length, feeling the way he pulses in your palm. “I wanted to keep going.”

Jungkook groans, pulling you up onto his lap where he needs you most. His lips find your cheeks first, then your nose, your forehead, your jawline, kissing you everywhere, like he’s seconds away from breaking.

“I know, baby, I know,” He pants, barely coherent. Before you know it, he’s positioning you, guiding you to straddle him, to let him sink inside you where he belongs. “But I need you to sit on my cock, baby, please.”

His forehead presses against yours, his lips brushing against your mouth, his breath mingling with yours. “Need to feel you, need to be inside you.”

You whimper against him, the words sending a shudder through your body. Your core throbs and aches for him, whole body on fire like you’ll die if you don’t have him.

You align yourself, rolling your hips just slightly and letting his tip press against your folds. You glide it through your slick, coating him in you. It’s disgusting how aroused you are by him, but there’s comfort in knowing he feels the same way about you.

The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and your head tilts back, your mouth falling open, a soft, breathless moan slipping past your lips as the friction sparks along every nerve in your body.

Jungkook is completely gone, eyes glued to where your bodies meet, his jaw clenched so tight. He’s doing everything in his power to not completely lose control before he even gets inside you.

You sink down, slow, so slow, inch by inch, your walls stretching and molding to accommodate him.

The moment his thick length pushes inside, Jungkook groans, low and broken, while he holds you steady. The slide feels endless, like it always does, stretching you out like you’ve never taken him before, and he’s still struggling to ground himself, trying not to explode right then and there.

“Oh, f-fuck,” He hisses, his thighs tensing beneath you, his muscles coiling so tightly. He’s barely keeping himself from thrusting up into you, from taking what he wants, from losing himself in you completely.

You are getting split in half. Or, it feels like it. Your walls squeeze around him, your body shuddering.

“That’s it, baby,” he pants, his voice low, as his fingers trail up your spine. “Taking me so f-fucking well, feel so good, so tight.”

You only really sit comfortably when your clit presses against his pubic bone, when he is fully, completely inside you, when his cock is buried to the hilt, stretching you so perfectly, so devastatingly deep that it feels like he’s become a part of you.

“Oh my fucking god,” He chokes out, his grip on you bruising, completely lost in the feeling of you milking him already, pulling him in deeper, deeper, deeper. “I almost, fuck, I almost came just from that—”

The thought of it, the idea that you could make him cum just from sinking onto him, has your brain on autopilot.

You start to move, hips rolling in smooth undulations, dragging yourself up his length, feeling every ridge, every inch, before sinking down again. It’s a steady rhythm, one that has you both gasping for air.

But you don’t let him look away from you.

Nails pressing into his shoulder blades, you keep him anchored to you, your body flush against his. You tilt his face back up, your lips ghosting over his. The eye contact sends a shudder through him, his pupils blown wide, begging without words.

“You’re mine,” You murmur, your voice soft but firm, dripping with possession. Your hands trail up to cup his face, holding him there, making sure he hears you.

“Yeah?” he pants, his voice slightly slurred and drenched in adoration “Show me, baby. Let me feel it.”

Your walls squeeze him with every movement, every drag of your hips. And it’s all too much: his cock reaching even deeper, grazing that spot that paints stars in your vision.

“You’re so fucking good to me,” He groans, his voice choked, eyes desperate.

Your hands slide into his hair, tugging slightly, and he whimpers, his lips grazing over you, kissing wherever he can reach, mouthing at your skin. “All yours, baby, fuck. No one else, just you.”

Your heart swells, his jealousy from earlier feeling so distant, so insignificant, when he’s begging for you like this.

“Mine,” you whisper again, your lips ghosting over his ear, your hips picking up the pace, making him writhe beneath you.“Always fucking mine.”

Jungkook shudders, “Yours, baby.” And the words are just being repeated over and over like babbles, barely coherent to either of you as the feeling of being full by him overtakes all.

His hands lift you slightly, just enough for you to feel the drag of his cock leaving you, before he pulls you back down, filling you again in one smooth, deep motion. You cry out, your walls fluttering around him, the pace shifting from teasing to something more consuming, more needy.

“That’s it, baby,” he mumbles, his hips meeting yours now, pushing deeper, guiding you exactly how he wants you. “Just like that, ride me just like that.”

“Kook,” You whimper, nearly shaking, nearly crying from how good it feels, your hands sliding down to press against his chest.

You’re practically soaking him, your slick glistening at the base of his cock, collecting there, and he might need to be put in a mental institution after catching sight of it.

“Look at what you’re doing to me,” His eyes lock onto yours, hand slightly moving your face to avert your gaze elsewhere. You glance down, and fuck, he’s right. He’s glistening, his cock shiny with your arousal. Every time he pushes back inside, there’s more slick coating his length, dripping onto his thighs, pooling at the base of him like a sinful masterpiece.

“You feel that, baby?” he whines,“This is all yours.”

Everything becomes messier, sloppier, you’re not even sure where you are anymore. Jungkook is barely holding on, his thrusts erratic, his hands tight on your waist, slamming your hips down over and over again.

Your walls are fluttering, pulsing around him, the pleasure so intensethat you can barely even think or form any thought that isn’t jumbled.

“Jungkook, fuck,” You sob, your body jolting forward every time he drives into you, every time he hits that perfect spot inside you, over and over and over again.

“I got you, baby, fuck, I got you.” And then you really can’t take it anymore when he says things like that. Your hand flies between your legs, fingers pressing to your clit, rubbing furiously. You’re trying to tip yourself over the edge, trying to chase the orgasm that is so close, building like a wave, curling at the base of your spine, ready to crash over you at any second.

Jungkook watches, lips slightly parted. He can’t tear him away from the way you touch yourself, how you look so absolutely fucked out on top of him.

“You gonna cum for me, hmph? Hm, baby?” His words send a shockwave through you, his pace stuttering for just a second before he pounds up into you without a single ounce of restraint left.

“Fuck!” You cry out, your release inevitably waiting for you. Jungkook grins, knowing how close you are, already used to how you look when you finish.

The pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave, drowning you in pure, white-hot ecstasy. Your entire body locks up, breaking apart as your orgasm rips through you with violent force.

“Oh, Jungkook,” Your walls are squeezing around him so tight it nearly forces him out, your head tipping back, mouth falling open, but no sound coming out. Your fingers slip from your clit as your body gives out, but Jungkook doesn’t stop. His hands are locked onto your waist, his hips still driving up into you, prolonging your orgasm, forcing you to ride it out until you’re whimpering.

“Holy fuck, squeezing me so tight,” He’s shaking with restraint, his muscles taut.

Watching you fall apart like this, feeling your walls clench around him like a vice, holding him, owning him, milking him—it’s a lot.

Jungkook grits his teeth, his grip on your waist turning bruising, his chest rising and falling in frantic, erratic pants as his orgasm hits him like a fucking wrecking ball.

“Fuck, mineminemine,” He gasps, and for the first time since you two started dating, he doesn’t ask for permission to finish inside of you. Doesn’t wait for your sweet little nod, your usual whispered “yes” into his ear.

No, not tonight. Tonight, he needs to claim you, needs to remind you, remind himself that no one else is going to have you.

Tonight, he slams you down onto his cock one final time, burying himself as deep as he can go, he spills inside you, filling you up.

“Take all of it, baby,” He gasps, his hips jerking up, riding out his high. Your bodies tremble together, both of you completely wrecked. Yet still, he stays inside you. Still buried to the hilt, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against his sweaty body. His lips press lazy, open-mouthed kisses to your temple, your collarbone.

The room bathes in the warm afterglow of post-sex air. Your limbs are tangled with his as you lay with your head sprawled across his chest, his heartbeat still hammering beneath your ear. For a long moment, neither of you speak. Just deep, ragged breaths. The faint hum of the city outside. The lingering warmth of his hands tracing slow, absentminded patterns across your bare back.

“So… still wanna deny how jealous you were tonight?” You laugh, the words muffled slightly against his skin.

Jungkook groans, his arms tightening around you instinctively. “Don’t start.”

You grin, tilting your head slightly to catch the faint pink creeping up his ears.

“No, but really,” you hum, your fingers lazily tracing the chain around his neck, feeling invincible. “You almost lost your mind over a five-minute conversation. Kind of insane, actually.”

Jungkook lets out a low, gravelly laugh, the sound vibrating through your ears. “You don’t understand how fucking attractive you are. Seriously.”

“Jungkook—”

“No, really,” he kisses your forehead, watching you so intently you feel like he’s seeing right through you. “You walk into a room and I lose my goddamn mind. Every single time. You could have anyone, and yet… you chose me.”

He exhales slowly, lips brushing against your forehead in a way that feels so domestic. You don’t know what to say to that, so you sit with the words for a minute, let them reverberate through your chest. And it almost feels like your chest can’t contain it, like the pressure is building too fast, too much, like your ribs might crack beneath the weight of it. Behind them, your heart swells, expanding at least three sizes larger than its usual.

You pull him back down, lips curving into a soft smile as you kiss him again. “Always gonna choose you, Kook.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

[soeyekonic]

— ✩♬ ₊˚. miss possessive ⭑ S.L

˚⟡˖⋆ synopsis jealousy isn’t her style. sophia just reminds you, with a look and a kiss, exactly who you belong to.

disclaimers: sophia laforteza x fem!reader. fluff…? slightlyyyyy suggestive 🤘 there’s definitely some tension here guys 😣 (not proofread) idk what else…possessive sophia 🙂‍↕️

currently playing miss possessive - tate mcrae

the room hums with music, laughter, and the low buzz of too many conversations blending together. you don’t even know why you’re here, at some afterparty following an event you only half-listened to, your head already elsewhere the second sophia laced her fingers with yours on the way in.

you had every intention of sticking by her side the whole night. you always do. but somehow, you ended up at the bar alone while she got pulled into some conversation with industry people.

and that’s when she appeared.

the girl was pretty enough. big smile, glittering eyes, dressed like she wanted attention. and unfortunately, she picked you for hers. she leaned in close, voice loud over the bass-heavy song vibrating through the walls, hand brushing your arm like you were already familiar.

you laughed politely, shifted slightly, but you didn’t step away. not because you were interested, never, but because you knew who was watching.

you felt sophia’s eyes before you even saw her.

across the room, standing near the corner, drink still full in her hand, sophia’s gaze was locked on you. on her. on the way the girl’s hand grazed your waist a little too comfortably. her expression wasn’t angry. sophia never explodes, not like that, but there was a sharpness under her calm exterior, something dangerous glittering behind her eyes.

possessive.

like she was ready to snap her fingers and have the world rearrange itself.

you let the girl finish whatever dumb story she was telling, nodding, laughing politely again, but your attention wasn’t on her. your whole body was hyperaware of sophia’s stare, like a string was tied between you, pulling tighter with every second.

finally, you excused yourself, lips curling in an easy smile, walking away like it didn’t take every ounce of self-control not to turn around and smirk.

you didn’t need to look to know.

sophia followed.

the hallway outside is quieter, darker, and the door barely clicks shut behind you before you hear her voice.

“was she funny?”

you turn to face her. she’s already close. always so fast when she wants to be. the moment you meet her eyes, your stomach flips. there’s something electric about her in these moments, when the sweetness fades just enough to let the edge of her possessiveness show.

“what?” you ask, playing dumb.

sophia tilts her head slightly, smirk creeping across her face. “that girl. the one who couldn’t keep her hands off you. was she funny? cuter than me? smarter? more your type?”

her words drip with sugar and venom both, her voice low enough that it vibrates in your chest. she steps closer, boxing you in against the wall without even touching you yet, like she knows you won’t move away. like she knows you never do.

you bite your lip, fighting the grin that threatens to spill out. “are you jealous?”

her gaze darkens, narrowing just slightly. “no.”

“i just like what’s mine to act like it.”

and god, you loved when she said that. you love how it makes you feel. wanted, claimed, owned in the softest, sweetest way that still sends heat down your spine.

you reach up, fingers curling into the collar of her jacket, tugging her in like you can’t help yourself. “you’re crazy.”

she smiles wider, that dangerous kind of smile that always gets her exactly what she wants. “i know. that’s the part you like, isn’t it?”

—

back at your apartment, she’s worse. and you love every second.

she touches everything like she’s reminding the space who you belong to. her fingertips trail along your dresser, your vanity, the corner of your bed. she picks up one of your necklaces and drapes it around your throat herself, lips ghosting over your neck as she fastens the clasp.

“you looked good tonight,” she murmurs against your skin, voice like silk. “even with people staring. even with that girl thinking she had a chance.”

you shiver, breath hitching as her hands slide down your sides, pulling you flush against her. she’s wearing that signature pink lipgloss. the one you know she reapplied on purpose in the car ride over, like she was preparing for this.

“did you think i’d get mad?” she asks softly, lips brushing your ear. “did you want me to get mad?”

you don’t answer. you don’t need to. the way you melt into her grip tells her everything.

her hands find your waist, then your hips, fingers curling like she owns every inch. “i don’t share, baby. not your time, not your smile. definitely not your mouth.”

“you sound like a brat,” you tease, breathless now, even as you lean further into her, daring her to close the distance. “you know that?”

sophia laughs quietly, leaning in, her lips grazing yours, but not connecting them yet. “i sound like someone who knows what she wants.”

“and what is it you want, laforteza?”

finally, she kisses you. full and hungry. her possessiveness bleeding through every touch. it’s not desperate, it’s controlled, calculated, but you can feel the need behind it. you always can. she pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips,

“you, baby. always you.”

you feel your back hit the edge of the bed as she walks you backwards, never breaking eye contact. her hands never leave your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies are flush, heat radiating between you.

she dips her head again, lips brushing just under your jaw. “say it.”

your pulse races under her touch. “yours.”

she smiles against your skin, breath warm against your ear as her grip tightens slightly, not rough, but firm enough to send that familiar shiver down your spine.

“mine,” she echoes softly. “and don’t forget it.”

her hands slide up your arms, fingertips grazing your shoulders, drawing goosebumps across your skin. the tension hangs thick in the room. electric, intimate, and heavy with all the words unspoken between you.

sophia finally leans in again, voice low, velvet smooth. “you like how i get, don’t you?”

you nod, barely breathing. “i do.”

her lips ghost yours again, so close it’s dizzying, but she doesn’t press in fully. she makes you feel every millimeter of space she controls, savoring the power of it.

and when she finally does kiss you again, it’s slow, deep, and utterly consuming. not rushed, not frantic, just hers.

and you let her take her time. because you’re hers.

a/n: i love tate mcrae… that’s all 🤷‍♀️

[blubunz]

MIDNIGHT SNACK

— stepbrother! jason todd x f! stepsister! puppy hybrid! reader x stepbrother! dick grayson

《MINORS DNI!》

Tags: stepcest, oral (m! & f! receiving), making out, spanking (once), hair pulling (once), porn no plot.

A/N: idk if i should do a part 2.

Dick groans, hips bucking as you eagerly take his whole cock down your throat, skilled tongue rubbing his length. He strokes your head, praises coming out of his lips so naturally it makes your tail wags.

“Good— good girl, that's it. Oh god...” He tilts his head back on the couch, eyes closing in bliss. To have his puppy sister servicing him after a long day is everything he's ever wanted. He didn't know that all he had to do was ask, and you sure are delivering it to him now.

You slobber all over his cock, drools mixing with pre cum dripping down his balls in thick globs. You sure are a messy one, but he's not complaining, you give crazy blowjobs.

“Ngh, little Jaybird taught you well, huh, sis?” Dick laughs, looking down at you. “No puppy girl can give me heads like this, you're an expert.”

You can't help but feel pride, Jason did taught you well. You sure can make any cocks throb, no one knows that all they have to do is ask.

You pick up the pace, feeling Dick's cock throbbing in your mouth. Your hands on his thighs to pull yourself up easier, nodding your head like crazy.

You look drunk on his cock, not knowing how long have you been on your knees like this. Surely Jason should be home by now, too.

Jason enters the room the moment Dick pushes your head down abruptly, almost making you gag as he cums deep down your throat, thighs shuddering by the sheer ecstasy you're giving him.

“Hi, Jaybird.” Dick grins, letting you go and you rest your head on his thigh, gulping down his loads. “I didn't know our puppy can give such good heads. Is this why you're keeping her in here? Hm?”

Jason says nothing, his helmet hold no expression as he walks closer to the both of you. Dick hold the smug smile, but he's got a lingering worry that he might have upset his brother in some way.

Jason stands behind you and roughly smacks your ass, making both you and Dick's eyes widen in surprise.

He pulls you up by your hair, then snakes down to grab your cheeks.

“Am I not good enough for you? Why is he here?” Jason asks you, head tilting a little at Dick's side.

You whimper, can't seem to find an answer, but Dick quickly does it for you.

“Chill, man. I was just visiting your place. And well, she seems lonely, and you're busy, so I figured why not have some fun with my little stepsis, hm?”

Jason stares at him silently.

“...What?” Dick asks. “Look, she's all yours, buddy. But, come on, she looks like she wants us both, yeah?”

You nod when Jason glances at you, smiling a little. “I love both of my stepbrothers.” You say, turning around as best as you could to hug Jason. “I wanna feel both of you inside me...”

His arms wrap around your hips, pulling you close gently.

“Fine.” He says, taking off the helmet. “Just this once. I'm not giving Dickhead the privilege of having you anytime he wants.”

You nod again, pressing your lips up to his as you two make out.

Dick gets off the couch and stands behind you, kissing your neck while he plays with your cunt by pulling your panties up, having you rub against it.

“One rule though, you cannot kiss her lips.” Jason says, tugging on your bottom lip, only to be responded with Dick chuckling as he gets on his knees.

“Oh, don't worry. I prefer kissing her other lips anyway.” Dick pulls your bottoms down, revealing your wet heat. He sniffs deeply, tongue sticking out to savour your taste.

Meanwhile, you're busy moaning while Jason pulls you into a lip lock, holding your head tight to his as he pours everything out into this sloppy session.

They don't even use their cocks, and yet you're getting close already, eyes rolling up and your breathing grows rapidly. But as if they can read eachother's minds, Dick and Jason stops completely, leaving you a whining mess.

You cry, pushing your ass back against Dick, while giving Jason your puppy eyes.

Jason assures you with a head pat, hands reaching down to remove his belt and unzip his pants.

“Relax, pup, we have plenty of time.”

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][established relationship][oral (f! receiving)][fingering][shower sex][wrongful use of water][wet t-shirt][temple kisses][i don't make the rules, but there's a lot of them][grinding but not where you thinkkk~][maybe food play, idk][just the tip][missionary][mating press]

Wally had a plan.

A good plan, relatively thorough, and romantic. All of which were crucial to whether or not this date would go good.

A good, sweet morning wrapped up in the loving embrace of your arms, paired with the sweet, tightness of your cunt cockwarming him while the sun rises from just below the horizon. With the feeling of your fingers carding through his hair, your lips ghosting over his jaw and murmurs of sweet 'I love you's in the air.

Then, you'd have breakfast that HE learnt how to make. Through numerous WikiHow articles and YouTube tutorials.

Then, you'd go about your day where flowers would be mailed to your job, and the two of you would have a nice lunch. Specifically, a picnic in the park and for dinner, you'd have take-out and the scallions in the soup would be shaped like cute hearts, because if your love is in soup, it's eternal.

But noooooooooooo.

The universe has a fucked up way of ruining the speedster's hopes and dreams.

The takeout place burns down, the flower company doesn't get his order, he oversleeps so he doesn't get to make you the whole, magical experience of cockwarming while he feeds you breakfast.

"I'm sorry." Wally murmurs softly. "I should've planned better."

Rain continues to soak through his shirt, the fabric getting heavier and clinging to his torso in the way that makes your eyes linger, a slow smile spreading on your face as you unabashedly watch the way the shirt sticks to his tightly toned belly. Abs on display in the most demure yet slutty way.

"It's okay."

You reassure softly, although your eyes don't move from where you can see his nipples through his shirt.

"Are you seriously staring at my nipples?" Wally let's out a choked laugh, dimples deepening in his cheeks as he looks down at you, gingery hair wet and clinging to the back of his neck, as well as his forehead.

Your outfit's less soaked than his.

Seeing as he made a makeshift gazebo with his windbreaker, using his speed to his advantage to tie the arms to the lowest hanging branches and tucking either of the ends between messy and spiky edges of the branches.

Too small to accomodate both of you but good enough to keep you from thoroughly soaking your plaid Chanel skirt and you shift, your boots scuffing against the wet grass.

"Yeah." You hum softly. "They're so cute and like, hard."

Reaching out, you press down one of his perky nipples and Wally snorts. "Freak."

"Come stand with me. You're gonna get a cold." You chide Wally with a huff, grabbing the front of his shirt and tugging him out of the rain, his body pressed against yours and strong, muscular hands move to bracket your hips, his thumbs brushing over the flesh your fluffy knit sweater fails to over and he looks down at you.

Fucking hearts in his eyes.

The moment seems perfect right now. Raindrops pelting around you, the sound of wet grass sloshing underneath your boots as you shift at the feel of nipping cold and a warm hand moves to cup your cheek as Wally leans down, his lips pressed against yours. It's so sweet.

He kisses you like it's the only slow thing he'll ever do. Lips moving against yours in a slow, synchronised motion that you both seem to fall into so flawlessly, his hand on your hip shifts and instead, his arm's wrapped around your waist while your own hands interlace at the nape of his neck.

You can barely hide the giggle that leaves you when you feel the way Wally's hand lowers, taking the sweet and romantic opportunity to slide his hand beneath your skirt. Damp digits paw at the fat of your ass and you pull away.

"Creep." You mock him, nipping at his bottom lip and you see the pretty twinkle of his eyes as he stares down at you, a grin on his face, freckles dusted over his rosy cheeks.

"Guilty." He hums softly, before leaning forward, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

"We should get out of the rain, yeah?" There's a low huskiness to his voice, a sweet yet sultry tone that hints that there's a lot more waiting for you at home than there was waiting for you at the park.

And you nod your head, bashful and adoring as you murmur a soft 'mhm'.

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋❤️་༘🎀˚˖𓍢ִ🌹˚.

Hot water sprays down on your skin, and you let out the softest sigh, frozen bones easing at the warmth before the shower door is abruptly opened and Wally stands in all his freckled glory.

Hair still damp from the rain, that shit-eating grin on his face.

"Scoot over." He instructs, but he's already stepping over the threshold of the shower, shutting the door behind him and readjusting the showerhead to spray more in his direction.

Wally's always been a bit of a selfish showerer.

His body nearly presses yours against the tiled walls as he soaks up the scalding water, letting out controlled breaths before meeting your narrowed gaze and he lets out the softest little breath. And he reaches towards the temperature dial, shifting and switching it, until the water's a pleasant, lukewarm temperature before he hums.

"Upsy-daisy." He lifts you with ease, your knees hooked over the crooks of his elbows, your back pressed against his chest and he presses a sloppy kiss against your temple.

"Wally, what are you— oh..." The gruff complaints die in your throat when Wally shifts your body towards the shower stream, your thighs spread obscenely wide as the solid stream of water pelts down against your clit, and you purse your lips, brows knitting at the pleasure that's not quite enough to get you anywhere but it's nice enough for you to not want it to stop.

Wally hums in pride, freckled cheeks splitting into a grin as you feel the muscles of his core flex absentmindedly, his cock twitching to life, hardening and pressing itself against your neglected cunt. And he presses the sweetest kiss against your cheek, loving and adoring before he breathes your name so sweetly.

"Help me out?" He coos softly. "Just the tip, though. I wanna make you feel good."

You nod your head, biting your bottom lip as you reach down between your thighs, grabbing a hold of his cock and you give his tip a few swipes of your thumb, feeling the way his breath hitches against your back before you ease his flushed tip into your hole.

Just the tip.

Wally can't help the way he sighs at the warmth of your cunt, wrapped so sweetly around his leaky tip as you spasm so subtly. And he clicks his tongue, his hips twitching and giving you the most shallow thrusts, all as he reaches for the showerhead, detaching it and bringing it closer.

"Wally, I don't think—"

Your opinion dies quicker than you'd like to admit because when the water pressure changes, and Wally's controlling the placement, you feel your head tip back against his broad chest. Your lashes flutter closed and faint moans leave your parted lips as your thighs tense and flex, although they're still kept in a long distance relationship.

"You look so pretty." Wally coos sweetly, cheeks flushed and his wet body feeling slightly cold at the breeze that creeps into the bathroom and he dips his head, pressing a soft kiss against your lips before asking you, so sweetly.

"How do you wanna come?"

That question has no business making your cunt drool, walls and nerve endings burning with that sickening desire to come as many times as you can and you swallow.

Sure, this feels great but nothing beats—

"Your tongue and fingers."

You sigh softly, bringing up one hand to curl in his wet hair, nails scratching at his scalp so affectionately.

"Nasty, greedy girl. Tongue and fingers?"

Wally teases you but he wastes no time in setting you on your feet, placing the showerhead back on its spot and kneeling in front of you.

The muscles in his thighs spread out, his core tensing and his cock twitching upwards at the water that pelts down onto the two of you. It's a comforting spray, warmer than before so Wally must've changed the temperature while you were trying to find your brain.

And he guides one of your thighs to rest over his shoulder, the heel of your foot bumping against his back and Wally presses a kiss against your inner thigh. And he places your hands on his head, before lowering his head.

He drags his flattened tongue over your cunt, tasting your slick and feeling you throb against his tongue and he groans softly. Your fingers tangle in his hair, head tipping back against the condensating tiles and you let out the softest sigh. Your tummy tenses when he swirls his tongue around your clit, just before he dips it into your cunt, only for a little bit.

He can taste himself just a bit, the taste of his precum has drastically improved since you've started seeing each other.

Maybe because instead of living off energy drinks and take out, Wally's seeing fruit on a daily basis, instead of treating it like a distant relative.

Two fingers plunge into your cunt at a speed that makes your belly dip inward and your hands fist his hair tighter, a low moan leaving your lips and Wally lets out a boyish giggle.

"Yeah. Does it feel good?" He coos softly, juniper gaze lifting to glance up at your face, seeing the way your brows scrunch in that adorable way, the way your lips part to let out whimpers and whines as his tongue rolls around your clit, suckling at the bud until you let out a pitched moan.

Wally hurls you at your oncoming orgasm with the strength and speed that a cat knocks a glass off the table. And you nearly scream, your knees giving out beneath you but Wally keeps you steady as you buck against his face, his tongue and fingers working in tandem to draw out your orgasm for as long as possible.

Because he loves watching the way you crumble against a damp, tiled wall. Hair clinging to your forehead, face ruddy and hot breaths mingling with the steam in the air and you look so fucking gorgeous when you look down at him through bleary eyes. Watching as his tongue cleans up the slick that paints your puffy pussy with glossiness, licking along your thighs before Wally rises, forearms braced on either side of your head before he smiles down at you, head cocked and he presses a kiss against your forehead.

"You good, pretty?"

You can barely nod your head as Wally's hands move to bracket your hips, thumbs brushing over the protruding bones as his head dips to press kisses along the curve of your neck. Before his hand shifts, to squeeze the fat of your ass, feeling the flesh in his calloused palms and he groans softly.

"Shit." He breathes out before swallowing. "Okay, we're gonna finish showering, then you're gonna order pizza while I get the room ready and then we're gonna... Fix this Valentine's Day, okay?"

This is the most instructions Wally's ever given you. Literally ever.

And you can't deny that it's kind of sexy.

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋❤️་༘🎀˚˖𓍢ִ🌹˚.

"Wally, I'm eat—" Your words are broken up in a gasp, cheese, sauce and doe tucked into either of your cheeks and you shift, letting out a slurred whine while Wally's hands pry your thighs apart.

"Don't be selfish." Wally hisses, his tongue curling against your overstimulated clit, sensitive bud peeking out from between your folds and he forces your legs apart, your plate resting on your belly, and Wally lays down on his stomach as he sucks your clit so sweetly, peeking up at you over the decorated porcelain rim of your plate. And you whine, completely unsure of which route to take.

You could keep eating.

Or Wally could keep eating.

"Just keep eating." Wally's nose bumps against your clit, his tongue tracing hearts over your cunt before he flicks it just right, and he rests his head against the flesh of your thigh.

And he doesn't even pretend that it's tedious.

Delightful hums leave his lips in the form of low, reverberating groans, his grip on your thighs borders on almost clingy as he paws at whatever flesh he can get to and his sock-covered feet kick. You don't even have the time to question why his socks has your pictures on it before he's tucking two fingers away in your gummy walls.

Gently curling them, sweetly coaxing you towards another orgasm that has your heels digging into his back, your eyes rolling back and your hand nearly dropping the cheesy slice. And you whimper.

"Wally... 's too much, too sensitive...—" You gasp with a whine, lashes fluttering and tears brimming at the corners of your mouth as his fast flicks and his eagerness make you see God.

Wally ignores you.

Blatantly.

Only lifting his head to scowl at you before ducking back down, his feet kicking and his hips occasionally grinding against the messy sheets, a perfect hill for him to rub against like an animal in heat.

Needy, whiny and so, so achingly hard.

He lets out a familiarly whiny groan, tears brimming on his lower lashline, green eyes becoming bleary as he sucks, nips, drags his tongue and circles. All in perfect movements and God, being a speed freak really had it's perks.

Including the fact that he had the uncanny ability to make you come whenever he wanted to.

A walking, talking vibrator.

Wally coaxes your third orgasm out of you, slick dribbling down his chin and his palm, before he lifts himself, carding his fingers through his hair and staring at you with a heated gaze.

His broad chest heaves, his carved abdomen tenses and flexes, and his hands rest on your thighs, warm palms easing the almost painful burn in your core, and your gaze lowers. Lowers all the way to below that gingery happy trail and you swallow.

"Wally, did you come?" You question softly, lips pursed as you try not to let out a snort of laughter as pearly beads continue to be pushed out with each twitch of his still-hard cock.

"I got really into it." He's not even embarassed, simply moving the messy sheets out of the way and guiding your thighs over his, and notching the flushed tip of his cock at your sopping, slick-soaked pussy.

And he pushes into you, hands grasping the sheets before he stops. Abruptly.

"I need to pull out." Wally announces and you wish you could say he was joking. But his expression doesn't say he's joking.

"Like, right now?"

"Literally right now. Please don't move. I'll lose so much aura, baby, please. Keep still."

Wally begs you, and like a normal woman, and a woman in love, you obviously start to clench and spasm around his leaky tip. And Wally whines.

"You're gonna make me come..." He whimpers, bringing his hand up to bracket your face, forcing you to look away from him.

Wally knows you'll never let it down if you see the way he looks. All red and flushed, weak and teary-eyed as he tries to keep his cool.

He doesn't get why now, of all times, his stamina's playing games with him but he does know one thing.

"Can I come inside?"

Taglist:

@lucky-beheaded 🌻

@jasontoddswhitestreak 🌸

@allycat4458 🪻

@anesthesia-4rizzle 🎀

@feral010 ✨

@blckbarbiedoll 🌷

@custardpuddingprincess ⭐

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch 🦄

@theamazkngskye 🍄

@sleepyinsomniac 🌙

@ibreathesmut 🪸

@titchx0 🦆

@sl4y-s4turn 🪐

@whyiisgamora 👽

@queen-of-gotham 🦇

[ouran1a]

YEAHHH U WRITE FOR CHUBBY READERS ? may you write something about pete with a chubby s/o ? sfw or nsfw is fineee

mmph this is so late i’m so sorry babycakes :(

18+, afab reader, pete is a short mf with tiny hands, blood/marking, technically autoerotic asphyxiation hehe

y’all i used fuck like a million times i’m SORRY. like=fuck for me idk idk idk idk

everything with pete is so fucking messy and he fucking loves it.

kisses are filled with nipping and spit and moans, greedy little hands always roaming and groping and pinching and squishing, sex was full of screaming and tears and cum and blood,

but you sitting on his face might be his favorite.

thick thighs shaking and covered in ugly fucking yellow and purple bruises and bites, blood still leaking from the deep teeth marks he’d left, your cunt just centimeters away from his hooked nose and salivating mouth, your blood and slick still shining on his cracked lips.

He scoffed quietly at your hovering, landing a heavy swat to your ass and relishing in the breathy gasp you let out, “‘s called face-sitting, ma, not this shit yer doin’” he chided. his tone was so fucking smug and arrogant, hands warm as he pinched and squeezed the pockets of chub along your hips, thumbs pushing down on your hanging tummy while he tried to drag you down to actually sit in his face.

you squirmed, body vibrating with an intoxicating mix of pleasure and dull pain, your flushed face was pulled into a grimace, baby hairs stick to your sweat slicked skin, “don’t wanna fucking break you neck, baby..” another smack to your ass, god that one was gonna leave a welt. pete yanked in your hips again, internally fuming at the fact he couldn’t force your hips down with just his brute strength, “i’ll bite yer fuckin’ clit off if you don’t” another hard yank, you drop just a bit more, “sit th’fuck down,”

seconds pass and you stay still hovering, so naturally, pete’s mouth starts running, “fuckin’ tease.” he snarled, angling his head up to nip and lick at your puffy cunt lips, “gonna touch n’ rub all up on me then pussy out when ‘m right fuckin’” he nudged your clit with his nose, grinning like a fucking maniac at your soft moan, feeling your thighs give a bit more, “hmm— ‘m right here, don’t fuckin’ keep my pussy from me,”

his voice was muffled by your thighs and yet it it still felt like he was talking right in your fucking ear, “jus’ cause your lame ass ex couldn’t man up n’ eat this fat cunt don’t mean i won’t,” pinching just above the inside of your knees, pete gets you just lost enough to finally sit you down in him, moaning like a bitch at the feeling of your full weight pressing in him.

immediately, you’re gasping and yanking at that short black hair, you can feel his nose smushed against the sensitive little bundle of nerves and his tongue slotted as deep as he can get it in you, you can still hear his fucking slurping and sucking, such a nasty fucking sound. His hands are constantly moving, one almost mindlessly feeling up your side, becoming you to curl down so he can flick and pinch your pebbled nipple while the other wrapped around his weeping cock, red and almost angry.

pete felt like he was fucking floating, he couldn’t breathe at all, throat closed and nose covered by your juicy cunt, his cock was throbbing, already so fucking close just from a few strokes. he was getting lightheaded, could feel your hips rocking back and forth, down into his face, using him to get yourself off. he could hear your muffled moans, hardly audible through your tummy and fat legs suffocating him, the sounds shot right to his dick, legs squirming and hips desperately humping up into his hand.

you got lost in the feeling, mind blank except for the friction of his nose and mouth against your cunt, the almost ticklish touch of pete sucking and lazily biting your lips. you didn’t even notice him cum, painting his hand and stomach in spunk while you just grinded harder and harder down into his face. pete didn’t try to pull you off, both hands now gripping your thighs, blunt nails leaving angry red marks all in the soft skin.

the band in your belly was pulled taut, you were at the cusp of your orgasm, one hand shakily gripping the headboard while the other yanked at his hair, “o-oh! i’mm’onna c-cum— ohmygod i’m gonna cum s-so fucking ha-ard!” all it took to snap the string was pete angling that fucking nose and wrapping his lips around your pulsing clit, nipping and biting the fucking thing.

you screamed, actually screamed, as your hips stilled, shaking and panting and sweating while your cunt gushed on his face. pete slurped it all up, blood trickling down from where his nails had broken skin while you moaned and gently rocked your hips to ride it out.

after a while you tried to lift off his face, only to gasp in pain when pete’s razors of teeth nipped your cunt lip again, beady little eyes glaring up at you, “sit th’fuck back down,” hand suddenly stronger than your limp thighs pulled you back down, “‘m not fuckin’ done with m’pussy.”

[highway-143]

number 10- nishimura riki

genre: smut, desire : unleash engene ver. au, based on this ask

pairing: contestant!riki x fem contestant!reader

taglist: @urlocalmultigroupfan @minkilicious @vrusha01 @shyoko @planetmarlowe

word count: 1.6k

now playing: confident- justin bieber

a.n- teehee ty anon for the request, i kinda had to interpret the concept video weird for it but i think its a similar concept, idk

tw: death/murder, graphic explanations, oral (f. rec), unprotected, dom!riki, profanity, scary themes idk

(mostly proofread)

all scenarios are fake and are not meant to represent any idol in the story.

. ⁺ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ‧₊˚✩彡.𖥔 ݁ ˖๋ ࣭ ⭑

running was getting fucking hard.

you were panting, hands clawing against the bloodied walls while you tried to get away, tried to escape this stupid prison.

the metal collar around your neck wasn't helping either. it weighed you down, making you slower, as if it wasn't already tracking you.

and then the figure appears.

tall, only a few yards away, yet shrouded in darkness on the other end of the hallway.

you freeze, hoping it wouldn't notice you.

but it already had. the thing walks closer, taking slow, almost cautious steps in your direction.

"hello?" it whispers.

you breathe out a sigh of relief. thank god, another contestant.

but then you see it, him, in the faint green lighting.

he was beautiful. dark and rumpled hair, sharp features, and a strong jawline.

"thank god, you're one too. i'm 99, jay."

"i'm y/n, 03." you say, wavering a little in case he's someone you need to avoid. "have you seen anyone else?"

"not yet," he mutters, looking around. "you wanna team up?"

you watch him carefully. he adjust the collar, shifting it around his neck. he looks nice enough, what could it hurt by sticking with him, at least for a little bit.

"sure. let's go that way."

you and jay walk through the halls, taking turn after turn until-

a dead end.

mostly.

a metal door obstructed your path, and jay turns to you.

"want me to check?"

you nod, trying to bury the fear building up in the pit of your stomach.

jay opens the door, taking a slow, experimental step in and looking back at you.

and then he steps all the way in.

big mistake.

you watch as the door slams shut behind him, the handle stuck when you try to open it again.

you try to listen through the door.

nothing.

but then you look down.

and there's blood pouring out from under the door. you slam a hand over your mouth, holding back your choked scream.

player 99 was dead.

you watch as the thick, red liquid pools around your boots, staining the white material.

you almost throw up, but you walk away, trying to find a way out of this damn hell hole.

you find another room, this time peering in before stepping inside. not like you could see anything anyways. and thank god, because you didn't meet the same fate as jay.

instead, the lights snap on, the door shuts with a click behind you, and your eyes practically disintegrate from the newfound brightness.

you aren't fully prepared for what's in front of you.

it's another player, a man again, tied to a chair with black ropes and facing a metal table with a flashing box on it.

"finally, somebody else fell for it, come and untie me."

you roll your eyes and crouch behind him, fingers setting to untie his bonds.

"how'd you get in here?" you ask, pulling the rope away and letting him flex his wrists.

"same as you, just walked in. somebody was in here and tied me up though, but they left."

you nod, looking around the room. now that you were used to it, the lights weren't that bright at all. in fact, they were dimmer than before. there was a camera in the corner, the head pointed directly at the table.

and then, the device.

it didn't take long for you to realize what it was.

a bomb.

the timer was at 31:09

and counting down.

31:08, 31:07, 31:06

you turn to the guy. "it's gonna explode an a half hour."

he laughs. "you think i didn't know that? i can see you know."

you roll your eyes again.

"bitch." you mutter.

"actually, it's riki."

you shake your head. "do i look like i give a shit?"

he laughs, standing from his chair and taking a look at the bomb on the table.

"i like you, you've got energy." he says, poking at a wire.

you don't say anything, just examine the room and try not to stare at riki.

because he had to be cute and an asshole, of course.

"what's your name?" he asks, sitting back down in the chair.

you slump against the wall, sliding down to the ground. "y/n."

"did you see anyone else out there?"

"yeah but..." your voice hitches. "he was eliminated."

"oh." riki's face is somber. "was it 71?" there's an urgency in his expression now.

"no, 99."

"thank god." he grabs his chest, his heart racing. "71's my sister."

your heart sinks. you feel terrible for riki, his own family forced into this stupid game.

you sit in silence, waiting for your death.

it didn't feel real. it was like a dream. how were you and riki supposed to come to terms with the fact that you'd be dead in...

13:42

thirteen minutes.

and then, as you feel tears start to fall from your eyes, there's a long beep from the bomb. you jumped, thinking it was detonating early.

you and riki watch as numbers turn into letters that slowly become words.

𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝚃𝙴𝙽 𝙼𝙸𝙽𝚄𝚃𝙴𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴. 𝚆𝙴'𝙻𝙻 𝙱𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚃𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶.

you look over at the camera, a red light blinking next to the lens.

perfect.

just fucking great.

riki turns to the camera, staring it down.

"fucking perverts!" he yells at it, and then the bomb beeps again.

𝚂𝙰𝙸𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙷𝙰𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝙵𝚄𝙲𝙺 𝙷𝙴𝚁

riki scoffs. "we'll see about that."

he turns to you. you were standing like a post, not fully grasping what was happening.

"let's go." he says, grabbing you by the arm and pullimg you to stand in front of the chair, the backs of your knees just barely grazing the metal.

"take it off." he says, pointing at your jumper.

you don't do anything. you can't move.

riki clenches his fists. "okay, come fucking on. i have less than ten minutes to do this now." he points at the clock, now 9:46.

you blush and unzip your jumper, the white shirt underneath the only thing covering your chest.

riki pushes you to sit on the edge of the chair, with its back digging under your shoulderblades.

he kneels down, and slips a hand under the shirt, squeezing your breast while his free hand pushed your thighs apart.

you whine when his thumb grazes your nipple, and he smirks while pressing kisses up and down your thighs.

he slides a finger down your panties, pulling them down your sensitive legs. a little moan slips from your lips when he presses a finger to your clit.

"sensitive..." he mutters, grinning.

"shut up," you say, breathless. he just laughs.

he pushes a finger between your folds, collecting the slick building up between them and bringing his finger to his lips.

you moan when he sucks on the pad of his finger, and he groans at your taste.

"god, that's good..."

he leans closer to your cunt, blowing a breath of cool air over your wet lips. your hips jerk, chasing him.

he presses his lips against your clit, giving it a faint suck before trailing down and licking between your folds. his tounge felt like fire on you, his fingers digging into your thighs.

you put your hand on the back of his head, stroking his hair while he practically makes out with your pussy. he moans into you, and you push him deeper.

his nose stimulates your clit, just grazing your sensitive nub while his tounge started pushing into your hole.

you look at the clock.

5:31

shit.

you try your hardest to work up an orgasm, to let yourself go, but your efforts were in vain.

riki looks up at you, pulling away from your throbbing pussy.

"you usually this hard to please?"

"i'm nervous."

he pulls you up from the chair by your shoulder, hooking a hand under your arm and dragging you to the table.

"well i'm not dying today." he growls in your ear, bending you over the cold metal and pushing your shirt over your ass

he spreads your legs with his thigh, and you hear the rustle of fabric behint you.

you know what's coming.

you try to prepare yourself, gripping the edge of the table and locking your legs, but nothing could have gotten you ready for riki.

he pushes into your wet hole, and you struggle to take him. he's long, thick, and hard. a strangled scream comes from your mouth when he pushes deeper, his dick pressing against your cervix.

"fuck, you're tight... god damn."

you whine when he starts moving his hips, his pelvis slapping against your ass with loud claps.

his thumb reaches town to your clit, rubbing you, trying to get you to just fucking release already.

2:06

you feel the tears on the table under you, the metal heating under your trembling body.

riki groans, his own release closer than yours.

and then he spills into you. you clench violently around him, feeling his cum fill you up

yeah, some of that definetly took.

thats what has you over the edge. your legs tremble and your eyes roll back, your slick plasterd onto your thighs, dripping down your legs.

"fuck," says riki, still buried deep inside you. he looks at the camera. "stop the fucking timer! she did it, bastards!"

the timer stops.

0:16

fuck yeah.

. ⁺ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ‧₊˚✩彡.𖥔 ݁ ˖๋ ࣭ ⭑

a.n- chat i cooked ToT

idk man, im tired. anyways, if you liked this fic, please like/comment/reblog and lmk if you have any ideas for a new one!

masterlist part 2

[alllgator-blood]

I call this one "found family but it goes horribly wrong in an irreparable way" :)

I've been doing a lot of cotl comics but I kinda lost my comic making endurance after not working on art since last september, so I made this to help me flex my art muscles. Apologies for the watermarks lmao they kinda kill the mood but I've already had people repost my art when I put it on reddit so...might as well get the credit if my stuff is gonna be reposted regardless. RAMBLE INCOMING!!

Thinking about how shamura was most likely the one to find + raise their adopted siblings and help them survive the mass deicide that happened thousands of years before....OUUGH. I have so many ideas for comics that take place when half the bishops were still lil kids. I have one in progress right now actually. But it just hurts when I remember how it all ends- they loved their family for so long and yet they credit their love as what caused it to fall apart!!! The lore of the bishops only sunk in when I was dealing with my own heavy sibling angst, and I was like wow....shamura supported the sibs so much they accidentally encouraged their brother into being a heretic, and couldn't close pandora's box in time to save him or the rest of the family. They blame themself for the past 1,000 years and seem to be totally okay with dying for what they did?? Like when they get sent to the shadow realm they tell you to "finish the job" instead of leaving them in purgatory. And despite being the bishop of war, they are the only bishop to not have a "desperate" phase where their attacks get more brutal. They're not desperate, they just want to get it over with. All their other siblings are dead by then anyway so it's not like they have anything to stick around for, even if they were healthy enough to win the battle. Plus I mean...narinder is the bishop of death so they probably just want to see him one last time. Owch

Don't get me wrong I love to hate narinder and his only role in my cult is the guy who cleans the outhouse, but I really like his dynamic with shamura vs. the other siblings. I kinda see him as the troubled kid that couldn't assimilate into the family and shamura took it upon themself to try and fix him. It's interesting thinking about how they're the only one he shows remorse for despite feeling the most betrayed by them. I don't think he 100% hates them, he's just been locked in gay baby jail for so long he's had nothing better to think about than "my sibling encouraged me to experiment with my godly duties, and then punished me for it!!". He's not wrong? But also is shamura that wrong either??? Idk it's complicated with no real answer and I like it a lot, I wish the game told us more about what the bishops were like before they got their shit rocked during the schism. I would've loved to see shamura before their brain was turned to mush by their tbi + 1,000 years of suffocating grief and crushing guilt :)

ANYWAY thanks for making it to the bottom of this rant, here is a sketch I did a while ago of shamura + baby leshy from a prequel au thing I don't have a name for yet:

[cece693]

I really loved the silent but angry reader with hannigram!! would it be possible to request a part 2? Maybe something where the reader finally snaps and like- beats someone up or something? idk lol Thank you for your time and your writing!

On The Tip of Your Tongue Pt. 2

pairing: hannigram x male reader tags: reader doesn't care about what's said about him but when it comes to his lovers, phew, just phew, guard dog, altercation, hannigram finding it unnecessary but sweet, you showing people they're wrong

A week after that peaceful evening at Hannibal's home, you found yourself back in the maze of FBI corridors—late at night, subdued fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. It should have been a routine debrief, but Agent Lange had a knack for turning even mundane situations into confrontations. His favorite pastime: picking at your silence.

By now, you’d grown skilled at blocking his barbed comments about you—he never seemed worth the trouble. But the moment he made Hannibal or Will the targets, every fiber in your body tensed like a coiled spring, ready to snap.

The trouble started in the break room, of all places. You were rinsing out a coffee mug while Will stood nearby, silently reading through case files. Hannibal was down the hall, finishing an impromptu consultation. Agent Lange sidled in, a smug half-smile plastered on his face. He began with a low mutter, obviously wanting you to overhear. “Doesn’t say much, does he?” Lange said to no one in particular, though his eyes never left you. “Probably thinks he’s too good for the rest of us.”

Will glanced up, brow furrowing. “Cut it out, Lange,” he warned, voice quiet but firm.

Lange scoffed. “Oh, look, Graham is here to defend his little buddy.” He rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, then smirked. “What, you guys have some kind of arrangement with that doctor of yours? Must be real cozy, you three. Freak show if you ask me—Doctor Lecter with his fancy dinners and you, Graham, with your messed-up head. Not sure what he—” Lange shot you an assessing look “—sees in a pair of psychos.”

Your grip on the mug tightened until your knuckles turned white. You could handle insults directed at you alone. But calling Hannibal a freak—calling Will messed up—that was a line no one should ever cross.

Will started to step forward, frustration rippling in the set of his jaw. “I’m warning you, Lange—”

But Lange just kept on. “Warner from Accounting told me the three of you even share a place sometimes,” he sneered, letting out a low, mocking laugh. “That’s a real nice arrangement. Guess all the weirdos have to stick together, huh?”

In that moment, your heart pounded so loudly in your ears that you barely registered Will reaching for your arm or Hannibal appearing in the doorway. All you knew was that Lange had just gone after the two people you loved most, spat insults that made your blood boil. Before Will could hold you back, you lunged at Lange, slamming him against the countertop before grabbing him by the collar.

“Don't you ever talk about them like that,” you growled, voice trembling with fury.

Lange’s hand shot up to shove you away. Big mistake. You seized his wrist, twisting just enough to yank him off balance. Then your fist crashed into his jaw, the impact ringing through your arm. Lange staggered, barely staying on his feet. There was a collective gasp from the few agents who’d been unlucky enough to witness the altercation. Hannibal’s calm, cool voice cut through the air—firm, yet oddly soothing. “(Y/N). Enough.”

But Lange, spitting blood from a split lip, couldn’t let it go. “They’re both messed up in the head,” he snarled, glaring at you. “They deserve—” You lost all sense of caution. With a furious snarl, you shoved Lange so hard he stumbled into the table, sending files and coffee cups flying. He tried swinging at you, but you easily dodged, landing a swift, punishing blow to his ribs.

Will’s arms locked around your torso, hauling you backward. “(Y/N), stop!” he ordered, breath tight.

Still seething, you struggled for a second, your gaze locked on Lange’s crumpled form. Hannibal stepped in front of Lange, effectively blocking him from view, placing himself between you both. For a heartbeat, you saw a flash of something like approval in Hannibal’s eyes—gone in an instant, replaced by measured concern.

A tense hush fell over the break room. Lange groaned, pressing a hand to his side, shooting you a hateful glare. Will released you slowly, scanning your face for any sign of lingering rage. “Hey,” he whispered, “breathe.”

You inhaled shakily, your fury still smoldering beneath the surface. “He insulted you,” you spat, voice hoarse. You glared over Will’s shoulder toward Lange. “Both of you. He had no right.”

Hannibal stepped forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. You could feel the gentle pressure, calming like a steady pulse. “That’s quite enough for tonight,” he said in that refined, even tone. Then, turning a cold gaze on Lange, he added softly, “You would do well to keep further opinions to yourself.”

Lange, nursing his bruised jaw, spat out an obscenity but didn’t press his luck. One look at Will, still standing protectively in front of you, made him think twice. He shoved a chair aside and stumbled out of the room, muttering threats about filing a report.

The ride back to Hannibal’s home was drowned in thick, static tension. You sat in the back seat, staring out the window with your jaw tight, chest still heaving from residual anger. Will occupied the passenger seat, arms folded, gaze flicking every so often to the rearview mirror where Hannibal’s impassive face reflected back. No one spoke a word. The hum of the engine and the occasional hiss of tires on wet pavement were the only sounds.

By the time the car pulled up to the stately brick home, the air felt electric. Hannibal parked with his usual precision, and you exited wordlessly, your lovers flanking you on either side. You stepped into the foyer, your breath still shallow from the surge of adrenaline. Hannibal immediately ushered you toward the kitchen with gentle but insistent pressure on your lower back.

“Sit,” he instructed, voice low and calm in that familiar, cultured way. “Let me see your hands.”

Will leaned against the marble island, arms crossed, watching as Hannibal carefully took hold of your bruised knuckles. You winced when he turned on the faucet, letting cool water run across torn skin. For a moment, Hannibal focused solely on rinsing away dried blood. Once satisfied, he turned off the tap and reached for antiseptic and gauze. His eyebrows knit in that slight, discerning frown he wore when studying a patient—or a lover, in need of care.

“You truly did a number on him,” Will commented quietly, pushing off the counter. He walked over, eyes flicking between your injured hands and your tense expression. “Not that he didn’t deserve it.”

You let out a slow, shaky breath, finally speaking for the first time since leaving the FBI. “He insulted you,” you said, voice hoarse with lingering fury. “I could’ve handled the things he said about me. But about you two? I couldn’t just stand there.”

Will’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “We’re not exactly fragile, you know. We didn’t need you to defend us.”

Hannibal cast Will a knowing glance but addressed you. “However, that does not mean we didn’t appreciate it,” he said, carefully affixing the final piece of gauze. His eyes flicked up to yours, a subtle heat behind them. “Or find it intriguing.”

“Hot, actually,” Will added, stepping closer. The corners of his mouth lifted in a hint of a grin that bordered on playful. “Watching you lose your temper like that…seeing you go from silent to lethal in a heartbeat. I can’t pretend it wasn’t a little—” he cleared his throat, “arousing.”

You felt your face flush at Will’s admission. His candor took some of the edge off your anger, replacing it with a wave of self-conscious heat. Hannibal’s expression betrayed no surprise—if anything, a knowing gleam lit his dark eyes. He folded your freshly bandaged hand into both of his, pressing a light kiss to your wrist.

“That flash of violence,” he said quietly, “while I don’t endorse needless brutality, I do find it befitting of you. That anger in your eyes, the way you allowed for it to consume you was beautiful."

You swallowed hard, letting your gaze flick from Hannibal to Will. “But I— I nearly lost control.”

Will’s voice dropped lower, tinged with empathy and something else. “He had it coming. Besides, we would've stopped you before it really became a problem."

Despite the swirling emotions—anger, relief, lingering adrenaline—warmth spread through your chest. You exhaled the breath you’d been holding. The raw edges of your temper began to soften, replaced by a comforting sense of belonging. “Next time,” you said, voice low, “I’ll try to give you a little warning before I snap.”

Will’s mouth quirked in amusement. “Sure,” he teased. “Even if it’s just a look—anything to let us know you’re about to unleash hell, so we can pull up a chair and enjoy.”

A gentle chuckle rumbled in Hannibal’s chest. He raised your bandaged hand to his lips again, pressing a second kiss to the gauze, an oddly chivalrous gesture. “If there is a next time,” he said, his dark eyes glinting with sincerity, “we’ll be right at your side. Not because we need the defense but because we relish your fervor.”

That final declaration, spoken in Hannibal’s cultured tone, cradled in Will’s soft laugh, was enough to steal the last vestiges of your anger. You let yourself sink into the moment—the quiet acceptance, the shared heat, and the unwavering knowledge that, here, you were safe to be exactly as you were.

[johannesviii]

Nearly every time I've rewatched Infinity Train Book 3 since I first saw it in February, I saw more parallels and narrative echos, and infodumping my friends about them isn't enough anymore

I figured I should do a post about this one because I don't think I've seen a post about that specific thing yet, and I love this show's writing, and. idk. I just need to praise it I guess

So, the most obvious part first:

Grace became everything she hated about her parents

When Grace mentions her mother in the Debutante Ball Car, it's made pretty clear she's trying to distance herself from her mother as much as possible, and at this point, we realise retrospectively that Grace's room in the Mall Car in episode one was full of sports clothes - it seems she tries to avoid things reminding her of her life before the train. And of her mother. And yet-

She tries to control everyone and everything around her, and makes people do what she doesn't want to do

And she decides what's cool and what isn't

She makes people kneel in her presence, like her mother towers over her in her mind's eye

Obviously she constantly lies to get what she wants, and her dad does that in her tape

When her younger self looks up, she looks right through adult Grace, and it's actually her parents she's looking at! Her younger self is metaphorically seeing her parents where her adult self is standing!! I still can't get over this shot

Also I feel the need to mention her mother has the same voice actor as her in her tape and even if it might be to cut corners in the budget, that feels significant (and to be fair, sometimes you can cut corners while making meaningful choices at the same time)

Now you might think I'd have nothing to say about Simon on that matter, since we don't see any flashback of his life before the Train, and we know next to nothing about his parents. But I think it's very telling that the only actual backstory we get for him is his backstory with The Cat.

Because-

Simon became everything he hated about The Cat

Ok I never see anyone mentioning this, but hear me out

First, we have no idea if Simon knew The Cat was routinely invading people's privacy through their memory tapes, but he sure has no issue doing the exact same thing

But that doesn't stop there. He also collects things obsessively

And makes kids collect things for him as well, by the way

He thinks he's above others, but he immediately switches to victim mode when it comes back to bite him

HE. ABANDONS. A CHILD. WHO WAS UNDER HIS CARE!!

And. Uh. They both dig their heels instead of trying to change, too

Don't get me wrong, on some level I would have liked to know what Simon's parents were like too. I would have liked that a lot. But there's a good chance it wouldn't change anything, because everything we need to know about his background to understand why he's Like That™ is already in the show

But yeah, Grace and Simon both pretend they found freedom on the Train, and both distance themselves from parental figures who are at the source of their trauma, claiming they're different and better than them - and yet they are both subconsciously repeating patterns that caused at least part of their problems and/or trauma in the first place

And since they decided that making numbers go up was good, as long as they stick to that idea, they are bound to never escape from that self-perpetuating loop of harm and trauma

And I love it

And I hate it

[loaksky]

I don't know if you've done this yet but can we have mean ellie is FWB with the reader but she's jealous when the reader is into someone else 👀

i have not + you know what anon i could kiss your brain rn ! i definitely view this pairing as separate from this fwb!ellie x reader, but this could also technically fit in their early timeline since nothing else has really been established about them...

content warnings: language, ellie being an asshole (very on brand for me to write ig lmao), reader actually sticks up for herself in this one, but eventually folds (i would too for ellie ngl) 18+ content that includes; brief mentions of strap-on sex, fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving).

author’s note: i’ve been so unmotivated to write, but this request awoke something in me idk...also, if you’ve sent in a tlou request (yes even from june), i’m still cooking i promise! (and not in the way that ellie keeps promises in this fic lmfaoo).

main masterlist | tlou masterlist

You didn’t want to say anything at first, couldn’t be too sure under the lowlights of the party with bass-y music that makes both the house and your chest throb with every beat, but you see it clear as day on the drive home and a passing streetpost illuminates the purpling flesh on Ellie’s carotid.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when your fingertips brush over the blooming bruise, obviously fresh and warm to the touch.

“What the fuck?” she huffs, pulling the drawstrings on her hoodie to scrunch to fabric around her neck.

“Who gave you that?” you ask softly, expression on your face enough to devastate, but Ellie’s always been different, an anomaly of sorts when it came to the matters of her stony heart.

“Why does it matter?” she scoffs.

“Ellie,” you sigh. “You know why it matters.”

She’s swinging a right at the intersection, nearing the residential you live in.

“It doesn’t,” she grunts. “Because at the end of the night, it’s you I’m fucking, isn’t it?”

And you don’t know why the way she puts it stings so much this time around when she frequently reminds you both directly and indirectly that while you may be her most recurrent hookup, you’re definitely not her only one, but it does. Does so much that you’re turning your face towards the window to hide the tears that are pooling.

Because all you wanted was Ellie. Wanted her in ways she wasn’t willing to give you. Wanted to learn and grow with her, but she wasn’t budging and lately, you’ve been feeling stupid.

When she turns into your neighborhood, you speak.

“Just drop me off, please.”

Ellie’s slowing down, palm finding purchase on your thigh.

“Babe, c’mon,” she practically whines, kneading the skin there. “Don’t be like that.”

You shift away from her, gather your purse from your feet as she continues through the different apartment buildings.

“Babe,” she calls again when you barely wait for her to stop and you’re pushing the car door open.

And maybe it’s childish, but you’re wounded and quite frankly done with the back and forth.

“She’s probably waiting for you,” you add petulantly.

“Babe, seriously. You’re being annoying,” she warns.

“And you’re being a dick,” you bite back. “First, you drag me out to a shitty party where I don’t know a single soul even though you promised we could just chill and smoke while watching that stupid fucking space exploration documentary, then when we get there, you’re leaving me with a bunch of sleazy assholes while you do god knows what with the same girl you’ve been telling me not to worry about for the last five weeks.”

And of things Ellie’s looks horrified at, it’s the fact that you’d been observant enough to recognize the girl she’d thought she whisked away before your prying eyes could catch on.

“I’m not fucking stupid, Ellie,” you say with resignation. “I tried to turn the other cheek because I really fucking like you, but you treat me like shit and I deserve better than that.”

Of course you don’t know it, but those fucking words bite. They’re an automatic trigger because unbeknownst to you, both of your friend groups think the same thing. Aren’t afraid to let her know otherwise. And she’s obviously well aware that, Christ, yes, you absolutely deserve better. Is actually really insecure on the low because she doesn’t know why you stick around with a piece of shit like her when you could have so much better.

So she does what she does best when she feels like a kicked puppy and lashes out.

“Of course Little Miss Princess deserves better,” she mocks. “What fucking ever. I don’t know why I flaked on a ten for such a stuck up bitch.”

And you see right through her, know that she’s all bark and no bite, but it hurts regardless, when you step off to the side and she’s leaning over the center console to shut the passenger side door herself.

She’s revving off without another word, and to add insult to injury, your phone’s pinging obnoxiously once you get out of your well-needed shower.

els <3 sent a video.

It’s the blonde from the party. Of course those dumb LEDs pulse red in the background, making Ellie and her flavor of the night look a thousand times more seductive. Ellie’s kissing her sloppily, whispering things against her mouth that you can’t quite pick out.

els <3 sent a video.

The next video’s grainy, but you can hear the tell-tale squelch, the girl’s shaky moans and Ellie egging her on. Your cheeks are on fire and you feel like you’re about to throw up.

els <3 sent a photo.

You wonder if the girl knows, that Ellie’s sending you the most compromising footage of her. If she knows how grimy the green-eyed girl truly is, sending someone else pictures of her stuffed hilt-deep with the same strap Ellie’d used on you.

els <3: still think u deserve better ?

You delete the thread and her phone number.

Ellie expects you to crack first, you always do. Because even if she isn’t shit, she’s your biggest weakness and she knows it. Can say so with confidence, because maybe the same can be said about her.

She hasn’t fucked you in nearly two weeks and not a single body she touches can elicit the same feeling that you do. And in the back of her brain, she knows why, but Ellie’s prideful. Won’t dare admit it out loud.

So she cracks first. Texts you between classes.

me: i have a few joints + a coupon to tino’s if you’ll let me come over… :(

my #1 girl: Who’s this?

Ellie throws her head back and groans.

me: cmon baby, dont b like that. im srry i was mean, ill make it up to u

my #1 girl: I think you have the wrong number…

me: babe stopppp

Her text bubbles turn green after that message.

You forget that Ellie has a copy of your key because she’s never used it in the five months that the two of you have been in this precarious situation, and your heart falls square to your ass when you emerge from the shower to find her setting up a box of pizza on your coffee table.

“Ellie, what in the fuck?”

She feigns nonchalance, pulls a few joints from her jacket pocket. But the aroma of weed or the grease of the pizza isn’t what makes you wrinkle your nose.

It’s the smell of flowers that waft from a pretty vase sitting on the cut away of the kitchen counter.

Your gaze fixes on the girl who settles on your couch.

“You need to leave,” you say stonily.

“But I just got here,” Ellie says. “And I brought you pizza…and flowers.”

“I’m sorry, did you think that a five dollar pizza and a bouquet of flowers from Saver’s was going to fix the fact that you’ve been so fucking awful to me for the past half year?”

Ellie shrinks.

“Well, no…but—”

“You practically sent me a homemade porno of you and some other girl you fucked to get back at me for setting a boundary, Ellie,” you say sharply. “What, did it not work out? Did you—”

“I’m trying to be the bigger person here,” Ellie sighs. “I am sorry. I just—”

“You what?”

“I don’t fucking know, okay?” Ellie snips. “God, you’re talking down to me like you’re a fucking therapist or my fucking mom and—”

You’re shaking your head, crossing the room and picking up the pizza from the coffee table to shove in her arms.

“I don’t have time for this,” you mutter. “Kenzie’s going to be here any minute now—”

“Who the fuck is Kenzie?” Ellie balks, caught like a deer in the headlights.

“Ellie, don’t,” you warn.

“Don’t what?” she practically seethes. “You think I’m just gonna be okay that you’re spending time with some other stupid bitch? Maybe you’ve forgotten, but you’re mine.”

And she shouldn’t have glanced down at your cleavage as you cross your arms over your chest, but Ellie’s weak and you look too fucking pretty for your own good.

“Yours?” you ask incredulously. “Do you hear yourself?”

“Yes, mine,” Ellie affirms. “All fucking mine and no one else’s.”

“God, you’re so full of shit, Ellie,” you scoff. “I’m supposed to be loyal to you and be okay with you having a roster, but I can’t go on a date with someone I genuinely like because it fucks with your brain to have a legitimate interest in somebody?”

“You like her?” Ellie asks in disbelief. “Like, like her, like her?”

“Yes,” you reply without hesitation.

And that makes Ellie’s jaw set, makes her narrow her eyes at you.

“You like her more than me?” she taunts.

And maybe she has you there, but you refuse to give her the upper hand.

“I could learn to,” you answer honestly. “Because Kenzie is kind to me. She doesn’t treat me like an option, doesn’t act like she’s God’s gift to the fucking world and that I should kiss her feet for giving me the time of day. And I get it, you don’t like me the way I like you—”

“You think I don’t like you?” Ellie asks like the thought is unfathomable.

“I don’t think, Ellie, I know. We went into this without any strings attached, we established that it’d just be fucking, but I was honest in telling you that I caught feelings and you used that to your advantage. You lied to me on multiple occasions, you make me look stupid, like I’m fucking crazy.”

And you wish you’d gotten through your spiel without choking up, but Ellie’s the first girl you’d liked in a while even if she was bad news. And when you thought that maybe you could shake her, she’d come barreling back.

“Baby,” she murmurs, face softening as she’s crossing the space between you two to cup your face in her hands.

“Don’t call me that,” you hiccup, trying to push her touch away.

“Babe, stop,” she says firmly. “I’m serious. You think I don’t like you?”

“Well, you don’t fucking act like it,” you mutter. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter anyways because whatever this was is done. You’re free to do what you want, who you want, whether you like me or not.”

God, do you unwittingly light a fire under Ellie’s ass when she thinks of what this Kenzie girl could do to you if she lets you walk out the door. Absolutely loathes the thought of anyone else knowing what you look like in any state of indecency, that you fucking cry watching children’s movies, that you snore like a freight train if you’re tired enough and have a weird ass penchant for pickle chips when you’re high.

“You’re not going on that fucking date,” Ellie says with finality, palms sliding from your shoulders to skim down the length of your arms and situate over the swell of your hips.

“Who says?”

“Me,” she huffs. “Because I’m going to make it up to you and we’re going to smoke these blunts and eat this fucking pizza and I’m going to make you cum so fucking hard, you won’t even remember that you were thinking of leaving me for someone else.”

“You’re not my girlfriend, Ellie,” you reiterate. “You can’t just–”

“Maybe not then, and maybe not in this moment, but I will be,” she says, and the words catch you completely off guard.

She’s catching your bottom lip between hers to further disorient you, kissing you like this could very well be her last.

“Just give me some time,” she whispers, walking you back towards your bedroom. “I’ll get my shit together for you. Promise.”

And you know deep down that you shouldn’t believe her. She’s just feeling territorial and grasping at straws to keep you leashed, but Ellie’s always been such a good kisser and she’s devouring you like she really is sorry.

She’s tossing your against your unmade bed, caging you between lithe limbs as she leans back on her haunches to take you in. Your blouse rides up to reveal the flimsy bands of your lacy little thong and Ellie’s lacking decency as she flips your skirt up to reveal a growing patch of wetness.

“Were you planning on getting fucked or do you always go out like this?” Ellie ponders, fingers rough as she pulls the tiny scrap of fabric down your legs and nearly salivates when a string of your arousal leaves with it.

Your lips part to answer, but her thumb’s dipping between your folds, pad collecting some of your slick from your drooling slit to smear over your achey little bud.

“I asked you a question,” Ellie says gently. “You just gotta be honest with me, baby.”

“S’hot out,” you whimper, fingers closing around her wrist when your body jerks against a particularly delicious stroke of her thumb.

“Yeah?” she clarifies. “You wouldn’t let any else touch you, would you? Not when I take good care of you like this?”

Her other hand comes to toy with your entrance, doesn’t give you any warning before her middle and ring finger are sinking inside slowly.

“Oh, fuck,” you whine.

“You’re my girl, you hear me?” Ellie murmurs, leaning down to catch your clit between her lips. “You’ll be my number one, always.”

She’s teasing at first, tongue languid against your fluttering pussy, but you’re quiet, back of your wrist caught between your teeth to muffle your moans.

One of her hands reach up to yank it away.

“Say it,” she barks, pulling away from your needy heat.

“Ellie,” you whimper.

“Say it,” she repeats firmly.

“M’your girl,” you moan shakily, thighs quivering as she smoothes her palms over the underside of your thighs to push them up to your chest.

“Yeah, you are,” she whispers, spitting harshly on your heat. “My favorite fucking pussy.”

She’s eating you out like she’s missed you, like she’ll only be satisfied when you finally cum. And maybe it’s true.

Maybe not.

Especially when she draws nearly three orgasms from you and practically knocks you out.

You don’t know how long you doze off for, but when you finally wake up, the sun has almost completely set, bathing your room in a burnt orange glow that leaves your dewy skin warm and sticky. And perhaps it’s wishful thinking when you call Ellie’s name, met only with the echo of your raspy voice. After all, you’re tucked on the wrong side of bed, elusive girl nowhere to be found.

As you dress and search for your phone, you can’t even find it in yourself to be surprised.

neng ©️2023

[xxepherr]

hasan blurb/fic idea or request (idk if your taking requests?)

hasan blurb/fic based on the tree decorating stream but reader is very particular about how she thinks tree should be decorated and hasan just sits back and observes her lovingly decorating the tree while chat is saying he's down bad the whole time 😩

.ೃ࿐HEART EYES

summary — in which hasan can't help but sit back and watch with adoration while you decorate his christmas tree

pairings — hasan piker x reader

pronouns — she/her

word count — 736

note — they're not dating in this one but you can assume they're unofficially dating or not yet at the point of sharing their feelings. up to you! (also this is super late but i was away for the christmas period so!!)

YOU'D STAYED OFF YOUR phone ever since you last watched hasan and murat go to home depot with rae, marche and qt. you technically had other things to be doing — for one, finishing wrapping christmas presents — but you also wanted to be entirely blindsided by what hasan would be bringing home with him.

to be fair though, you hadn’t expected him to bring home multiple dog statues. when you knocked on the door to hasan’s house and his dad welcomed you inside, you were hoping that he’d come back with a tree and decorations, maybe some lights that you could string up across the trees in his yard.

the tree you were currently staring at was ugly. seriously ugly. apparently it was qt’s choice ( like the dogs ) to get it, and apparently it was the least ugly according to murat.

YOU stood there in the most disappointed fashion anyone had ever seen. once glance at chat and they all shared the exact same sympathy.

“hasan,” you interrupted his mindless chatter about how he was decorating the tree. you weren’t even sure who he was talking to anymore — it sounded more like he was trying to reason with himself that he was doing a good job. “can i just—“ you cut yourself off, now wanting to sound demanding when you were his guest. “nevermind.”

he had stopped the second he heard your voice directed at him instead of chat anyway, the baubles forgotten about in his large hands. “what’s up?” he asked, all his attention on you.

you blinked. “uh, tinsel and lights usually look better if you put them on first.”

without a word, he scooted the box of baubles away with his foot and pulled the tinsel off from where it was hanging around his neck like a scarf. “then it’s all yours,” he announced, placing the tinsel around your neck like a silver medal.

the atmosphere was different because qt and rae weren’t sticking around for the decorating. you kind of wished they had stayed because the vibes would've been easier to deal with. you hadn't been alone on stream with hasan since the recent . . . development in feelings that had started to bubble up into existence.

the second the ornaments were in your hand, you were in complete control of decorations. years and years of being the designated tree decorator as a kid were coming back full force. you started at the top, walking around the tree to sit the lights in an evenly spaced manner down the tree, and then did the same with the tinsel.

hasan was — uncharacteristically — at a loss for words. his eyes were on you the entire time, capturing every movement you made as if he would miss a thing if he blinked. he had very little commentary, fixated on every aspect of you like you would disappear, slipping away like you were never in his house in the first place.

the chat was not helping his case.

"shut up, chat," he tried to keep his voice low and serious, "i am not down bad. shut the fuck up."

you heard him of course, the space between you not large enough to whisper secrets. that, and you'd felt his eyes burning holes through you, a silent shadow across every one of your movements. every ornament

you heard him of course, the space between you not large enough to whisper secrets. that, and you'd felt his eyes burning holes through you, a silent shadow across every one of your movements. every ornament — all of it. you could only imagine what his twitch chat was saying as he cleared his throat uncomfortably at being caught.

he didn't have the pleasure of staying in the unknown, unable to tear his eyes away from every chat message, peripheral vision on you through the monitor. every down bad, whipped, are they dating? multiplied tenfold, then triple that. and triple it again. he was in for it now, and you were — supposedly — none the wiser to any of it.

you knew, you could tell. heat burnt across your cheeks as you kept your back turned, yapping on about decorations to chat to provide an out to hasan, a way for him to involve himself in the conversation to change the topic.

there was really no use in keeping it a secret now.

[fruitsywriting]

Hello! Could you pls write something where the reader is struggling with addiction and is depressed about the situation. He goes to Mark when he’s sad about it and Mark doesn’t know and he ends up telling Mark what’s going on cause he feels like shit making him (mark) worry about him(reader). He and Mark have a heart to heart about it and Mark does something to cheer him up (they do something cute, like go on a walk and get food or smt fluffy idk). Thx sm

As someone who has severe depression and watched people struggle with different types of addiction, I feel like I was qualified enough to do this. Apologizes for how long this took I wanted to wait until I was done with my semester of college before answering asks.

Pairings: Mark Grayson x Male Reader

Fandom: Invincible

You don’t know when it started, time warped around in your memories to where it all became a big blur. Youll question the passage of time, how long has it truly been? The only thing that’ll stick out in memories is important events, like Mark’s Birthday.

That day stood out because while you were still struggling, it felt nice to have a time to just forget you even were. A nice distraction as you watched your boyfriend excitedly talk to you and his friends about how he loved the presents, and then how you all went out to do whatever he wanted to do. That’s when he pulled you all to the amusement park. You all warned Mark not to eat before getting on the ride but he said he went flying like that as Invincible all the time. Afterwards he was doubled over in a trashcan, not expecting all the loops and turns specifically, but also because he just ate too much. However, he still had a fun day and bounced back to normal after sitting down for just 15 minutes.

You smile tiredly at the memory before turning to your desk that had wrappers all over it- and you look at the keychain of Seance Dog that had the initials MG on the back, you and Mark getting matching ones with each other’s initials on it. Even if you weren’t entirely into the series, it made Mark happy- therefore made you happy. Then there’s the Photo Booth picture with you, Mark, Amber, William, Rick and Eve. Then the Photo Booth picture of just you and him.

You groan when you realize your phone is dead, and you scavenge among your room for the cord. There it is, right next to an empty pill bottle you never threw away. You let out a shaky sigh before plugging the cord into the wall and then into your phone. You wait for about a minute before the screen lights up and you see missed messages and calls. Shit.

[3 missed calls from Mark 💛🩵]

Mark 💛🩵: Hun? Did I do something wrong? You haven’t been answering me

Mark 💛🩵: Babe?

Mark 💛🩵: Can I come over tn? I had a rough day

Mark 💛🩵: ?

Mark 💛🩵: I’m sorry for whatever I did, I miss you. Is something going on? Please don’t shut me out

The messages make your gut coil and churn with guilt, it doesn’t feel good at all. He’s worried about you and yet you’re being a terrible boyfriend by not telling him, by being self-centered-

Then it hits you. He was like this with Amber before they broke up the first time. You were going to text but he deserves a call instead. You take a deep breath, rub your forming headache, and hit the call button.

It rings a few times before he answers, he voice sounding frantic, excited, worried, and relieved all at the same time.

“Babe- oh thank god. Oh my god I was so scared that something happened to you- or- or I did something wrong”

“No, no, you did nothing wrong. Sorry I didn’t answer, my phone was dead”

“It was dead? You used to never let it die, you were so concerned about its battery life at all times of the day” He lets out a sad chuckle.

“Yeah, I know. It’s so weird. Anyways- uh, are you okay? I saw your messages from last night”

“Uhm, I would say I’m okay but I could be better. Got a little beat up yesterday. It’s healed but it’s… not fun”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“Can I come over?”

You hesitate. You look around your room and it’s a disaster. Laundry everywhere, trash everywhere, things out of place. It looks like someone threw everything into your room and called it a day. He hears the hesitation and sighs.

“Is that a no? Usually when you hesitate it’s a no”

Nonono, you don’t want him to get the wrong idea- to think you don’t love him or have time for him anymore. Before you can think you say, “No, it’s a yes. You can come over”

“Okay, okay, oh man, I can’t wait to see you. I’ll be dressed quick and be there in 5”

“Okay great, can’t wait to see you. Love you”

“Love you too, bye”

“Bye”

As soon as he hangs up you shovel the clothes from the floor into your hands and throw it into the bottom of the closet. When he says he will be there in five, he means it. Curse him and his speedy flying- but not really because you love that man whole heartedly. You grab a trash bag and just throw shit into it, hoping nothing important gets thrown in there. You’re making progress, but because it’s scattered all across your room you also feel like you’re making no progress at all. You just freeze and stare at the floor- almost as if you want it to just disappear. You can’t get yourself to continue to move- the sight alone makes you wanna start hyperventilating. It needs to be cleaned. You need to be clean. Oh god, what does the rest of the house look like? Before you know it you’re crumpling to the ground and sobbing into your arms. It feels life shattering, but you know with a little bit of drugs- it’ll just be a silly little problem that could be melted away. You sniffle, thinking about if you took the last pill or if you still have some more left.

Knock knock knock. At your window. You can hear it behind yourself- and you feel yourself start to cry again. God, now Mark- you’re perfect superhero boyfriend- knows you’re a fucking slob with an addiction.

Knock knock knock. Sounds a little more frantic this time. Time to face the music, face your greatest fear- and it was one you knew you couldn’t escape because you couldn’t get your life together. You slowly stand up, and open the window. You expected him to recoil in disgust at your appearance and the state of your room. But no- his soft brown eyes look concerned.

“Are you okay? I thought I heard you cryin-“

The question alone brought you to tears again. He looks a little startled but fully comes into the room from your window and pulls you into a hug. You wanna pull back- telling him to get away because you’re disgusting. But you just sob into his shoulder.

“Oh hun, what’s wrong?” He asks delicately with warmth underlying. You sniffle, trying not to hiccup over every word that stumbles out of your chapped lips.

“I’m sorry” Is the first thing you say, as it is the first thing that comes to mind. You feel like you need to apologize for everything, for even existing.

“Sorry for what?” He pulls back to try and look at your face, when you look down, he doesn’t try to force you to look at him. But he just wants to gauge your facial expressions from what he can see.

“I’m- I’m a mess. Me, my room, and- and” You can’t think of a way to explain your addiction to him, or your severe depression that just kept getting worse these past few months. He doesn’t cut you off, he waits patiently for you to finish.

“I’m… I’ve been taking pills.”

You expected him to gasp, to flinch even, anything that showed horror, disgust, maybe even him being upset. But no. He lightly rubbed your arms and nodded.

“For how long?”

“2 months.”

“Okay, I’m here. Do you wanna talk about it?”

His calm response almost made you cry again. It felt so normal- not like he was brushing the problem under the rug, but like he was humanizing what you went through. Your lip quivers and you don’t know how to respond. Yes, you wanna talk about it. But also no, because you don’t trust your own voice.

“We don’t have to talk about it right now. We can just lay together, sit together, watch Tv. Whatever you want, whatever you need, I will try to make possible”

You take a few deep breaths to steady yourself, “I think I wanna shower first, if that’s okay.”

“Of course. Do you want me to order food or make food in the meantime?”

You didn’t feel hungry but it wasn’t good to not eat so you end up agreeing. You grab some fresh clothes from your closet, which isn’t much, and then head into the shower.

✮⋆˙🔮˗ˏ🖇⋆⭒˚｡⋆🎧..✮⋆˙🔮˗ˏ🖇⋆⭒˚｡⋆🎧..✮⋆˙🔮˗

After the shower, you eat the food Mark cooked for you and explain to him what has been going on. How you fell into a deep depression again and then you started using. Then you explain, with your eyes watering and your voice threatening to break, that you were ashamed. That you didn’t want to tell him because you feel gross when you get to this point, and it feels like you can’t come back. Then you hiccup and sob that you’re sorry for being distant and making him worry.

He sits there and lets you finish, before pulling you into a hug. He kisses your temple softly and explains that he understands. He doesn’t understand on a personal level but he understands your thought process and thanks you for opening up to him now.

He makes you feel sane. It isn’t like he fixed you, but you feel less insecure as he helps you clean your room and make a plan for how to navigate this moving forward. He helps with resources, if you’re willing to accept that just yet, and then helps shop for new groceries as well.

He understands it takes time too, you don’t just magically get better. He’s there for you every step of the way. He’s been understanding to you the way you were for him. When he’s in the hospital because of a fight or is bruised up, you drop whatever you're doing and rush to be there. In a way, you two understand the other's struggles without being in the same position. Perhaps you understand each other in only the way a boyfriend would. He celebrates every day you go without using, every day you’re clean instead of focusing on the fact you’ve used at all. And you patch him up (really it’s just putting kids bandaids on his bruises while the two of you laugh at how silly it is) and tell him what he did was brave and that he’s saving lives. And maybe he even saved yours.

[writing-mlm]

Hiii, can we please have more college!damian x male reader? Like a scenario where damian loves to draw reader but reader doesn't know this? Maybe friends to lovers? Idk your pick. The artist and his muse type of thing. Also, i LIVE for soft damian on this blog ong.

Forever my Muse

Summary: Damian has his finals coming up and he wants you to join-- at least that's his excuse to get you into the art venue. An artist needs their muse and for some reason, most of Damian's drawings include you in, naturally, he could fill museums with drawings of you. Pairing: Damian Wayne x Male reader WC: 5.8k

Dust-covered fingers were always something you had associated with Damian. Graphite, charcoal, pastels— anything he used to draw or even paint would inevitably stain his hands. It wasn’t intentional, and neither were the fingerprints he left on your stuff, or the paint you could never remove from your favorite sweater, but that didn’t stop him from apologizing. From buying you cleaning products and a new sweater; never mind it has never been worn in the year you’ve had it, Damian felt terribly sorry whenever he felt he’d stained something of yours. 

But never sorry enough to show you his drawings. 

You’d ask, you’d beg, but he would never give in. He’d show you when he was done, sure. You’d see the finished still-life drawings of whatever object had been in the line of sight, the paintings he’d done of his pets whenever he missed them, and the random sketches he did to loosen his wrist. But, damn, sometimes you wanted to see an unfinished drawing that wasn’t a warm-up. 

Even now, as the two of you are on the campus bus heading towards the music hall, he’s drawing. Sitting across from you on the bus, Damian easily adjusts himself to the movements of the bus as it jerks to a stop. He’s nice like that, you’ve never caught him off guard, he’s never fallen or stumbled in the time you’ve known him. 

Studying him, you wonder if he’s naturally so agile. You’ve seen him in your dorm's gym, during all-nighters you can sometimes see him running around campus, and once you had caught him doing one of those athletic challenges for some guy's video. He won. Of course. 

The bus comes to a complete stop and you look away, double-checking that it wasn’t your stop. It wasn’t. You knew that. But still. The need to check was far too great and you slipped back into a conversation with Damian. Only this time, you’re looking down at your phone to double-check the event and his eyes switch from staring at his sketch to staring at you. 

His eyes flicker between you and his drawing, erasing and adding lines where needed. He catches your eyes traveling up and he looks back down, working from memory as you start up a new conversation. 

Eventually, the bus reaches your stop and he carefully closes his book; he always worries he’d smudge his art, while he follows you out of the bus. 

It’s the end of the semester, ergo, it’s finals week. And for one of your music finals, everyone was to prepare a song and perform it. Truthfully, Damian doesn’t understand why you’d picked him to accompany you. He knows he’s not the best comfort, his demeanor often being the reason people don’t stick around too long. 

But, you reassured him. Telling him that his presence was more than enough for you. Knowing that he was somewhere in the crowd calms you down more than you ever cared to admit. 

The walk to the music hall isn’t short, but you can see the large building in the distance. The size is daunting on you as you see the crowd forming at the entrance. People aren’t allowed inside yet, but performers and their guests can head inside before anyone else. 

“I’m nervous,” You admit, wiping your hands on your shirt. “What if I fail?” You mutter, your eyes desperately searching to find solace in his green eyes. 

“You’ll do as you’ve always done,” He nods, looking ahead as you approach the building. “Exceptionally.” His sketchbook bumps against your folder of sheet music and you sigh through your nose, trying to calm down. 

“I’m so gonna choke,” Seeing your reflection in the glass, you feel as if you’d forgotten everything you learned. Every lesson, every mistake you fixed and learned from, the late-night practice performances with your friends. The song you’d composed nearly slips from your mind as you see yourself, walking in that suit and tie you’d worn several years ago. All of it left your mind and you felt like a beginner again. What even was a solfège?

“I'm trained in CPR.” He opens the door for you and gently encourages you inside, his fingers grazing your back. “You weren’t nearly as nervous for your accounting finals.” He notes, falling back into step with you. 

That’s another thing. Maybe that’s why you were so stressed. Double majoring was hellish. Twice the finals, quadruple the headaches. 

“Those were tests,” You scowl, showing the security your campus ID. “I’m going to be performing a live concert in front of nearly a thousand people. I cannot fuck this up, Damian. This is going to be posted for everyone to watch, too,” You ramble on. 

“Which you’ve done before, no?” He presses the elevator button and your heart hammers. You swear you’re going to pass out. He notices, of course, he does, and digs in his bag to find the fidget cube he keeps in there. 

“I have— thank you,” Taking the cube, he nods. “It’s just… I don’t know. Tests suck.” Rolling your thumb along the metal ball on one side of the cube, you stare at the numbers as they slowly tick down to the first floor. 

“That’s true,” He steps inside the elevator and you follow suit. “But you’ve made it thus far, you can go further.” He squeezes your shoulder as the doors close. There’s a silence in the elevator as it goes up to the second floor where you see your teacher waiting at the door to the waiting room, talking to a pair of students. 

“I can,” You affirm, dipping your head down as you smile. 

“You will.” 

—

You’re fifth in line to perform, watching a singer, dancer, another other pianist, and an opera singer go on before you go on did absolutely jack shit to help you. As you’re announced, you step onto the stage and try your best not to accept that there were thousands of eyes on you. Instead, you smile and wave as you walk across that large stage. Desperately looking for Damian in the sea of people. 

He’s in the front, right in front of where you could see when you glance up from the piano, you find out as you’re standing next to the piano seat. 

Damian’s eyes don’t leave yours, making eye contact with you as you fiddle with the buttons of your coat. He motions for you to stop and then does a breathe in breathe out motion with the same hand. Nodding, you blink away from him and hold your hands behind your back. Focusing on your breathing, you listen to the teacher as you’re done being introduced. 

The applause settles as you bow in, take a seat, and flip the page where your music sheet is. Slowly, you start. As a general music major, you weren’t restricted to just playing the piano. As emphasized by the microphone taped to your cheek. 

You aren’t the strongest singer by any means, you’re good for singing in the shower or on drives but you doubt you’d actually make a career off of your voice. What you hope will carry you is the piano, as you press each key your eyes flicker to Damian. He’s attentive, a smile on his face as you perform. 

Testing the waters, you glance at the people around him and they seem… pleased. Happy. Moved, even. You grin and return to staring at the sheet music. All of the notes flood back to you as you reach the last bit of the song, your eyes closing as your voice reaches a peak, holding a note. Then it’s just the piano, your voice echoing in everyone’s mind as the notes get slower and slower until you end it. 

Applause fills the hall and you stand up, taking a bow. Standing there, even if only for a moment, you can’t imagine why you’d been so nervous.

Collecting your sheet music, you exit the stage and hand the mic to the stage tech before leaving. 

When you’re nearing the exit, you spot Damian holding a bouquet of flowers. 

“When did you have the time to get these?” You laugh as he hands them to you. His eyes merely twinkle, refusing to give up one of his many secrets. “Thank you, they’re dope.” 

“You did it,” Damian reminds you as the two of you exit the building. 

“I did! Ugh!” Grabbing his shoulder with your free hand, you give him a little shake. “Thank you so much, you’re honestly the best. Was it good?” Falling into step with him, Damian doesn’t bother to fix his shirt. It’s hardly even moved, but you know he was detail-oriented in stuff like that. Hell, he hates it when he messes with his clothes. 

“It was mesmerizing.” He promises. “I do believe the woman behind me was crying.” Grinning, you stand at the bus stop, suddenly buzzing with excitement. Wanting to do it again, you start to imagine creating your own side business. Wedding musician, you can see it now. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” He avoids looking at you as he’s speaking. A rare occurrence on his part. But he does his best to look at you after building the courage. “I have an art showing next week. I understand the notice is short and you’re—“

“Send me the details.” You grin. His shoulders drop and he nods, clearly more relaxed. “I hope the attire is fancy. I got this fancy turtleneck I’ve been wanting to wear and slacks from my high school graduation just waiting to be worn!” 

—

With all of your finals out of the way, you finally had time to start removing the items from your dorm. One by one you removed posters and trinkets scattered across your end of the room. Pack your clothes into boxes, and save for enough outfits to get you through your two weeks left on campus. 

Damian was held up from finishing his art showing, unable to see you in person but he was more than happy with a Facetime call. With both your laptops placed in a space away from disturbing you, the two of you worked on your tasks. 

“I do need to be at the showing two hours early,” He tells you as you’re dragging the anti-suicide chairs to the closet, trying to see the top shelf. “But I’ll have arrangements to bring you to the venue.” 

“And my outfit is okay?” You ask, the chair wobbling as you stand on it. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. But hey, you’re not the one who installed a closet tall enough that only Shaq could see the top. “Because I can always swap out the turtle neck for a green button down— the silk one that Maddison made,” Always gave a fashion designer friend. She had used you as a model for of her projects a couple of months ago and with your measurements being unique to you, let you have it after she’d gotten her grade. 

“The button-down would be better suited,” He nods, leaning close to his painting before adding a tiny stroke. “The turtleneck is a little… on the nose.” Leaning back, he checks his reference picture before frowning. It goes away quickly as he picks up a bit of white and dabs it onto a dry brush. 

“I was afraid it was,” You laugh, grabbing a first aid kit from the shelf. Listening to him lightly brush the paint over the canvas, you toss the kit onto the bed and grab what little items are scattered up there. “Holy shit! Do you remember when that frat dude lost his frat ring?” 

“Unfortunately,” Damian glances at his screen, watching as you haphazardly get down from the chair. Nearly tripping, he wonders how you've made it this far in life without breaking a bone. 

“I think I did take it! Look!” Showing the screen, Damian looks almost impressed as you hold up a fraternity ring. It’s a shiny gold, likely fake but engraved with the initials of the Frat house. The two of you remember the guy had been going around to every single campus building with a missing ring poster. 

“What a thief,” He chides, setting his brush down and taking a physical step back from the painting. Harsh glares scan over brush strokes, ripping apart his painting bit by bit before he nods to himself. His glare morphs into a soft sort of gaze and he signs the back of it. 

“Is that your final painting for the semester?” You ask, the ring forgotten about as it’s tossed in a box of trinkets and you’ve moved on to ordering food. Probably Panda Express. Or maybe Chipotle…. really it’s whatever is closer and cheaper. 

“Hopefully,” He sighs through his nose, his paint box clicking shut. “I’ve been drawing and painting these past couple of days. My canvases take up an entire section of the art studio. I’m sure my professor cannot wait for them to dry and get glossed. Which I should probably start doing.” 

“How does that taste?” Setting your phone down, Damian’s face goes sour as he looks at you. “Personally, I think the gloss would taste tarty.” You add. “Or maybe like the frosting for Toaster Strudel.” Picking your phone back up, you continue your order. 

“Neither is correct.” He blinks. “It’s a toxin and filled with chemicals, it most likely tastes as good as acetone does, Hab—“ He pauses, and you look at him wondering what the issue is. “Habits of tasting chemicals shouldn’t be one you pick up.” He finishes his sentence with a bit of force. 

“I just love chemicals. Violin resin is my favorite.” Making a chomping noise Damian huffs. As you’re finishing up your order, you look at him. He’s halfway across campus and judging by the rack of canvases he wheeled over, he won’t be back until well into the night. Eh, it doesn’t hurt to ask. “I’m ordering some food, do you want something?” 

“No, thank you, though.” He shakes his head. “I have food from the court in case I get hungry.” He quickly adds. Humming, you place the order and scan over your room. The only things that need to get packed are things you’re still using. Now it’s just a matter of organizing the boxes and bins so you can still move around your room. 

“After the glossing, what’re you doing?”

“I have to write short summaries for each painting. No less than one hundred words,” He explains as he’s putting on a pair of latex gloves. 

“So, a breeze?” He laughs and nods. 

“I’m afraid I’ll go over the word limit,” He admits, sparing you a glance as you’re lugging a box to a corner of your room. “My paintings harbor a lot of my emotions and they’re far from short.”

“Real as fuck.”

— 

On the day of his art exhibition, you spend extra time in the bathroom. Making sure your hair is neat, and presentable, fixing your outfit, making sure you don’t stink. Anything and everything you could check over, you did. 

This nervous feeling was different from your pre-show nerves. Especially since you don’t even know why you’re nervous. Probably because you’d never actually gotten to see his paintings, at least the ones he was showing. He’d been ultra allusive about those, citing the exhibition would be the best place to view them. But even he was nervous and that’s a lot considering he’s Damian fucking Wayne. 

He texted you two minutes ago saying that the car was going to arrive within the next ten minutes and you rushed out to the front of the dorms. No need to lock the door behind you, since your roommate was busy sleeping and would stay in there until you came back. Plucking at your shirt, you watch a sleek black car pull up in front of you, and Damian texts you that the car is there. 

The ride is long, far too long for your liking anyway. But considering it’s in the middle of the city, it’s not unwarranted. 

The art… museum? What should you call it? The space where the exhibition was being held was a well-known art gallery— that’s the word! The gallery was well respected, talked about within art circles, and incredibly high-brow. Thank fuck you didn’t go with that turtleneck. 

There’s a woman in front of the gallery, greeting everyone who enters. She sees you and there’s a flash of recognition across her face. 

“It’s great to finally meet Damian’s muse,” She smiles as she shakes your hand. 

“His what?” You ask but Damian pulls you inside. 

“How was the ride?” He asks, his eyes darting between his professor and you. 

“Good but what did she mean?” You ask, looking around to see the other people around. Like your performance, it was open to the public and with Bruce Wayne’s son being in attendance, many people had showed up. Including his family. “Bruce Wayne is here?” Your head whips to Damian as you spot him in the crowd. 

“He is my father…” He trails. “Would you like to meet him?”

“Fuck no!” You gasp. “The knowledge of his wealth is burying me as we speak— but this is about you,” Turning to him, you smile. “Where’s your paintings? Those don’t look like your style,” Eyes flicker across the paintings and you can’t see Damian’s strokes, his colors or his lighting in any of them. A sort of pride swells within him, knowing that you’ve looked— studied his art enough to know that the ones around you weren’t his. 

“It has its own section,” He tells you, guiding you through groups of people and halls. “It’s going to be revealed in around half an hour. My professor insisted,” He stops at a section of the gallery covered by a curtain and two security guards. You never knew it was that serious, but damn. 

“Mr Fancy. Why don’t you catch up with your family? I’ll look around?” In truth, you were going to the nearest bathroom and making sure you didn't look stupid. 

“I’m more than certain they’d be more pleased if you accompanied me.” He shakes his head as you raise your eyebrows. “If that’s something you’d be comfortable with, of course.” 

“Sure,” Once more, he guides you past people until he spots his father and brother talking in a corner. 

“Father, Richard.” He calls as the two of you approach. “This is (Y/n).” Richard’s lips twitch as he fights back a smile, the smile only furthered curbed by his brother's glare. 

“Hello,” Waving at the two men, they reach to shake your hand instead. Bruce has a firm grip, probably tighter than it really needed to be but Richard is more than welcoming. He’s more than excited to meet you, although you can’t imagine why. 

“My other siblings are still in Gotham,” Damian explains, physically taking Dick’s hand from yours with a pointed look. “Although I’m surprised you didn’t bring Cassandra, father.”

“She’s here,” He shakes his head, glancing around for the mop of black hair. “In the bathroom, probably.” 

“Is that her?” You ask, looking at the woman in the corner. She’s standing there, downing a glass of champagne before returning to a conversation with a man. She looks like how Damian had described her, although he downplayed how intimidating she seemed. 

“Oh boy,” Dick huffs. “Let me go help her,” Excusing himself, you’re left with Damian and his father. The two of them talking with their eyes. 

“So, Damian’s told me you’re a double major,” Bruce breaks the silence and their weird eye conversation. He talks about you? Glancing at Damian, he’s making a point to look anywhere but you. That’s sorta cute— totally not in a romantic way, totally. 

“I am,” You nod, wishing a man with drinks would walk past you. “Accounting and a performing arts major.” He hums and there’s another beat of awkward silence. 

“From what he tells me, you’re excelling at both. That’s incredibly hard. Do you have any job prospects lined up for when you graduate?” He asks and you shake your head. 

“Not yet,” You admit, picking at your hands. “Since I'm not sure where I’d like to settle after I graduate it’s difficult finding places.” Bruce nods, quickly making sure Dick and Cassandra are okay. 

“Well, if your grades continue to stay or improve, Wayne Enterprises is always looking for accountants, especially one so esteemed.” He smiles at you, that sort of small smile that makes you feel more relaxed in his presence. A fatherly smile. 

“Yeah, praise from Damian is a lot.” Dick grins, leaning his weight on his younger brother. Cassandra agrees, leaning against the wall Bruce was standing in front of. “And he talks about you a ton!” 

“That’s enough.” Damian huffs, pushing himself away from Dick who frowns. “Let’s look at some of the artwork,” 

“You talk to your family about me?” You grin as he’s hauling you away from his family. He looks at you, clearly licking the inside of his mouth before he blinks and gives one strong nod. 

“Of course I do, it would be a shame to hide someone so talented.” He explains and then looks forward, his eyes swimming across the faces around him. “I do believe in your talents and my father is someone who can help them flourish; it would seem awfully cruel if I didn’t at least try.” You go to speak; to thank him but his attention is pulled away by the director of the show. 

“It’s time!” She gleams, ushering the two of you after her. 

There are already people gathered in front of his top secret exhibit, cameras and people wearing PRESS lanyards like the front and sides. Much like a moth drawn to a flame, they find Damian walking and try to hound him, only to be stopped by his family. They’re far more intimidating now but Damian pulls your attention from them and towards him. 

The two of you are in front of the whole crowd, the two guards holding one piece of the curtain and waiting for a cue to open them. 

“We welcome everyone to Damian Wayne’s very first art show,” The director says, her hand ghosting over his shoulder. He takes that as a sign to step forward, barely leaving your side as he explains his art. 

“Through My Eyes is a collection of various pieces I’ve created over the course of two years,” He explains. “The music that accompanies the art are pieces composed by my muse.” His eyes find yours as the curtains are pulled aside and for the first time, you notice the way he looks at you. The way his eyes never seem to want to leave yours, how he takes you in the same way he takes in the art around him. 

Then you hear it. More specifically you hear yourself. 

You hear the piece you’d played during your final, hearing your voice fill the spaces where people aren’t talking. Each key, and each note floods your ears as you turn to see his art. 

It’s you.

All of it. Each painting, each frame has something of you in it. 

“Holy shit.” You breathe, moving to the closest one. It’s a painting of you, wearing clothes you’d only seen in shows like Merlin, holding onto a statue of an angel. It’s almost impossible to not know where the inspiration had come from. After convincing Damian to go exploring with you and some friends, you’d come across a newly abandoned church with a large angel statue. On a dare, you pretended to dance with it. 

Sure, you’d seen the picture before but it was nothing compared to the painting. It looked amazing, you had never looked better. Your features were captured in the best way possible, you’d been posed in a way that made it seem as if you were guiding the angel in a dance. 

The description catches your eye next. 

One Last Dance wasn’t the first drawing of Muse, but it was the first drawing of him that I truly loved. He’d resparked a passion for painting for me. The painting had been on my mind for two weeks before I finally started to work on it, having it become my only focus for the two days that I worked on it became the norm for the next two years of my life. 

Muse doesn’t personally care for the Renaissance era, but it seemed fitting for such a painting. The feeling of dressing Muse in modern clothes didn’t ruin the drawing but it didn’t make sense, in my head their dance is accompanied by the sounds of the wings and their feet gliding across the floor. Just outside is probably a mob, unbelievable of a true angel. Muse would probably say that he was dancing to the sounds of Sleep Token and outside was a bunch of ‘angel fuckers’, but who knows. 

D.W

The next painting was smaller than the first, but it’s a close-up of your face. Your eyes are wide and you’re desperately pulling at your eyelids as a light twinkles inside of it. 

Blinding Gaze came about when Muse had gone to the eye doctor, fearing he was going blind. Turns out he was just extremely stressed to the point of temporary blindness. When we spoke about it, he joked that he was developing powers from that time he drank a sports drink mixed with a crushed-up Tylenol and he could shoot lasers from his eyes. While Blinding Gaze doesn’t follow his original plan of lasers, I imagine developing eye lights could be frightening. 

Blinding Gaze isn’t body horror, although I had intended it to be but I couldn’t bring myself to put Muse into that position. Even if it was completely fake. I did eventually remake the painting how I truly envisioned it, but I still prefer my Muse to the remake. 

Drifting to the next painting, you see yourself, dressed in your favorite smudged hoodie, dancing amongst the crowd. The people are drowned out in the colors of the background, nearly blending in meanwhile you’re ever so present. The light shone down on you in a way that made you seem like the main character in some movie, all eyes meant to be on you. 

A Night To Remember was undoubtedly one of the best moments of college thus far. Muse had been invited to a friend's party and insisted I come instead of remaining in the art room, drowning myself in oils and pastels. Although I’ve put his words in a more friendly manner. I hadn’t wanted to go, the noises and being pressed against unfamiliar faces was hardly something I ever enjoyed. But for Muse, I’d do anything he’d asked of me. 

Glued to him for the night, I found myself unreasonably drawn to him. I do not remember the song, in truth, I don’t remember much from that night aside from him. The way he danced, how he looked at me. How he looked in the room. I resented not bringing my sketchbook, but I would’ve been more out of place than I originally had been. 

Smoothening your shirt, you take a nervous glance around you. You’re unsure about how you feel, it’s a lot. You’ve never truly thought about Damian in such a light before, at least not to your knowledge. Sure, you’ve written compositions about him and sure, if you read between the lines in some songs they’re definitely about him. You and Him. 

Perhaps, without realizing it, you had made him your muse just as he had made you his. 

“I want you to see this one,” Damian says as he walks up behind you, finally free of people asking him questions. The music loops as he does and you count that there’s five songs on the set playlist. Each and every song was one you had created. Your song from the previous week plays again as you stare at him, smiling. 

“I’m your muse?” You softly ask, unable to remove yourself from the spot until you have gotten your words out. Damian dips his head down for a moment and wipes his nose. “You’re nervous,” The small tease makes his eyes roll and he clears his throat, the red settling from his tanned ears. 

“I want you to see this one,” He repeats and grabs your hand, gently guiding you past the people surrounding the room. They look at the two of you, watching as you walk up to a large painting in the center of the room. Clearly a last-minute addition but it seemed to be the focus. 

“Woah,” Is all you can say when you see the painting of you during your final. It’s painted in the same style as your favorite art era. The romantic era where colors were soft, even if they were dark. The painting itself had you in the center, a sea of people at the bottom and there are several ghostly figures of yourself, dancing across the stage leaving streaks of yourself at the top. The floor of the stage was covered in candles. 

“How long did this take you?” You ask, eyes darting between details and finding new ones each time you look. 

“Two days,” He shrugs. Slowly, you look at him and he looks back at you, confused. “I couldn’t sleep until I finished the painting. The way you looked during your final.” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “It’s truly beautiful— you’re truly beautiful,” He adds, looking at you. 

“When you paint me like that I definitely am,” You laugh, looking back at the painting. 

“I only painted you through my lens. Perhaps your eyes aren’t as good as you think they are because the paintings truly do not live up to their references. You’re captivating and the way you’ve consumed my thoughts is honestly intoxicating.” His eyes twinkle as you look at each other. You don’t know what to say, honestly. You can stroke your ego a little, you could crack a joke, or you could bear yourself completely to him. But definitely not in a room filled with people. 

“Ah,” Dick breaks the silence. “You know he used to be a junior poet?” Grumbling, Damian looks over at Richard as he’s staring at the painting, sipping sparkling champagne from a flute glass while holding a cracker with cheese and jelly. Gross. Probably, you’ve never had it before. 

“I do believe I asked for a moment alone,” Damian gives a half-snarky grin and Dick shrugs. 

“A whole lotta people here, doubt you’d be alone.” With a sweeping motion, he gestures to the crowd around you. It’s not elbow-to-elbow crowded but you can hear at least seven conversations happening around you. 

“I suppose you’re correct,” He nods, following his brother's line of thinking. “Fresh air?” He asks you and you nod. 

There’s a park in front of the exhibit and it’s mostly empty, save for two kids and their parents but they’re clearly about to leave. Damian heads towards the benches but you pull him to the swings. There are three but one of them is tossed over the bar and you don’t feel like fixing it. 

Sitting with your back to the exhibit, you look over the trees and the playground. The sandpit with someone’s lost doll sitting down, a bucket behind it. 

“What did you think?” He spoke up after a minute had passed. The entire time he watched as you gently rocked back and forth on the swings, tempting yourself to actually swing. 

“You’re amazingly talented,” You hum, turning your head to meet his gaze. “Although, I already knew that. You’re like Michelangelo with everything you pick up.” Glancing at him, you smile when you see his hands. “You still haven’t cleaned the charcoal from your nails.” 

“No,” He blinks, his eyes staying closed for a beat longer than a blink. “Not of my skill level, (Y/n). Of the drawings. That you’re Muse.” He looks down at his fingertips and starts to pick at the bits of charcoal. “That you’re my muse.”

Softly you sigh before looking back to the trees. 

“What is there to think about? You’re my muse, I'm yours.” 

“You’ve written songs about me?” He asks and you sheepishly nod, refusing to look at him. “Which? If you don’t mind me asking,”

“Birds of a feather, I wanna be yours, and Golden hour. There’s more but they’re too embarrassing to admit,” Hearing him take a deep breath, you pick at your fingernails and slowly stop swinging.

“What now?” You ask, finally looking at him. He shrugs and starts to slowly swing. He thinks for a moment before he checks his phone. 

“When are you free? I can make reservations to—“

“Applebees or Red Lobster,” You cut him off and he looks at you, confused. “Applebees is once every so often, birthdays or celebrations. But Red Lobster? That’s graduation or date.” 

“You could’ve gone for a five-star restaurant, you know that, right?” He laughs and you shrug. 

“I heard they’re pretty shit. And I want to fuck up a seafood boil. Oh wait,” Blinking, you try to remember the Red Lobster menu. “Never mind, I don’t think they have vegetarian options. We could do Olive Garden or whatever vegetarian places you like. I’m not picky,” 

“And I am?” He teases and you roll your eyes. “Friday, at five. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go to Olive Garden. And then to the movies to watch that new horror movie you’ve been wanting to watch.”

“That sounds perfect,” You nod and nudge your swing into his. 

“Can I admit something?” He slowly asks. “Forgive me if I’m being too forward but…” Watching as he licks his lip, you stop swinging. “May I kiss you?” 

“Yes.” You nod. Trying not to seem too eager, the both of you stand up and you watch as he raises his hands to cup your face. His fingers are warm, gliding across your skin as you hook one arm around his waist while the other holds his shoulder. “Do you want to lead?” You whisper as he looks at you, unmoving. His eyes dart down to your lips and he nods before closing the distance. 

His hands drag a little down your face, his pinky curving under your jaw before moving up into your hair. Slowly the kiss breaks and he dips back down for one quick kiss. 

“He’s been waiting months to do that,” Dick announces and Damian groans. You snicker and look behind Damian. Dick isn’t even looking, looking off into the distance before he’s sure that you’re done kissing before looking at the two of you. 

“Must he ruin everything?” He whispers to you before facing his brother. “I understand you have no concept of privacy, but this warrants that.” Dick frowns at the rudeness before he shrugs and points his thumb towards the venue. 

“They’re asking for you, thought I should come and get you before they spot you.” He explains through a sigh. “Would hate for our little demon’s kiss to end up on the front page. But, yeah,” He sighs and looks over at you. He stares at your face for a moment before he chuckles. 

“Take him to the bathroom, you got dust on his face.”

“It’s charcoal.”