#after 20+ years hes insufFERABLE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

capricornlevi · 5 months

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inevitability- nanami x f!reader

tags: friends to lovers, salaryman!nanami, breeding, unprotected sex, fingering, missionary, mating press, creampie, mild cumplay

cw: alcohol (all sex sober & consensual!), pregnancy mentions, rough but v v consensual sex, reader and nanami are both in their late 20s/early 30s

word count: 5.3k

a/n: in which your decide with your good friend of many years that it's time to get you pregnant <3 this has been festering in my brain and i know it's pretty different than what i usually write but ! here it is! ahh! sounds of me screaming!

"this is weird, y'know?" you blurt out, watching as nanami hangs up his jacket by your front door before settling down beside you on the couch. he keeps a respectful distance, resting his hands on his broad thighs and smoothing down the fabric of his slacks, clearly nervous. "this is very, very weird. like, weird at levels i don't think people have achieved before."

"i know," nanami replies diplomatically, as if he could be anything but excruciatingly aware of how unconventional this is. "are you having second thoughts? because i completely understand --"

you shake your head abruptly. "no, no, just ... thinking aloud, i guess. just getting used to this, because it's really ... um ..."

"weird?" nanami offers helpfully, and you turn to nod.

"weird."

because what else do you call agreeing to have a baby with your platonic friend of 10 years?

you first met nanami on the second day of college and knew right away he'd be a good dad, even back when having kids wasn't even a consideration for you. it was obvious; he was already a good dad back then, with how he looked out for his underclassmen even as he progressed through his degree. how he stayed sober when he knew people would be going overboard, not sleeping until you texted him to confirm you'd gotten home safe after a party.

he helped you study at the weekends and, in return, you provided him with a discount at the local cafe where you worked. through this time spent knocking back americanos and proofing each other's work, you grew close.

even with all his responsibility and good sense contrasting your exuberance and recklessness, you found yourself enjoying being with him. and he could be funny, too, delivering sharp and witty quips when you least expected it.

you became inseparable. insufferable, some would call it; the matching-halloween-costume type of insufferable, a borderline codependent but obliviously happy friendship that can only be fostered on a college campus.

then right after college, when you had dived straight into your quarter-life crisis and dyed your hair every colour under the sun, got piercings in too many places, slept with questionable people and dated some even worse, nanami had gotten himself a decent, impressive, well-paying job. it was a job that had him wearing tailored suits at 23, paired with fancy glasses that cost more than your rent, and you'd laughed at him, at how serious he looked. but you also worried at how the bags under his eyes grew deeper and darker, how the amused lilt to his voice started to dissipate as time went on.

his 9 to 5 turned to an 8 to 6, and then he was working weekends and skipping movie nights, missing out on meeting new boyfriends of yours, fading into the periphery of your life with you unable to do anything about it.

as with all relationships in your twenties, it was hard to stay in touch. the higher he climbed up the career ladder, the further you grew apart.

soon, it was only on holidays or birthdays when you both would reach out, cordial and civil but achingly unfamiliar.

then, on your twenty-ninth birthday, drunk at a bar and having taken a couple minutes away from your raucous friend group, you had stepped outside to grab some fresh air only to walk head-on into nanami's firm chest.

you had spluttered apologies, lifting your head to see who you had headbutted, only to find your old friend looking down at you with an amused look on his face.

and just like that, things picked up where they left off. you spent the night talking, catching up over drinks and laughter.

with a tone that was only half-teasing, you had asked him what brought him out tonight -- it was hard enough to get him to come out for drinks when you were both in college, much less now with his big fancy job.

but he had laughed in that gentle, airy way you'd heard a thousand times, explaining that he had been out socialising with clients who had just left minutes before. he was just on his way out before running into you.

perfect timing. painfully perfect.

you stayed talking until last call, making exhilarated promises to get in touch the next day.

and to your surprise, you both actually stuck to that.

in the ten months since then, you've met up every sunday for breakfast at your favourite cafe. over lattes and freshly baked croissants, you fill each other in on the details of the half-decade spent apart. he had a serious girlfriend, serious to the point of moving in together, but she'd gotten spooked and left him last summer to go travelling. he was hurt, obviously, but understood her perspective in that annoyingly calm, measured way that is just part of his nature.

and on your end -- despite the drunken circumstances in which you'd been reacquainted, which is all part of moderation, after all -- you've actually calmed down considerably since your early twenties.

you have your own apartment. you have a rescue cat you care for immensely, even when he tries wriggling out of your arms to go stare out the window at passing cyclists. you have a retirement fund, started yoga, learned to bake your own bread.

you're not boring, you still have fun and let off steam whenever you can, but you're having the sort of revelations about life that nanami seems to have had years ago.

fun is good. fun is important. but it can't be everything, because then it starts to come at a cost.

truthfully, the birth of your nephew is what prompted you to make some changes. you didn't want to show up to babysit hungover. you wanted to have funds to hand in order to treat him to little toys and sweets when your sister allowed it, and soon found yourself amazed at how his little face lit up every time he saw you.

it made you grow up, and fast.

in the course of your cafe hangouts, you had mentioned your nephew to nanami. showed pictures of the boy's pudgy little hands reaching for the camera, told stories of how he could tell the difference between new episodes of Bluey versus reruns, and how he's changed your entire life without even realising.

soon, talk about your nephew turned to general musings about your own future.

then one night, when you decided to switch your meetup location from the cafe to a cocktail bar, you shared something that you had barely admitted to yourself.

you wanted to have a kid.

this realisation wasn't borne from some crisis about entering a new decade, it wasn't something forced on you by others or general societal pressure. it was something that grew organically, inspired by the honour of watching your little nephew grow up.

to your surprise, nanami didn't scoff or dismiss you. you figured he'd have rolled his eyes, laughing off your confession since you weren't in a committed relationship.

instead, he expressed similar sentiments, but for slightly different reasons.

"i'm sick of work being my whole life," he had mused quickly, sipping an old fashioned with a funny look in his eye. "it was only when we started hanging out again that i realised how much of my life I've wasted at a place that wouldn't care if i lived or died."

"do i need to be worried about you having the type of rebellious streak the rest of us went through ten years ago?" you asked, smiling and fidgeting with one of your rings without thinking.

he waved off your suggestion with a fond roll of his eyes. "i'm not impulsively quitting or anything, don't worry. just want to take a step back, i suppose, or find something with shorter hours. i just think there's more to life than endless hours slaving behind a desk."

you toasted to that sentiment, knocking back the last of your cosmo.

nanami continued, watching you set your empty glass back down with a soft grin on his lips. "the whole family, kids thing ... i get it, you know? it makes sense."

"yeah?" you pried carefully, interested to see where this is going.

"i'd be lying if i said i didn't think about it, too. i have a nest egg saved up which means i'd be able to take time off to help with a kid, to actually be there to see them grow up. and it's not that i want to have one just because i think i need to -- i think i'd be decent at it, y'know? the whole parenting thing."

you obviously agreed. you'd thought the same for a while now, and getting reacquainted with the man has only spurred on those thoughts.

he really would be perfect.

the issue wasn't discussed further that night, but it was brought up again at coffee the following sunday, then at the bakery the week after that, and before long, it was your birthday again.

after a massive party with all your friends and family -- and a little too much wine -- nanami had stayed behind to help you clean up, because of course he would, and you got to talking again, got to revisiting that topic that had been at the back of both of your minds.

you can't remember the exact wording of the discussion or how many bottles of prosecco fuelled the conversation, but what you do know is that when you sobered up, you didn't regret agreeing to it.

you were gonna have a kid together.

you and nanami.

coparenting.

as outlandish an idea as it might seme on the surface, when looking at it a little deeper, it made sense to you. this wasn't decided on a whim. this was something that had momentum building behind it for months and months, perhaps even years, without you even realising.

when meeting up for coffee the following week, you both gave each other an out. said there'd be no big deal if things were called off. but neither one of you took it, despite laughing for what felt like hours about how bizarre it all felt.

still, no sign of backing out.

which brings you to tonight, the agreed-upon date of when you'd start trying.

nanami had suggested using artificial fertility methods if that made you more comfortable, but you politely turned him down, thinking it unnecessary. he wasn't a stranger -- plus, you'd be lying if you said he wasn't objectively attractive -- so if he had no objections to trying things the old-fashioned way, then you didn't either.

and he obviously didn't mind too much since he's now here on your couch, folding his arms and then unfolding them as he waited for you to make the first move.

he looks good, despite all the nerves. he's filled out over the years, though he was always strong, with every muscle in his body well-defined and perfectly proportional. his hair is still blond but with the faintest specks of grey, his skin brighter and more well-rested than that night you got reacquainted.

his deep brown eyes stay fixed on you and your skin heats as his gaze traces over you.

"do you want me to kiss you?" you break the silence, the words tumble messily from your mouth.

he looks taken aback, as if this was something he'd vaguely considered but never thought would actually happen.

"do ... do you want to?"

his earnestness has you smiling, cutting through the tension, and you meet his eyes properly for the first time since he arrived tonight. he always has this way of making you feel comfortable, his presence alone is like an embrace that calms the racing thoughts that constantly occupy your mind.

it's only now that you're close, so close, you realise that maybe you really do want to --

"i wouldn't suggest it otherwise," you murmur softly as if your heart isn't hammering against your ribcage, shifting nearer to him on the couch but keeping that last bridge of distance for him to close.

his tongue swipes over his lower lip, almost subconsciously demonstrating his wishes as his line of sight drifts down to your mouth. he nods then, dipping his head, only a couple inches of space between you now.

"yeah -- yeah, okay."

you can see how his pupils dilate as you reach out to slip his glasses off, setting them down on the coffee table, cupping his face in your hands.

he returns your smile at that gesture, just the slightest hint of nerves in his eyes that disappear when he finally decides to press your lips to yours.

his lips are softer than you imagined ... though until this very moment, you hadn't even realised that this was something you had imagined.

he lets you set the rhythm but doesn't shy away; he meets your movements, your energy at every kiss, letting you stop for a moment to adjust yourself as things progress.

this should feel weird, right? you should have some lingering feeling of awkwardness at making out with your best friend, at taking his hand in yours and setting it down on your thigh to show you want him to touch you?

this was supposed to be a relatively unromantic event, after all. it wasn't meant to be the start of anything. though it was never clinical or unemotional -- you're technically starting a family together, after all, if an entirely unconventional one -- you never foresaw it going down like this.

this feels like something that was meant to happen.

he pulls back ever-so-slightly, lips still grazing against yours as he asks softly, "this okay?"

you nod by way of answer, not wanting to waste another second not kissing him. nanami captures your lips with his again, and with renewed enthusiasm, slips his tongue into your mouth, probing gently and barely hiding the low rumble of a groan deep in his throat.

all thoughts of propriety start to fade into the ether. his hand on your thigh burns hot, shifting up and down the exposed skin. you'd worn a nice dress for the evening, unsure of the dress code for an event as strange as this, but you find yourself grateful for choosing something that fell so far above the knee.

his hands are rougher than his lips but not in an unpleasant way. you figure it's from his only out-of-work hobby that doesn't consist of hanging out with you; his renovation group. nanami is part of a volunteer organisation that helps build and renovate houses for those in need -- as if he couldn't get any more painfully perfect, obviously.

you stay like that for a few more minutes, exploring these new sensations and becoming increasingly more aware of the ball of anticipation burning in your lower stomach. everywhere he touches you feels warm, every soft nip against your lips feels electric.

then, against every instinct in your body, you force yourself to pause to take a few steadying breaths. nanami responds in the same way, pulling his hands back to his own thighs, adjusting his stance on the couch.

he's hard, you can see as much from the awkward way he shuffles in his seat. not to mention the bulge very obviously visible in the front of his slacks -- just seeing it fills you with want, with the need to touch and be touched.

this is moving more fluidly than you had expected, arriving at each decision without a second thought. in that vein, you decide to ask:

"want to head to the bedroom?", hoping you don't sound as desperate as you're feeling. "if you're ready -"

"yes," he responds before you've even finished your sentence. you feel grateful that the eagerness is not one-sided as you get to your feet, taking nanami by the hand to pull him up with you.

when you've reached your room and the door is shut behind you, revealing the modest set up of your freshly-made bed and a single scented candle -- any more than that felt a little too forced, too awkward -- you marvel at the feeling of nanami's hands on your hips, somehow gentle and firm at the same time, manoeuvring you onto the bed with a pre-rehearsed confidence that never verges on forceful.

your head hasn't even hit the pillow before he's kissing you again like he's starving for it. it's messy this time, the gentle exploration from before giving way to something more primal and urgent.

you have to remind yourself that this is your nanami you're kissing. the nanami who was there for you through the most painful college breakups. the nanami who knows your coffee order, who helped zip up the back of your graduation dress.

but now, with his tongue against yours and the stiffness pressing against your stomach, all you can think is why you didn't do this sooner?

just as you're about to combust underneath him, he pulls back, balancing himself on an elbow as his eyes flick down to see how your dress is bunched at the top of your thighs. he closes his eyes, his breaths ragged and unsteady.

"i don't know how--" he whispers, tongue gliding over his kiss-slick lips, "how ... technical you might want to go about this."

you let out a little laugh, craning your neck to kiss his jawline so he knows it's not at his expense.

"i never really thought about the technicalities, but it doesn't have to be too clinical, or anything. i know you, you know me. we can just ... have sex."

"have sex," he repeats slowly, eyes open again, the hint of a grin on his face.

"yeah, have sex!" you answer with a chuckle. "or is there another way you'd like me to phrase it?"

he laughs then too, looking at you again as he shakes his head softly.

"what?" you press him with a mock indignance. "it's rude to laugh at my suggestion, actually. i felt it was pretty accurate."

"i'm not laughing at you," he says gently, lips still curved upwards. "just ... i must have pictured you saying those words a thousand times, and i never thought it -- it's just funny to hear out loud, is all."

it takes you a second to fully comprehend the words as they wash over you.

you'd be ignorant to say that the realisation never dawned on you, but it was something you thought was a relic of your college years. he had blushed a few times too many whenever the topic of sex came up at parties, had a hint of jealousy in his voice when giving advice about one particular ex-boyfriend. at your apartment complex's winter party in senior year, you can tell he was thinking about kissing you.

but that was when you were young and naive, inexperienced with life, and the thought of this nanami desiring you, of picturing you in his life, of imagining what you'd look like spread out underneath him like this --

you lift your head and grab his shirt collar, yanking him in for another kiss. when he's settled back against you, your hands weave down to unbutton his shirt. you feel him smile against your lips as he starts to unzip your dress in return.

you're a mess of limbs as items of clothing get strewn across your bedroom carpet. before long, it's all skin-on-skin, the heat of his body pressed against yours before he grabs your waist and flips you over until you're straddling him.

you feel the length of him pressed against your stomach, hot and painfully hard, but from the way he cups his hand against your neck and starts to kiss your throat, you know he's not going to rush this.

just as you gasp out his name as his teeth nip against your pulse point, he brings his other hand to the apex of your thighs, fingertips resting just over your pubic bone, barely brushing against the sensitive skin.

"want me to touch you?" he mumbles quietly against your throat, the way his breath fans over you making you shiver.

you nod pitifully, hips canting towards him, but he doesn't budge.

"need you to say it," he says low, quiet, thumb shifting down by the millimetre, "need to know how much you want it."

"i want it," you gasp, the arch of your back deepening the closer he gets to your aching core, all concerns about appearing desperate evaporating with every press of his lips to your skin. "i want it, kento, p- please touch me."

nanami obliges, fingertips trailing down until his thumb is brushing over your clit. he slides his hand lower, fingers slipping through your damp lips, and then uses your own wetness to start rubbing you in earnest.

any form of articulate thought slips from your mind, replaced with only those that can get you more of this -- nanami's fingers playing with your clit, the other hand possessively resting at your nape, his cock pressed between you with precum beading at the tip.

you want it in your mouth. you want it inside you, and as you go to shift your hips, nanami shifts his back.

"want to see what you look like when you come first," he says, slipping his middle and ring finger inside you as if to prove he's going about it the right way.

and he really is, because after only a few strokes of his fingers, your vision is getting hazy. you've never been this turned on so quickly before, never felt this desperate, all-consuming urge -- but then again, you've never had a man look at you like this before now either.

you try to focus on the sensation of his fingers stretching you open, his thumb still stroking your clit in the perfect rhythm, but your mind wanders to the thick cock pressed up against you. you want to rub against him, let him fill you up, make him feel good too --

but looking at his face now, pupils blown and lower lip raw from biting down on it, you can tell this is as much for him as it is for you.

less than a minute later it hits you, the explosion of warmth radiates out to every cell in your body, rendering you a boneless mess in nanami's arms.

he holds you as the aftershock subsides, strong arms keeping you steady even when your legs feel as though they've turned to jelly. when you feel capable of supporting yourself, you slide ungracefully from where you were perched on his thighs and fall back against your pillows, head spinning blissfully.

nanami leans down next to you and kisses your forehead, whispering words of praise that fill you with a strange sensation you can't quite place.

"want to take a break?" he ask after a few moments have passed, "or if you're tired, we can try again later --"

"no," you cut him off, turning your head to look at him directly, face splitting into a smile through the post-orgasm haze. "i just need a second is all, i still -- if you want to --"

"i do."

and so to ease yourself back into it, you kiss him slowly, intimately, bodies gently intertwining as he shifts closer to you on the bed. you guide his hands to your chest, gasping as his thumb circles a nipple.

"you're just ... beautiful in a way i don't really have words for," he mumbles, watching you squirm pleasurably under him.

"nanami kento lost for words? a first time for everything," you manage to quip through it all, earning a pinch of the other nipple that turns your laugh into a moan.

"we've plenty more firsts to get through tonight."

at that, nanami shifts halfway down the mattress and gets to his knees, hands gripping your thighs as he spreads them open. he takes his cock in his hand and slowly drags the head through your folds, up and down but not yet penetrating you, appreciating how you're almost sucking him in, the eager way you pull back your legs to accommodate him.

he stays like that for a minute. every time you think he's about to sink in, he holds himself back as if transfixed by the obscene sounds that come from playing with your pussy, of using you to stroke himself off.

he looks to be on the verge of a choice, like his brain is fighting between two options: taking you slow and gentle like you deserve, or sinking in and fucked into you desperately, filling you up until he knows he's bred you, that you're his and only his.

you soon glean that he wants you to actually say it out loud, wants to hear those words he's fantasised about for so long.

"fuck me, kento."

now utterly unable to hold off any longer, he heeds your request, lining up and thrusting inside you in one fluid motion.

it's a pleasant stretch; he's still careful to let you adjust to his size but you're soon relishing the feeling of being so full, and the fucked-out grin on your face spurs him on.

his hips shift back inch by inch until he's almost fully pulled out, letting out a low groan as he sinks back in again, and at that, he knows he's a goner, completely lost to the feeling of his entire length buried inside you.

this is nanami at his most possessive, fucking into you as you're caged in by his strong arms, your knees now pulled back as far as they'll go. the skin on the back of your thighs is raw from your nails digging into them but you don't care, single-minded in your aim to keep the head of his cock brushing against that perfect spot inside you.

your shoulder blades press into your soft pillows as you try to keep from writhing too much, wanting with all of your might to avoid upsetting this perfect rhythm.

above you, nanami's perfect cheekbones are flushed, his brows knit tightly together, your silky walls wrapping tight around his cock in a way that's driving him to the brink sooner than he'd like. against all better judgment, he slows down just slightly, allowing himself to indulge in the sensation.

"you take my cock so well, y'know that?" he mumbles in between quiet grunts, "with that pretty look on your face when i fill you up... you're trying to kill me, i swear to god."

you both laugh breathlessly before yours breaks off in a moan, slurring his name as he speeds up subconsciously. he presses his lips to every inch of your neck, jaw, collarbone, thrusts unrelenting but never too much.

if you weren't already aware of how soaked you are, the slick sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you provide more than enough proof, melding with the soft squeak of your bedsprings to just about cut through the muffled sound of your moans.

your body now guided more by instinct than intention, you slip your hand down to where your hips are pressed together, two fingers circling the swollen bud of your clit. the angle of his ruts means his cock grazes your fingertips as he pulls out, the desperate rubbing of your hand between your legs spurring him on.

"still want me to come inside you?" he says then, strands of hair coming loose, sticking to his forehead, "want me to fill you up?"

you nod feebly -- the answer clearly not sufficient in itself, since he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours as he meets you for a wet, messy kiss. continuing his question with his lips still touching yours, he asks;

"want me to take care of you? want to be my pretty wife, hm, wanna -- fuck -- wanna be mine, yeah?"

you slur something unintelligible, focusing on the second orgasm gathering quick and hot in your core. you lose your grip on your thighs and fumble to pull your legs back up.

nanami helps to hike your legs back up -- but not in their original position. instead, he guides them until your ankles rest on his shoulders, and after taking just a second to press a kiss to your calf, he sinks back to the hilt. feeling him bottom out, your vision nearly goes white; this new angle allows him to slide in so deep it's practically splitting you open, so deep you can tell he's serious about breeding you.

somehow, the sensation remains just shy of too much -- it's not too much of a stretch or causing too much sensitivity -- it's more than you've ever taken but you honestly feel you could stay like this forever, taking nanami's cock like you were made for it, with him looking down at you with a mixture of reverence and pure lust.

you want him like this for the rest of your life.

"i'm gonna need you to answer, cos I'm pretty close," he half-pleads as if reading your mind, his voice deep and strained, firm chest heaving as the thrusts get messier and less coordinated.

though your mind is near-blank and your lungs feel they can't get enough air, you manage to mumble a "fuck, yes. want -- want you to come inside, kento ... please."

that last word tips him over with you following almost immediately after, clenching around his cock as you feel him pulsing inside you, feeling more full than you've ever felt in your life. his head tips back as he cums, moaning beautiful praise you can just about make out, strands of sentences about you being the only one he wants taking his come, about how he's going to keep fucking you full for as long as it takes.

sparks of electricity reverberate through your body, hips pushing against his as you ride out your orgasm, pretty little whimpers harmonising with nanami's continued praise.

you stay like that for what seems like forever, basking in the wave of pleasure that's just swept you away effortlessly.

everything is just ... warm. purely and blissfully warm. the warmth of his hands still gripping your legs, the warmth of your own breath fanning over your sweaty chest, the warmth between your legs that starts to dribble down the backs of your thighs when nanami pulls out.

for good measure, nanami uses two fingers to push some of his come back inside, grinning as aftershocks pulse around the digits.

you lower your tired legs to rest on the mattress, thighs aching from being bent practically in half, but it's easy to disregard any physical exhaustion when you feel this level of contentment.

nanami's arms are soon wrapped around you, pulling you to rest on top of his chest where you spend some moments of perfect silence.

you can hear his heart beating in his chest, skipping a beat when you angle your head up to meet his gaze again.

"well?" you ask, a smile imbued in your words. "still lost for words?"

"just thinking about how every second of this was worth waiting for," he replies without missing a beat, eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches how his answer flusters you.

with one hand behind his head as he rests of the pillow and the other wrapped around your shoulders, nanami looks more relaxed than you've maybe ever seen him.

this is a man who looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown when you reconnected less than a year ago; he's almost unrecognisable now, the dark circles under his eyes have faded, his face filling out a bit more, the smile on his face entirely genuine.

and in this moment you feel a burst of clarity, a sudden realisation that's eluded you since that first night you met in college.

maybe -- just maybe -- you're as good an influence on him as he is on you.

#nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami kento x reader #may tries to write #oh lord #im not even going to tell you how long i spent drafting this bad boy #please join me in the brainrot please

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mrsparrasblog · 4 months

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College Ghost

I have like 300 ideas for that

pt 2

(Reader can be seen as hyperfeminine)

College Ghost who got assigned to share a dorm with you and tries his best to act nice since his last roommate was an Austrian exchange student who only showered once a month.

College Ghost who forgets his plan of being nice as soon as you walk in and scream, "You are a man!" in shock.

College Ghost who doesn't even bother to ask what you study or your name and calls you Princess, not as a term of endearment but out of pure mockery since you're the brattiest, most annoying pink thing he ever saw.

College Ghost who tells you if you go near his side, he will throw away your stuffed animals and your favorite shoes, makeup, whatever.

College Ghost who got the nickname Brute from you, since he is nothing more than an ignorant, insufferable, rude, attractive brute.

College Ghost who comes back every weekend high, reeking of cheap alcohol and sex.

College Ghost who throws your scented candle away after you tried to get rid of his smell.

College Ghost who feels bad about it and searches for the BBW candle only to find it completely shattered, and makes it his plan to buy you a new one—but he doesn't because who spends 20 quid on a stupid strawberry shortcake candle.

College Gaz, Price, and Soap who bet on Ghost's feelings: Gaz gets 50 if Ghost doesn't fall in love, Price gets 50 if he falls in love, and Soap gets 50 if he knocks you up within a year.

College Ghost who got so wasted one night and woke up with an aspirin and a glass of water, drinking it and then noticing a paper written in pink glitter cursive, "Choke on it :)"

College Ghost who would never fall in love with you. He hates you, Princess, and always will.

A/N: I would spend 20 quid on a candle, cries in living in a country without Bath & Body Works.

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hier--soir · 1 year

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a lover's pinch | three

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: joel gets a little birthday surprise, and you get a little too drunk. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, pining, f!masturbation [barely], sending nudes, joel finally locks his office door, dirty talk, the slightest slip of possessive language, uh.. ahem.. biting, protected piv birthday sex, a messy dinner party, excessive alcohol consumption [i'm talking embarassing], irritating men, soft!joel. word count: 10.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: let the pining commence folks. hey siri, play brown eyed girl by van morrison. special thanks to @bageldaddy for the emotional support as i endured the labour that was the final hour of editing this. hope you guys enjoy! this is part three of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two.

Thursday.

A fortnight passes in the slow blink of a bleary eye.

Fall nudges Summer out the door, solidifying its presence in Maine with flaxen leaves and rolling grey clouds.

The rain comes at night. Rivulets of moisture that leak onto the windowsill, seep into the cracked wood there and fill your room with the sweet smell of petrichor. It clears before the sun rises most days, but you unpack of a box of sweaters and hang them in your closet, nonetheless. You enjoy communal coffees in the kitchen and try not to frown when the morning light doesn’t warm your legs the way it used to. Force yourself not to feel mournful when you get home one afternoon and find Pete on the sofa with a blanket over him.

And perhaps that’s why when you wake on Thursday to sunshine—to warm bed sheets, to blue sky, to bright whites and yellows coming through the window—you feel lighter. Start the day with a calm countenance that has you blinking sleep from your eyes and smiling drowsily as your fingers trail the windowsill and come off dry. You share a pot of coffee with Pete; let him explain soil vapour extraction to you for the fifth time. Listen, smile, nod, and don’t roll your eyes when he asks do you get it now? And when the time comes to get ready for the drive to campus, you are smiling. Shoulders loose, eyes bright.

It had been a tiresome couple of weeks.

As the middle of the semester drew closer, you’d spent days on end poring over a laptop with tired eyes and cramping fingers. Writing and editing—and then rewriting and re-editing—your first round of essays and analyses. Balmy afternoons spent nursing glasses of cheap wine with your roommates evolved to late night coffees alone in your room, eyelids drooping as you fawned over every word, every quote, every fucking comma – all of it for him.

Him who you hadn’t been alone with in almost fifteen days.

Him whose texts were seared into your memory, left unanswered on your phone.

Him who you could hardly look at during lectures, for fear of losing your train of thought.

Him who you were hellbent on impressing.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

And as busy as you’d been, it hadn’t stopped the stares. Brief, intimate glances from down the hall in the history commons. The flash of a knowing smile as you shuffle toward the exit after a lecture. The graze of fingertips against your elbow, muddling your mind as you rush to meet a text translation study group.

Watching, waiting, wanting – a near insufferable task since that afternoon in his office.

Late into the first week you’d discovered that, upon focusing hard enough, you could still feel the ache in your knees; the rug burns his carpet had left on your skin. And then you shoved the memory of it down; compressed it somewhere deep inside, hidden away until you had the chance to open it back up again, and take your time with him like you truly wanted to.

And it seems today was that day.

You stare out the window for a moment. Sip your coffee and rake in the greenness of the grass, the cloudless sky, the ray of sun shining across your bedroom floor – and decide you’ll wear a skirt to Joel’s seminar.

The pin on his shirt is blue.

Not cerulean, or baby, or steel.

Not like how the sky was blue as you drove to campus with your windows down. Not like clear turquoise waters on a white sand beach in Greece, or like a robin’s egg swathed in leaves and sticks. But a deep, rich colour. Royal blue. A folded circular pin, with two tassels coming out the bottom of it.

It’s the first thing you notice when you walk into the lecture hall – the thing your eyes snag on repeatedly as you wander towards the third row and tuck yourself into a seat. That vivid splash of blue against a plain white t-shirt. No buttons today; formal wear forgone in place of a simple tee that hugs the vast planes of his chest, snug against the thick span of his biceps. His arms are almost enough to distract you from the gaudy brooch.

Joel won’t stop moving at the foot of the room, pacing the same length of floor over and over again, waiting for the crowd to settle. Hands busy themselves at his waist, wiping a small square of cloth against the lenses of his glasses. A muscle in his forearm twitches with every swipe of fingers against glass, and the sight has a hazy flush rising in your neck. Despite yourself, you try in earnest to catch a glimpse of what the pin says. Bare thighs tensed in your seat as you tilt your torso forward, eyes squinting.

The last students wander in, and he’s shifting, sliding those glasses onto the bridge of his nose, and snatching the slide clicker from the desk. He offers a polite greeting to the room.

It doesn’t take long for someone to speak up. “Special occasion?”

Joel’s hands still, chin tilting down as he glances at royal blue and then back out at the group, a wry smile breaking across his face.

“Just a thing the faculty does here,” he clears his throat awkwardly, laughs a little. It’s a soft sound, his laugh. Tickles your ears and makes you want to smile in return. “Some of the others started it a few years back… they make everyone wear one on their birthday.”

A chorus of surprised well-wishes chime from around the room, and Joel waves them away with a broad palm, shaking his head.

Even from three rows back you can see the pink in his cheeks; the resistance in his eyes as he intercepts the kind words soaring in his direction. You recognise a shyness there, an unwillingness to be the centre of attention, and it surprises you. Joel always seems so confident, standing week after week in front of 30 odd people and talking for hours. But you suppose then he can hide behind his words; behind years of knowledge and study and practice. When it’s about him? He falters. Tries to hide. You almost want to curse at him for being so endearing. And maybe you would – if it wasn’t his birthday.

“Nah, none of that,” Joel tuts, shaking his head. “Let’s get started, alright?”

He claps his hands once, and the sound reverberates through the quietening room. The fabric of his pants clings to the meat of his thighs, tightening around muscle as he rests against the edge of the desk. You fight to keep your gaze on his face.

“Today we’re gonna start with talkin’ about the instigators in our parallel texts.”

And you try to listen, you really do.

Try to focus on his words as he talks, spouting thoughts about antagonists of war, about Helen and Menelaus, about Paris of Troy, but you can’t get past the spread of his thighs against the desk. The way his body moves when he finally rises, wandering to-and-fro across the space. How his thick thumb presses against the clicker in his hand, slides shifting on the wall behind him. There’s a dull ringing in your ears, the rough spell of his drawl vibrating inside your mind, spinning it’s yarn, and tangling itself in the space where rational thought normally resides. Birthday. It’s Joel’s birthday. Your hands clasp in front of your face, knuckle snagged between teeth, biting down, clinging to some far reach of clarity; something to bring you back to the ground and halt the dallied trance you seem to come under whenever he’s nearby.

Birthday, birthday, birthday.

As he discusses the Judgement of Paris, your mind wanders to a teacher you had as a child. A stern woman in her sixties who was fearsome among the gang of six-year old’s you roamed in. One year it had rained on your birthday, a spitting storm of hail and thunder. And when you cried, she told you that it only rains on your birthday when you’ve been a bad little girl.

It was sunny the next year, but she wasn’t your teacher anymore, and there was no one around to praise you for how good you must’ve been that year. For how hard you must’ve strived to achieve such wonderful sunshine on your special day.

A wry smile splits your face, tucked into the back of your hand, for you know better than anyone else just how bad Joel has been. And yet today, for his birthday, the sun shines.

He steps closer to the front row of seats, and your eyes glean across the lettering on his pin; the words Birthday Boy laid out in gold. A huff of laughter escapes you, and then your eyes are drifting up, past tan skin and scruffy facial hair, to find Joel staring straight at you. Dark, intrigued eyes. Assessing you, undressing you. Frowning.

“Somethin’ to add?” he clips.

The smile slides off your face. “Sorry?”

“Do you have somethin’ to add?” he drawls, unimpressed. The words slow and paced out as if he were speaking to a fool. “You seemed amused.”

“Oh,” you blink.

You shift awkwardly in your seat, straighten up, aware of every set of eyes in the room on the two of you. Joel’s face is stony, unimpressed. It’s the first time he’s made direct eye contact with you since you stepped into the room, and he is… on edge, clearly.

“No,” you decide on the safe answer, tone firm. “Nothing to add.”

He stares for a moment and then nods. Mutters a stern Pay attention underneath his breath before returning his gaze to the rest of the room. You scoff quietly, and swallow down the stab of embarrassment his words bring. The feeling is sour in your mouth, like the seed of a lemon is stuck behind your teeth.

Two seats to your left you hear a poorly concealed titter. Turn your head to spot a woman, maybe a year or two younger than yourself, giving you a pitiful smirk. You arch an eyebrow. Mouth what?

She simply shakes her head at you and turns to look at Joel, all glossy lips and doting gaze as she listens to his continued ponderings about Menelaus' role in the Trojan War.

You watch her for a moment. Note the way she laughs at his jokes, smiles as he goes off on a mindless tangent about something you aren’t paying attention to; hanging onto his every word. And you wonder if this is how you look to other people when you watch him. Another stark-raving Maenad, thirsting and possessed by the spirit of this Bacchant of a man. The Roaring One. The one with bedroom eyes and cheeks like wine. Joel Miller; fraught, brooding, and willing to embarrass you in front of a room of your peers to feel an inch of the self-control you've so easily ridden him of. A Dionysian fit to oppose the doomed Bacchant inside of you, whose mouth foams and eyes roll in ecstasy at the mere presence of him.

He crosses the front of the room, back and forth, and you imagine him as a bull of a man. Golden locks and thorned head, thyrsus in hand as he commands the attention of an enthralled audience. Corrals them to follow him, to adore him. And yet the image you create is distorted at best, a watered-down version of the truth, for what spites you the most is that he simply… doesn’t have to try. There are no attempts to convince; no persuasion in his voice, no dishonesty necessary as the room swoons for him. As you yourself yearn for him. Covet his touch, his body, akin to that of a God’s.

And perhaps there is some immorality there, some gross misalignment of hubris, that yearns to reset the scale. To remind this man that indeed you have knelt before him, but he knelt for you first.

The thought has your thighs pressing together.

“Well, Juno hates Aeneas because she hates Trojans. And for that we have Paris to blame,” he answers someone’s question with a chuckle. Gains a few scattered laughs in response. “Because we all know how Juno feels about Paris.”

You rise from your chair, legs shifting before your brain can catch up. Take careful, tip-toed steps towards the exit. Joel’s eyes drift in your direction, curious gaze draping over the bare skin of your legs as he talks. Just for a second though, a split second, before he’s looking determinedly back to the room, and you’re disappearing from his line of sight.

“And so, she thwarts the Trojans every chance she gets,” his voice grows softer as you stray farther from the door, until it’s nothing more than a vague purr down the hall. You wander into the women’s bathroom and slip inside an empty cubicle.

Birthday, birthday, pay attention, birthday, they make everyone wear one on their birthday, pay attention.

Your brain is abuzz, nerves alight as you place your phone carefully atop the toilet paper dispenser. Trembling fingers graze the hem of your skirt, the warm skin of your thighs, and yes you’ve been wet since you saw him. Turned on from just the sight of him, the sound of his mellow voice, the idea that maybe, just maybe, today you will get to touch him again. You can feel how it clings to your panties, sweet soft warmth pooling out of you, a dizzying wetness that longs for Joel to come and find you. To take you in his hands, tilt you down to his parted lips, and drink it from the source.

Your fingers are cold against your skin. A delighted shiver swims down your spine as you graze them along the front of your underwear. Barely touching, hardly any pressure, simply grazing over the spot where your clit has begun to pulse. A little firmer now, you press against the thin material of your underwear, let it slip between your soaked folds. You bite your lip to contain a soft sigh, and smile as you feel how wet the material is getting. Once you’re satisfied you pull your hand away, leave a shimmering streak against your leg where you wipe your fingers, and reach for your phone.

Position one foot on the closed seat and rest your back against the cubicle wall, angling the phone between your spread thighs. Tilting your phone this way and that until the camera catches you in the perfect light; the flared material of your skirt bunched around your hips, the shiny smear across your inner thigh, the damp stain of slick against the front of your light blue panties. You take a few pictures. Trail your hand down your stomach and let it appear in some of them as well; fingers poised over the band of your underwear, just a tease. Finally content, you tuck your phone away, splash some cold water on your neck, and wander back into the lecture theatre.

Joel looks up when you walk inside. He’s seated behind his desk now, the room quiet as people jot down notes, eyes flitting between their laptops and the presentation displayed across the wall. Furrowed eyebrows and brown eyes shining with that barely-contained interest they always seem to hold when he looks at you these days. You offer him a nonchalant smile before turning your back to him. Sway your hips with exaggerated emphasis as you waltz up the stairs, slide back into your seat, and take your phone back out.

No one’s watching you now. Not your fellow Maenad, with her sharp judgemental eyes. Not even Joel. Your fingers dance their way into your text thread with him, and you select your favourite from the pictures.

You glance at the two lone messages in the thread, gaze lingering on the second message.

That can’t happen again.

Hesitation grips you, fingers hovering over the screen as you contemplate the seriousness behind the words. And then you hear him answer someone’s question, and the rough drone of his voice has you pressing send anyway.

Happy Birthday Professor x

You imagine you can feel the vibration of his phone. Feel it groan and shift in the pocket of his pants, screen lighting up. You wonder if he’s saved your name in his phone, or if a picture of underneath your skirt just popped up from an unsaved number. You try to focus on the article laid out in front of you. Stare at the messy under linings, at the notes on the margins made in your chicken-scratch handwriting, and wait.

It doesn’t take long to feel the heat of his gaze, almost paranormal in its effect. You can feel it’s weight – how it glides across your skin, sticky, viscous, and impossible to ignore.

When you glance up, you have to resist the urge to shrink into your seat. Joel’s face is a mess of emotions. Square jaw clenched tight; lips sealed. Stormy eyes that dart furiously between you and his lap, where you imagine his phone rests. Previously neat curls are now tousled and stressed over. You watch he glares downward, and drags tight fingers through the locks again. He doesn’t look up for a long time after that. Shoulders hunched forward, chin to his chest as he stares down.

Joel doesn’t stand up for the last 90-minutes of the seminar. Doesn’t smile, doesn’t joke. And he certainly does not look in your direction again. Not until the little hand on the clock strikes 11 o’clock, marking the end of his seminar, does he even entertain your side of the room. And not until the last student files out the door do you rise and meet him by the desk, a knowing look in both of your eyes.

You walk ahead of him the entire way to his office. Joel keeps an all-too casual distance from you, but you can hear the weight of his steps against the hardwood floors. Can feel his looming presence over your shoulder – sense his bursting need to get you alone. You only fall into step beside him when the office door comes into view, and then he’s herding you towards it, palm pressing flat against the small of your back in trivial, insistent shoves.

With a final glance over his shoulder, Joel nudges you inside his office.

There’s music playing inside. Soft waves of sound undulating toward you from the record player, and yet when he drags the door shut behind him you still hear the undeniable click of his key turning the lock. The window is closed, curtains half-drawn, and the air in his space is warm; almost stuffy from lying dormant and empty for hours.

Silently, Joel makes his way across the room to where his record player sits. Your eyes trail him faithfully, trained on how his shoulder blades shift like tectonic plates beneath the thinning fabric of his shirt. The urge to wander forward and pull it off him is intense. To run your nails down his skin and leave marks on his body the way he’s done to you.

“You think you’re funny?” his voice comes, a low murmur that you almost miss through the music. He lifts a hand and pulls the glasses off his nose. Tucks them carefully onto the table.

“Funny?” you reply, mouth suddenly dry.

Joel shifts the needle, restarting the record. Momentary silence swells into a bright intro, and he’s turning to look at you, thick arms folding across his chest. Your heart is a galloping staccato behind your sternum. A bead of sweat glides from the hollow of your throat down your chest, dampening the fabric of your shirt.

“Sendin’ me that picture of your pussy all wet for me,” he tuts softly. “Knowin’ damn well, I couldn’t do anythin’ about it.”

You swallow as he takes a step towards you. His hands drift to the front of his body, and you watch with bated breath as long fingers begin working at the silver buckle on his belt.

“Y’gimme nothin’ for weeks, don’t even pay attention during my fuckin’ classes, and then…” he pauses, almost glaring at you. But it’s not contempt in his eyes. No, it’s something else, something deeper—black brown peppered with frustration and lust and… There’s a lump in your throat. Something heavy that presses against your windpipe and makes it hard to swallow.

“You get off on this, hmm?” he asks, voice gravelly. “Torturin’ me? Makin’ me wait?”

“I’ve been busy,” you murmur, eyes fixed on where he drags leather through the beltloops of his pants. He discards it on the ground between you – an offering, an invitation.

“Busy girl,” he murmurs dryly. “And what about now? Now that I’ve got you here all alone… you gonna make me beg for it?”

Your pussy clenches at the thought of him on his knees, palms clasped in his lap, and it has that slick heat pooling between your legs. You want to denigrate him the way you feel he has done to you. Order him to kneel, to apologise, to fucking beseech you. But Joel’s eyes are dark, face drawn as he watches you. And you know that you’ve already gotten even.

Royal blue swims in your vision and you give him your best smile. Shake your head and say, “Not today, birthday boy.”

Something glints in his eyes, hands twitching by his sides. You mirror him, finally inching forward a step across the carpet. His belt is solid beneath your shoes.

He’s shifting in an instant, swallowing the final stretch of distance between you until his chest knocks into yours. The breath rushes from your lungs at the contact, and his hands are clasping your face, mouth slipping against yours in a brutal collision.

It’s rough, messy, teeth knocking and chapped lips. It’s the first time you’ve kissed since that night at the bar, and it consumes the both of you.

Joel’s body seizes yours, wraps around you and holds you to him, gripping the skin of your arms, your neck, your face, anywhere he can reach. Saliva pools in your mouth and wells into his, low sounds of desire being swapped back and forth between dripping tongues. There’s something desperate about it – how his lips bruise against yours. Something earnest and needy and urgent in the way his thumbs dig into your jaw, fingers tangling in the hair around your ears.

You’re gasping into his mouth, hands dropping to undo his zipper in a frenzied hurry. You can feel him behind the material, a firm bulge that becomes more and more evident as you work to get him undressed. His hands drop to your waist, your ass, and he’s pressing up, up, up the hem of your skirt, nails digging into skin as he squeezes and pulls you flush against him. Broad palms splayed across searing flesh, the tips of his fingers dragging dangerously close to where you’re aching for him. Your fingers shift from his pants to your own shirt, gripping the hem to tear it over your head—but Joel stops you. Bats your hands away and hoists you off the ground instead.

“Shit,” you huff in surprise, holding his shoulders for support as his arms tighten like a vice beneath your thighs and around your waist. He cuts you off with another sweltering kiss, and he’s moving. Stumbling blindly backward, a blurred mess of two people, all harsh exhales and clashing teeth, tilting back, back, back until his calves hit the armchair and he’s dissolving into it, dragging you down with him. Your knees sink into the plush fabric on either side of his waist, and his hands are on you, bunching your skirt up around your hips until your underwear is visible. He breaks the kiss and looks down quickly, lip curling upward as he takes in the sight of your barely covered cunt hovering over his lap.

“Fuck me,” Joel breaths. He cants his hips upward, clothed cock grinding against you. The pressure on your clit is exquisite. It has your nose scrunching up as your shallow breaths flutter the curls across his forehead. “Dress like this for all your classes?” he asks, fingers snapping at the band of your panties before his hand drops to cup your entire sex. “Fuckin’ filthy girl.”

“No,” you gasp as his palm settles over you. “Only—oh fuck, no, no, only yours.”

A rough sound escapes him, and he’s pushing the material of your underwear to the side. Thick fingers glide over the coarse hair on your mound, dipping in between your folds, right to the beating centre of you. You stare at his face while he stares at the swollen mess between your thighs.

“S’damn right,” he grunts. His eyes are ablaze. “Just for me.”

Your eyelids flutter closed, face warming at the words, and you’re whimpering as he rubs firm circles over your clit. Joel’s tongue presses against yours, coaxes your jaw open until it aches.

“So fuckin’ wet,” he marvels into your mouth. “Always so fuckin’ wet.”

A finger drops to your slick hole, slips slowly slowly slowly inside until the tip of it is curling against the soft spot inside you that he reaches so fucking easily. The air in the room is thin, his breaths a hot wash against your face, and a languid moan snakes its way out of your throat.

“Quiet.” Joel adds a second finger. It’s everything and nothing at the same time. Fingers so long, so thick – fingers that pale in comparison to his cock.

“I want you,” you gasp.

“Hmm?” he hums dangerously.

“Please,” your head tilts back, mouth ajar and thighs trembling as he works you open on his fingers. Joel lets out an impatient sound, and then his fingers drop from your swollen core, and he’s holding a condom. He must’ve pulled it from his back pocket, or between the cushions of the chair, but you don’t dwell on it. Don’t care where or how or why, too restless to be filled to ask; just give a pleased nod and lean back so he has enough room to free his cock from his pants.

The thick weight of it rests in his palm. He’s swollen and thick, the tip a deep rosy colour that reminds you of his flushed cheeks, his puffy lips, and has your mouth watering. And it’s wet with slick strands of precome that drip down his length to meet the movement of his fist.

“S’this what you were thinkin’ about?” Joel breathes shakily. “Got your cute little panties all soaked thinkin’ ‘bout my cock?”

“Yes,” you bite your lip. Watch him tear open the foil packet and roll latex down his length. You ignore the familiar urge to say forget it just take me I’m here and I’m yours just fuck me. “Please.”

“Fuck,” he hisses. Drags his cock against the dripping seam of your cunt. “Say that again.”

“Please,” you repeat, fingers twisting in the front of his shirt. “God, Joel, please.”

A sharp wet smack and a trembling gasp fill the air as he taps the tip against your clit, and then rests himself at the notch of your entrance.

“Show me how bad you want it,” he orders huskily, hands drifting to rest on the arms of his chair. “Go on, fuckin’—ride it.”

Breathing heavily, you reach down to grip him. holding his length still as you lower yourself over his lap.

There’s a stinging resistance there – your body pushing back against the size of him, against the angle.

Joel’s fingers drape against your clit and he rubs soft circles above the spot where you’re connected. You grip the back of the chair, face twisted in muted concentration.

“C’mon,” he breaths, jaw set with clear intention. “Fuckin’ drippin’ for me, y’can take it, I know you can. Yeah—yeah, that’s it.”

You sigh, body relaxing, and you’re pressing down, through. Sink down on him another inch, and then another, until he’s bottoming out inside of you and the skin of your thighs is flush with his pants and he’s making this rough, low sound from deep in his chest. Your mind goes blank for a moment, vision whiting out and lungs squeezing as you hold your breath and adjust to the sheer size of him, to the delicious burn between your thighs where he’s stretching you. And everything is soft and hazy around your mind, but you can see Joel’s eyes on you. The glassy, blissed out expression on his face as you clench around him. His hands drift to your waist, fingers groping bare skin underneath where he holds your skirt up.

“Fuck,” Joel pants. “So god damn tight.”

A pathetic whimper catches in your throat as you grind down, clit rubbing against the coarse hairs at his base. You’re so full, every sense heightened by the feeling of Joel, pressing you apart and making a home for himself inside of you.

Slowly—tentatively—you rock your hips forward, rutting against him in short, shallow movements. His hands encourage your body, guiding you along his cock as you gain confidence.

Soon enough your hips are lifting and dropping back onto him, over and over, tilting against him, doing whatever it takes to drag more hopeless sounds from his mouth. The music from his record player is a low, thrumming bassline in the back of your mind, every bright refrain of guitar punctuated by sharp gasps and elongated sighs.

Joel’s eyes shift from the space between your bodies to your face. Pupils blown, sweat beading along his forehead. Watching you, he seems to fall backward, into himself perhaps. His body goes slack against the armchair, head lolling back as he stares.

“Jesus,” he mutters lowly. “Missed this perfect little pussy.”

There it is again. Perfect, perfect, perfect. You clench around him at the word, rut your hips in a particularly rough movement that has Joel’s eyes rolling back and a guttural moan falling from his lips. His chest is heaving with ragged breaths, the tendons and veins in his neck on display as his chin tilts upward. A bright red flush has raised across the exposed skin of his collarbones, his neck. You lean in and lick the skin there, skirt your teeth across his pulsing jugular. Joel’s palm clasps the back of your neck, holding you against him. You can feel his thighs tensing below you, and then his hips begin to snap upward, meeting you thrust for thrust. The angle is harsh, and he's filling you to the brim, the tip of his cock bruising against the deepest part of you. You cry out against his skin, and the hoarse sound only spurs him on.

His wide palm shifts to hover at the base of your neck, slips beneath the collar of your shirt. Splays over your collarbone, dull fingernails grating against the skin above your breast, by your armpit. You lean back to let him see you, and his eyes drop to watch the way your hips roll over his lap. His finger snags on the strap of your bra and it snaps against your skin.

“Take it off,” you mutter urgently. Need to feel his skin against yours. Chest to chest. Heart to hea—

“No.” His hips snap up into yours faster, knocking the breath from your lungs. One hand grips the armchair, one his shoulder, trying to find some kind of leverage as he pistons into you from below. That fucking Birthday Boy pin is still stuck to his shirt, and blue flashes in the periphery of your vision. A particularly rough thrust has a loud moan parting your lips, but as soon as it begins Joel’s hand is crashing over your mouth, fingers gripping your face to silence the sound. Your eyebrows raise, silently questioning overtop his hand.

“Need to shut up,” he grits out. “Gonna—ohhh—gonna get us caught.”

You glide your tongue against his palm, taste the salt on his skin. Feel his fingers squeeze your jaw harder in response. And then your own hand is moving from his shoulder, fingers gliding across the sweaty skin of his neck, to slot over his mouth. You stare at one another, wild eyes locked, palms sealed over slick lips, and something fiery pulls taught between you. Liquid heat spreads through your muscles, tightening and loosening with every movement of his body against yours. You can feel the coil at the base of your stomach tightening. Your pussy throbs in a rhythm sympatico to that of your heartbeat, and your fingers squeeze around his face.

You can feel the vibration of Joel’s moans against your hand, and then his teeth are sinking into the soft flesh of your palm. For a moment you wonder if he’ll pierce the skin. Let your blood seep from the wound and spill across his tongue; a sacrificial offering. Drink you down, devour you as he lies within your body. You bite down on his palm in return, holding his gaze as your bodies grind and rut against each other.

Your back arches suddenly, and your forehead knocks against his as your orgasm steadily approaches. Joel’s eyes stay locked on yours. Your shoulders begin to lock up, thighs burning, but he doesn’t let up. His hips collide with yours at a devastating pace, and his free hand drops between your thighs. The pad of his middle finger circles your swollen clit, and you jerk against him, every nerve inside your body fraying and sparking.

Joel slurs a curse against your hand and then you’re coming with a haggard whine into his hand, walls constricting around him in a vice grip. You close your eyes only to discover that royal blue is stained on the inside of your eyelids, unavoidable. He is unavoidable. Even in the darkness of your own mind, he lurks. The smell of him in your nostrils, the taste of his spit in your mouth. You think you hear a garbled version of your name spoken into your palm, and then a stinging sensation rips across your ass as Joel starts to come, fingernails dragging across skin, as he grinds his cock desperately into your pulsing heat. Your eyes flutter open, body shivering with the aftershocks of your high, and you watch him. Admire the way his jaw softens beneath your grip, teeth retracting and leaving dull indents on your skin in their wake.

There’s a low pinch between your thighs. It rings out minutes later, a sullen ache, as you lift your hips and let him slip from your wet clutch. His hands fall from your body, and you suck in stale air, taking a clumsy step off his lap to stand shaking on the ground before him. There are circular white marks on his cheeks, lingering reminders of how you held him, smothering his wanton groans of pleasure. You watch them slowly fade to pink, and try to settle the unsteady breaths that wrack your frame.

Your fingers drop lazily to adjust your underwear, but then those hands are tilting your hips, encouraging you to turn until your back is to him. They slip beneath your skirt, find purchase on the band of your panties, and slide the drenched material down your legs. You step out of them, and gasp in surprise when he flicks your skirt up again. A shiver travels down your spine as he glides a finger through your swollen cunt.

“Joel,” you whimper, lips poised to say that it’s too much, too soon, that you need a second to breathe.

But Joel exhales a quiet groan, and something sharp nips the sensitive skin of your ass. Peaking over your shoulder, you find Joel’s mouth there, wet tongue soothing over the mark his teeth made on your flesh. There’s a slip of blue clenched in his fist, held protectively in his lap beside his softening cock.

You feel the vibration of something against your skin, a murmur of words that you can’t quite make out, before he pulls back. Retracts all points of contact, carefully removes the condom, clears his throat softly as he tucks himself back into his pants. The tell-tale sound of the moment drawing to a close. You swallow down that familiar tang disappointment and hold out a hand for your underwear.

And then Joel surprises you.

This soft, teasing smirk lights up his face, and Joel knocks your hand away. A huff of surprised laughter escapes you as he rises and wanders toward the desk. You watch, stunned into silence, as he drags open a drawer on his desk and tucks that blue slip of fabric inside. It slides closed with a definitive thud, and Joel falls down into his desk chair. His eyelids must be heavy, because they droop closed while you watch.

There’s a damp patch at the bottom of his t-shirt that has your face in flames, but he doesn’t seem to care, chest rising and falling with deep breaths as his body relaxes into leather. Your legs tremble as you grip the strap of your bag, taking that as your cue to quietly head for the door.

“Liked your essay.”

You pause with your fingers on the door handle. Turn to find that his eyes are still shut.

“You’re only saying that becau—”

“No,” Joel interrupts, the firm tone a sharp contrast to his lax frame. Eyes open now. “It was good.”

You hum quietly and rock back onto your heels. Unsure of what to say, you settle on offering him a small smile. He nods in return. The silence drifts back in, and you find yourself unable to speak until his eyes close once more.

“Happy birthday, Joel.”

So softly, so as to not disturb. And you aren’t sure whether he heard you or he’s already fallen asleep, but you do notice the corners of his mouth tilt upward ever-so-slightly.

Friday.

A crimson tablecloth covers the expanse of the table. Deep dark red, almost brown, reminiscent of old blood.

Plates smeared with remnants of a dinner long-past litter the surface, dirtied knives and forks stacked precariously atop them. Sauces have hardened to thickened globs on the China, sticky and stale and calling out to be cleaned. But the end of the evening is nary in sight, as Ian, your gracious host, deposits another bottle of wine onto the table.

“It’s a Cabernet Franc,” he slumps back into his seat at the head of the table, directly opposite you. “My parents brought it back from their trip to Bordeaux this past Summer. A gift.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes for the thousandth time in three hours. Pour yourself a generous glass and taste it. Say, “I’m more of a Merlot fan,” despite being drunk as all hell and having zero knowledge to help discern between different wine grapes.

Pete offers a supportive smile, and you watch as his friends light fresh cigarettes that send plumes of smoke to the already stained roof of Ian’s apartment.

Ian’s girlfriend Claire, a wildlife and conservation biology undergrad, is draped across the chair to your left. Eyelids half closed; her slim fingers grip a half-smoked joint for dear life, hand hovering dazed in mid-air between her thigh and her face. You think back on the words Pete spoke to you this morning in the kitchen – there’ll be another woman there, don’t worry. And Claire’s great, I swear. You try to reconcile his words with the girl beside you, and the dank smell of burnt weed drifting toward you through the air. She’d been high when she arrived, and after speaking a measly three words of greeting in your direction, had sequestered herself to a chair and smoked through the entire dinner. When none of the others batted an eye, you held your tongue. And their nonchalance became clear when, upon completion of the meal—overcooked chicken, sticky carrots, and undercooked parsnips—Ian and Henry lit up cigarettes at the table too.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to attend the dinner party.

They’re really cool, Pete had blabbered into his mug that morning. We do it every Friday. It’ll be nice to have you meet some of my friends.

Oh, Pete. Cool, they are not.

Henry and Ian, friends from one of Pete’s environmental engineering units, are filthy rich. The kind that you can smell from a mile away. The kind that radiates from their expensive clothes, their manufactured pearly teeth, their god-awful haircuts. The kind of rich boys that have their own apartments in Portland, paid for by a Mummy and Daddy who holiday in Europe every summer—a trip that Ian has managed to bring up at least once an hour since the moment you met him.

The one beautiful, stunning, gorgeous saving grace is that there is alcohol – enough to ply yourself with in order to deal with Ian, who asked what your postgrad was in and replied slyly, “Oh, a fun one.” Ian, who, upon learning about your translation internship in Greece, said, “Sounds like you had a marvellous vacation.”

In return, you sat like a good little house guest—ornament—and listened to the three of them talk ad nauseam about engineering. Consume glass after glass of wine, decline cigarette after cigarette; you get profusely intoxicated as they debate—interrupt each other—the validity of different pollution control policies.

It’s not until early in the fifth hour of the dinner that Ian raises the topic of philosophy.

“It’s curious, that’s all,” he says, cigarette hanging limply between wine-soaked lips. “That these old guys would just hang out all day and… what, talk? Never understood why people rave about Socrates and Aristotle all the time. Just a bunch of sad sacks that liked the sound of their own voices a little too much, if you ask me.”

You hum against the rim of your glass, decidedly unbothered. Nothing you haven’t heard a hundred times, in a hundred different ways. His dining chairs are stiff, and your ass is aching against the heavy mahogany. Pete shifts awkwardly to your right. You can feel him looking at you, trying to gauge your impending reaction, and your face remains placid, numb from all the wine rushing through your veins.

“Is that what your degree is like?” Ian asks. “A bunch of old guys who love to listen to themselves talk?”

And that almost makes you crack a smile. You respond with a lacklustre shrug that neither confirms nor denies his suspicions, and definitely don’t think about—

“I don’t know,” Henry slurs, shooting a pointed glance in your direction. “I used to date this girl—”

“You fucked her once,” Ian interrupts.

“—Rita—"

“Rose.”

“—and she studied all that shit. Used to tell me about that guy who, he, uhm,” Henry pauses. Belches loudly. “He said something about God committing suicide and like, we’re his body or—wait what is it?”

“Mainländer,” you nod, mildly surprised. “Yeah, it’s a creation theory of sorts – God commits suicide to create the universe, and we’re all living on his decaying corpse.”

“What do you think of that?”

“Of a potential God’s potential suicide?”

“Yeah,” Henry grins dopily.

You sigh. “Would’ve been cooler if he left a note, I suppose.”

Henry guffaws loudly, leans back until his chair is balanced precariously on two legs. The cigarette falls from his fingers to his lap, glowing orange cherry leaving charred ashy marks on his jeans. If you were more sober you might’ve said something. But as if were, you just laugh and drain the final dregs of wine from your glass.

“So, your degree involves stuff like that?” Ian asks then.

“Sometimes,” you hum, already bored with the hint of mockery you sense in his tone. “We study the societies as a whole, so yeah, there’s talk about philosophy on occasion.”

“And mythology,” he wiggles his eyebrows from across the table, fluttering his fingers in the air. “Must be fun to talk about made up ideas all day.”

Henry clears his throat roughly and plucks the cigarette out of his lap, all remaining hints of laughter filtering into silence.

You stare. Feel your hackles rise. Sharper this time, as a more acute sense of irritation floods your system. “You do know that Greece and Italy are real countries with real histories, right?”

Claire moves for the first time in fifteen minutes, takes a long drag from her joint. Exhales in your direction.

“Sure,” Ian shrugs. “But you have to admit, all the stuff about the Greek Gods is a little silly.”

You spare a quick glance in Pete’s direction and find him wearing a tight, awkward smile, looking at you with something apologetic in his eyes.

“Silly,” you repeat the word slowly. It as though your brain is working at a thousand miles a minute, desperate to catch up with the conversation. Constantly two steps behind wherever Ian is dragging you. And he’s giving you this smarmy, sympathetic smile that screams oh your poor thing, you have no idea how poor your future job prospects are, and you’ve seen that smile a hundred times, had this conversation a thousand more, and you can suddenly envision yourself reaching across the table and pouring your glass of wine into his lap.

“And what about the rest?” you ask tersely. The collar of your shirt scratches against your neck, and his cigarette is spilling ash onto the fucking table, and he’s an asshole, and you want to throttle him for getting off on belittling you.

“The rest?”

“The rest,” you nod. “I suppose I can admit that those gods are silly, so long as we’re also admitting how fucking laughable biblical Gods ar—"

Pete says your name sharply. You pause, seal your lips shut. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, the wary glint in his eyes a reminder that you’re a guest in Ian’s apartment. Ian’s apartment that was paid for by Mummy and Daddy; Ian’s apartment that has a crucifix above the kitchen entryway.

“More wine?” Pete asks smoothly. He’s rising from the table before you can respond, lifting the bottle and pouring a swell of red into your glass. Ian’s grin broadens, and a fresh round of irritation flares across the back of your alcohol sodden brain.

“Gimme a second,” you mutter, pushing your chair out. Your body sways as you stand, blood rushing to your head. Blinking the dizzy spell away, you grip Pete’s shoulder for leverage and make your way past him, shuffle down the hall and into a swanky bathroom. Your feet are heavy, mind a blur, as you collapse onto the toilet seat and rest your face against the cool tiled wall.

“Silly,” you grumble under your breath. “You’re fucking silly… asshole.”

Digging your phone from your pocket, you squint against its harsh light. Fingers fumble across the screen to your messages app. Tap Nora’s name, and hold your finger against the voice memo button.

“Nora,” you mumble, nose squished against tile. “It’s awful, you... I need you to save me.”

There’s a roar of laughter from the dining room.

“Why do men always have to be the smartest person in the room?” you continue as the sound dies down. The tile is cool against your skin, a welcome reprieve from the boozy flush that’s taken over your body.

“Pete is such an—” hiccup “—asshole for inviting me to this, I swear—”

Your phone hits the ground with a sharp clatter, and you curse, torso tilting forward as you reach clumsily for it. When you tilt the screen back to your face, a jolt rushes through you. You stare for a moment, dumbfounded, at the picture. There’s the soft sound of rushing water in your ears – your pulse, you realise.

“No,” you mutter, senses sharpening the longer you stare at the picture; your soaked blue panties. At the voice memo underneath said picture, that had certainly not gone to Nora. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, no.”

A moment of painful clarity comes when you make out the delivered sign below the voice message. Blurry eyes dance across the screen, vaguely deciphering the capitalised word MILLER. Panic swirls in your stomach, a churning writhing thing that feels a lot like nausea.

And then a text appears.

Are you drunk?

Your thighs are still numb from sitting for so long, so you slink dejectedly onto the floor and type out a response.

yes

that wasn’t for you

Ten minutes pass. You stare at the bright screen until worn-out tears prick in your eyes.

Doing okay?

tired

ate bad food, drank alotta wine

Probably time to go home.

cant drive

thought you hada phd? telling me to drunk driev

bad profeseor

Five minutes. Pete knocks on the door to ask if you’re okay and you assure him that you’re fine.

Where are you?

You type out the address carefully. Wash your hands in the sink and combs wet fingers through your hair to tame your appearance before skulking back into the dining room, where the vulture awaits you.

“I’m going,” you announce blandly. Claire is asleep, you think. Ian and Henry are playing an aggressive game of cards. Only Pete looks up.

“How are you getting home?” he frowns.

“Got a ride,” you mutter. Collect your things and give his shoulder a brief squeeze before slipping out the front door.

The air is cool outside the apartment building. A sharp breeze whistles through the parking lot, snakes it’s way beneath your clothes to curl against your skin. You welcome the chill. Rub lazily at the goosebumps on your arms as you glance at the last text from Joel.

Be there in 20.

You’re perched on the stoop when headlights finally appear. You curse, eyes smarting as you duck to avoid the harsh fluorescents, and then a black truck is idling a few metres away, engine purring. The passenger door kicks open and you squint, trying—and failing—to see inside through the darkness. Until—

“Get in.”

You’re barely in the car before Joel is pressing a bottle of water into your hand. The plastic is sweating, damp with condensation, and you sigh in relief. Press it against your neck, your face.

“Drink it,” he says sternly. You crack an eye open and look at him. He’s so close. Just a hairsbreadth from you, in a soft t-shirt and jeans. Glasses on the end of his nose. Fluffy hair—bed hair. There’s a soft frown on his face that dips and rolls in your vision. A downward tilt to his mouth as he puts the car in drive and tears away from Mummy and Daddy’s apartment.

“Hey,” you give him a lop-sided smile.

“Hey."

“Were you in bed?”

“You stink,” Joel ignores your question. “You chain-smokin’ in there? Christ.”

“Not me,” you huff in frustration. Take a small sip of water, careful not to spill on the seat. “They were smoking at the table. While we were eating.”

“Who was?”

“Pete’s friends.”

“Who’s Pete?” Joel grunts. He’s got a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, and his eyes are set on the road. Only when you don’t respond does he look back at you.

“Who’s Pete?” he repeats. Something stony in his voice. You smile.

“One of my roommates,” you offer. “Why? You jealous?”

“Quit it,” he bites out. “You gonna tell me where you live or am I s'posed to guess?”

Your smile spreads into a full-blown grin as you type your address into his phone. He snatches it from your hand and tells you to drink it all. You sit in silence for a while after that. Roll down the window and let your hand rest outside the car, fingers fluttering as the wind whips past them. He’s driving fast, green traffic lights blurring in your vision, and you feel your head spin faster, harder. Mumble under your breath.

“What?” he asks, voice too loud.

“Slow down,” you repeat, inhaling a deep breath. You feel him ease his foot of the gas instantly, a hand coming to hover over your knee.

“You feelin’ okay?” he murmurs.

“Mm.”

You let your eyes slip shut. Just for a second. A minute. And then—

“Hey.” A firm hand is on your shoulder. Thumb pressing into the skin beneath your collarbone. “Wake up.”

You jolt upright in the seat. Rub a palm roughly against your eye. Forget that you’re wearing makeup until you see black smeared across your hand.

Joel is saying something as you climb out of his truck, but you don’t hear it. Too busy pressing the door shut behind you and stumbling up the paved path to your house. Cool metal slides in your palm, numb fingers grappling for purchase. You scratch the key against the door’s aperture once, twice, and then feel it slip from your hand. A wave of dizziness hits as you watch it clatter against the ground.

“Shit,” you grumble. Bend down to pick it up. Rise and try a third time as silver swims in your vision. You hear a car door slam, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching, and slur another impatient curse under your breath.

“Let me help,” he says from behind you.

“It’s fine,” you protest, skin searing with embarrassment.

“C’mon.” Joel’s warm hand covers yours. Pries the key from your palm and unlocks your front door in a one easy movement. “Let’s get you inside.”

“I can do it.”

“Just let me help you.”

You practically float down the hall, buoyed by the thick arm around your waist, towing you along. In your room, Joel clicks on the lamp in the corner. Dim orange light envelops the space as you fall back onto your bed with a huff, shirt riding up to expose a sliver of your stomach.

“You need more water before you sleep” he says. “And a fuckin' shower.”

“Mmm,” you agree, eyelids fluttering. “I'm… just gonna lie here for a second.”

The responding sound is that of heavy footsteps disappearing down the hall. A fleeting rush of liquid somewhere in the distance. Your eyes close for a minute, maybe two, and reopen to find Joel’s broad frame hovering in the doorway, holding a glass of water and gripping the doorknob as he assesses your most private space. Your eyes are hardly open, but you can see him in the dim light. Glancing into the darkness of the hall and then back to you, slumped messily against the pillows. After a thick moment of silence, he steps decidedly across the threshold, and closes your bedroom door behind him.

As you watch him, you begin to feel a sense of startling clarity.

Joel Miller, in your house. Joel Miller, in your bedroom. Joel Miller… seeing you make a complete fool out of yourself.

“Oh fuck,” you blurt out.

“What?” Joel asks sharply. He rounds the bed in two quick strides, and then he’s pressing a glass of water on your side table and sitting beside you. His weight on the side of the bed has the mattress dipping, your body tilting onto your side to face his back. A wave of nausea strikes suddenly, and you suck your lips into your mouth. No.

“Y'oughta warn me if you’re gonna be sick,” he warns.

“M’not.”

“You better not.”

“I won’t.”

“Think you’ll need about ten of those,” you hear him say. “But one glass is a good start.”

But there’s already an ocean inside you. Rocky, white-wash waves that lap at the walls of your stomach, press against your lungs, and have your mind swaying even as your body lies still. Fingers, moving faster than your brain, seek purchase. Crawling across the sheets to snag your index through a belt loop on the back of his jeans. Chilled skin against worn denim, an anchor. Something sturdy to calm the eddying current inside you.

“What’re you—”

“Did you have a good day yesterday?” you interrupt, eager to distract yourself.

Joel is silent for a while. Keeps looking down at you until he finally says, “Yeah,” so quiet that your ears strain to hear it.

There’s a hint of something there that you can’t quite read. An emotion that he holds clasped in tight hands, just beyond your reach. You let it be, mind distracted by the soft orange light emanating from the lamp. When you close your eyes it glows against the back of your eyelids, vibrant swaths of sunset and marigold that make it hard to fall asleep just yet.

“Seventy, right?” you tease.

An indignant scoff rings out, and you squeak as a set of rough fingers pinch at the skin of your exposed stomach. The quickest touch, just a graze of flesh, before he’s pulling back. You laugh easily, open your eyes to look at him again.

“Careful now,” he warns. But you can see humour in the lines by his eyes, the quirk of his lip.

Your finger wiggles against his belt loop, tugging on the material there once. A tired patience in your eyes as you wait.

“Fifty,” he finally concedes, smile wavering as his gaze darts to the sheets.

“Mhm,” you murmur. Lips part as you let loose a low, impressed whistle. It comes out as more of a lacklustre exhalation of air. Joel’s shoulders are shaking with silent laughter when he meets your eyes again, a little more relaxed. “The big five-oh, huh?”

“The big five-oh,” he repeats simply. Tired as you are, you can see the question in his eyes. This searching, curious thing that rakes across your features, waiting to note any hint that you might be perturbed by the fact.

“S’nice,” you offer quietly instead. “Get any good gifts?”

The muscles in his neck strain, shirt tightening around his shoulders as he turns to look at you head on. Soft eyes gleam with something darker, teasing, as his lips pull into a lazy smirk.

“Sure,” he agrees, voice low, suggestive. “Good’s one word for it.”

Warmth floods your stomach and your toes curl. But you falter under the intensity of his gaze, a weary heat rising in your cheeks as your gaze lowers to his collarbone.

“Hey," you say quietly. “Look, I appreciate you helping me out tonight, I just…”

Joel’s eyebrows pinch the middle of his forehead, relaxation dissipating as he stares.

“Sorry,” you grimace, skin on fire. All of a sudden, your finger feels swollen in his belt loop, a promise that you can’t keep, the fabric branding hot against your skin as the words tumble out of you. “I’m just, I’m pretty wasted, and I’m grateful, you know, but I don’t think I can—we probably can’t fuck tonight—"

Joel says your name quickly. His hand is gripping your bedsheets, sun-kissed skin against pale yellow. “We’re not fucking.”

Unwitting relief courses through you, and you nod slowly. “Yeah, okay, I just wasn’t sure if you thought maybe… I don’t know—"

“Thought that if I gave you a ride home you owed me a fuck?” he asks plainly, expression tight. A dark, frustrated laughs spills from his lips and his shoulders are tightening, muscles shifting beneath his t-shirt. “That’s not how this goes, darlin’. So don’t go thinkin’ that way, ever, y’hear me?”

You blink, eyes wide. Suddenly alert. Feel the warmth in your stomach spread to your chest, your thighs. Darlin’.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Yeah, that’s—how does this work then?”

The indent between his brows only deepens as he gazes down at you.

“You call the shots,” Joel says. “I thought that was well established by now.”

His brown eyes look so soft in the dim lighting of your bedroom. Honeyed and golden in the warm orange haze. You stare at them for so long that you lose track of whether or not he’s answered your question. Forget everything that isn’t the lines beside his eyes, the dark speck of his pupils, the wild hairs of his eyebrows. You feel yourself drift closer to sleep again.

“Pretty,” someone says faintly. You. “You’ve got brown eyes.”

“Jesus.” He’s still frowning.

“Brown-eyed girl,” you sing—slur.

“Alright, Van Morrison,” Joel grumbles, the lines in his face softening. “Drink up.”

You do as he asks, gulping down half the water while he watches. His fingers rest cautiously at the base of the glass in case you drop it. And when you’re finished, he takes it from your hands, stands. Another wave crashes inside you when the mattress shifts in the absence of his weight, and you drift, unmoored, onto your back again.

Joel is staring at you. Towering over the bed, hands jammed awkwardly against his hips. His presence so large, so looming. He crowds your small space, his size ensuring that there is no room for another; only you and him, you and him, you and him, and you call the shots. You squeeze your eyes shut, determined to block that thought out.

“I think I’ll go to sleep now,” you mutter. “If that’s alright with you, teach.”

Joel says something, but it’s a far away sound. You tuck your face further into your pillow.

You think you hear him say good night, or some version thereof, but you don’t hear him leave. Don’t hear his boots on the hardwood, or the creak of your bedroom door. Don’t hear his truck start up outside.

And when you wake, alone, you find that droplets of rain have settled on your windowsill, marking another wet September morning. But you don’t frown as you drag a sweater from your closet, nor as you draw the curtains and clamber back into bed. Don’t yearn for the warmth of Summer as the dull ache of a hangover ricochets inside your skull. For you can smell Joel on your sheets; can still feel his presence lingering in the corners of your room.

And that’s warm enough for you.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @sinfulrock @bbyanarchist @murc0cks4eva @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @daisies-yellow @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida @mendessi @love-the-abyss @myrealmofchaos @a-roving-woman @punkshort @gracie7209 @whichwitchwanda @fellinfromthetop @bitchwitch1981 @suzmagine @lmariephoto37 @harriedandharassed @cumberpegg @tonysttank @ourautumn86 @my-tearsricochet @shotgun-shelby @5oh5

thank you for reading! x [and idgaf okay i was gonna put that birthday boy pin on him no matter what shitty excuse i had to come up with]

#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #ALP #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut

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lilac-5ky · 1 year

Note

TOJI AND VIRGIN READER!

The Favor (officeAU!Toji x virgin!Fem!Reader)

Plot: The first day you met Toji, he told you everything on his CV was a lie. Three years later, he's your beloved work husband, the one you go to when you decide it's time to lose your virginity.

Tags: Office!AU, loss of virginity, fingering, oral sex (f.receiving), agee gap (reader mid 20s, toji mid 30s), soft!dom toji, dirty talking, praising, pet names (sweetheart, darling, kid, wife, whore, slut, etc), aftercare, toji catches feelings after fucking you, daddy vibes without the word, friends to lovers dynamic, size kink, lube handjob, MDNI obviously.

A/N: Combined your idea with my intense need to write an office!au. Hopefully this turned out to your liking and you forgive me for writing this much filth LMAO

Masterlist | AO3 | Requests

For promotion, for demotion, for raises and for cuts, in overtime and in bureaucracy, until layoff do us part.

In the insufferable reality of Japanese corporate life, a work spouse exists to shoulder the burden of overdue deadlines and never-ending stacks of paperwork. A husband who, in spite of not being bound to you through marriage, has vowed to stick by your side until either one of you breaks free from the shackles of human resources; your work husband.

You met each other on your first day at the company, both of you passing interviews for the same lowly position of staffing coordinator.

Your first impression of candidate number 9 was that his suit wasn’t really his but was likely borrowed from someone whose bicep wasn’t the size of their thigh and calf combined. Your second impression was whispered to your ear as the dark haired man rose from his chair and paraded down the interview room, nonchalantly letting slip that his bachelor’s degree along with every bit of qualification on his CV had been faked.

Whether that was a declaration of war or a testament to his unparalleled confidence, you wouldn’t know until a week later when you were assigned to the same miserable office corner, sharing a desk, a title, and a secret whose value skyrocketed once you became acquainted with your work place’s imposing policies.

One word would get both him and his knowing smile fired, but the moment you shook hands with Fushiguro Toji and promised to get along, you signed yourself up for a long-lasting partnership.

Over the three years you worked together, each grew out of their initial post. Your all-nighters paid off and you got promoted to an HR assistant, meaning you didn’t have to memorize everyone’s coffee order any longer, while Toji flourished as the department’s eye candy.

He’d ceased pretending that his broad shoulders could be boxed in second-hand suit jackets, and instead opted for rolled-up button-ups with the occasional monochromatic tie—a fit that put his sculpted physique into full view and threw the entire female populace out of balance.

He was an objectively good-looking man who bordered on great. The type to be conscious of their effect on others, cutting corners with suggestive glances and smiling his way out of otherwise unforgivable report oversights. Every woman in the office was openly in love with him. Even your supervisor referred to him as the team’s ace and discreetly unbuttoned her cleavage in his presence.

You realized then, they’d sooner let go of you and your hard-earned master’s, than part with the department’s mascot.

Despite the differences in skill and appearance, your sense of kinship survived the passage of time. Perhaps you’d subconsciously fallen victim to his charms, but whenever you saw his thin brows furrow and his right foot threaten the unresponsive copy machine with a killing blow, you couldn’t look away. This is a favor; you’d remind him at every formal email and resume assessment you helped put together.

And favors are repaid.

While Toji couldn’t assist with payroll processing, he always had the scoop on who cheated on their spouse with whom and whose bra was filled with padding—which you didn’t find all that interesting, but turned into a fun game of guess the cheater during dull 9 a.m. meetings.

On mornings when the alarm was hurled at your bedroom wall, he made excuses for your absence, and on work dinners, he saved you a seat away from all the grabby drunks.

Toji was far from a good person. His mere presence in a company you’d broken your back to get into was a mockery of your efforts. He led others on and got into muffled shutouts over his phone behind the water fountain, where he thought no one was listening in.

That’s how you found out about his eight-year-old kid and the custody battle with his allegedly “psychotic” ex-wife. He didn’t know you knew because you never told him. Everyone had skeletons in their closet, and it wasn’t your job to sort his out. As far as your work marriage was concerned, he was a good husband who diligently fulfilled his marital duties—all except one, which you feared the pretext of a favor wouldn’t begin to cover.

“Here’s your poison,” you slid the scalding coffee cup in his direction, mindful of the papers on his desk. “Black Americano with four shots of espresso and no sugar to compliment your wretched dark soul.”

Toji raised an open palm in your face, motioning for you to wait until he was done punching words on the keyboard and pressed save file. Your eyes were drawn to his fingers, threaded with faded scars that followed the expanse of veins down his wrists, dipping deep below the white cotton of his shirt. Another unsolved mystery you hadn’t gotten to the bottom of.

He brought the cup to his equally scarred lips, defying the steam spirals with a long-drawn sip. “Unnecessary intro, but thanks.” He gave a lazy smile. “Aren’t ya a sweetheart?”

You dropped your beverage on your side of the desk and swiveled your chair nearer. “Think you could do said sweetheart a favor?

“A favor, huh?” His breath was laced with caffeine. “Depends. If you’re asking for a buck, ‘fraid I’m all dried up till the end of the month.”

So he isn’t planning on paying for his order.

“I make more than you.”

“Doesn’t mean ya can’t find yourself in a pickle.”

You shook your head, stealing a sip of liquid courage from your mocha. How did people ask those things again?

Your contemplation lasted long enough for him to turn his head back to work, filling his home screen with enough tabs to distract you from his unfinished round of solitaire.

“What are you doing after work?” Your voice cracked into shards of uncertainty.

“Nice try.”He sneered. “You dug your own grave taking on the grievance procedures from the union. Climb out on your own.”

“Not everyone offloads their work load on others, Toji.” You rolled your eyes, scooting even closer to make sure only he’d be the recipient of your next words.

He sensed something was off because he wasn’t pretending to input random lines into the search bar anymore, and while he studied you, you studied him back. You had your doubts about this, and you weren’t sure he was your type either. You liked your men responsible and mature—like Nanami from sales, who would’ve been your first choice if your legs didn’t turn into jelly the minute you saw him.

Toji was the safe option. You talked to him. You joked with him. You were used to him, and more importantly, you trusted him. All the lack of qualifications in his job, he made up for with his experience in that other field you were a stranger to.

“Hey, kid.” His voice mellowed down with a beat of concern, a heavy hand landing on your shoulder. “If you’ve gotten yourself into trouble, I—”

“Please have sex with me.”

“Make yourself at home.” He nudged your back into the apartment, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you were following even after he’d pulled away.

Moving forward felt hard—as if you’d forgotten how to. You weren’t sure whether to wipe your shoes on the mat or stash them in the corner. You didn’t know which foot to put forth and what set of slippers to pick. Every decision suddenly mattered a lot more than it should.

You’d never been to Toji’s house before, and up until a few hours ago, you couldn’t fathom standing at his doorstep either. You weren’t that close so as to meet outside work hours, but you were about to get a lot more up close and personal.

The way he accepted your request with a mere, almost offensive, okay still boggled your brain. You’d considered every question he could possibly ask, painstakingly compiling your list of answers like a witness called to the stand, only for him to not speak a word of it—not even when it was just you and him and the solitude that came from enjoying lunch a hundred stories above Tokyo’s bustling streets.

He seemed to have forgotten all about your plans, up until he pulled over at the bus stop where you were waiting and stuffed you in the front seat of his car.

“You coming?”

Kicking your heels off your feet, you skipped straight through the hallway, your head turning left and right as if you were at an art gallery. You didn’t know what to expect, but a high-end apartment in the heart of Minato wasn’t it. Neither your income nor his justified an inox steel kitchen with mahogany wood flooring—let alone a direct view of the illuminated Tokyo Tower.

You were so bedazzled by the city skyline that you nearly missed the hastily buried socks peeking beneath the kotatsu, along with the cobwebs his untouched bookshelf flaunted. Much like his suit, his apartment was handed to him by someone whose love for both their books and spouse had run out.

“Whaddya think?”

Toji stalked behind you, his reflection in the glass becoming more defined with every step he took. He was holding something in each hand—two glasses whose orange liquid sparkled in place of the stars.

You turned around slowly, accepting your share with a small smile on your face.

“Your ex-wife has good taste.”

He blinked, taken aback for a split second. He wondered what gave it out—the pink slippers or the flipped-down picture frames you’d yet to notice—and somewhere down the line, he got the wrong idea, beaming with an unwarranted “Thanks.”

“I meant the house, not you.” Although you couldn’t blame him for his inflated ego when every female practically dropped their panties at his feet. Especially not when you were there to do the same.

Your teeth clicked sharply against the glass as you tilted your head and sipped on what tasted too sweet to be whiskey. Apple Juice?

“That’s not alcohol.” You stated.

“Ever thought of becoming a detective?” Toji padded toward the leather couch, spreading his thighs across the two middle cushions.

“Ever thought of becoming a comedian?” You retorted, squeezing in to his left. The furniture would’ve been big enough to fit you both, had he been considerate. “So what’s the joke? Too young to be drinking, or hard liquor ain’t for pretty girls like me?”

“Nah.” His head dropped on his shoulder, both propped against the headrest. “Need you sober for what’s about to happen.”

You mirrored his stance, your knees touching as you folded them on the smooth leather. “And what’s about to happen?”

“I think we both know, or else ya wouldn’t have followed me here.” He wet his bottom lip, pretty green eyes clouding dark.

A certain dryness gnawed at your throat, the pink color of his tongue appealing to you more than it should. You weren’t interested in Toji, but the strands of black that fell over his forehead painted a cuter image than you were used to seeing at the office. You wondered what he’d look like with his hair pushed back, all slick from beads of sweat rolling down his temples. And when you realized you couldn’t pin any of those thoughts on the alcohol, you took another sip, hurriedly averting your gaze.

“How many have? Women from work, I mean.”

You were surprised to hear him state “None,” and even more surprised that he claimed not to mix business with pleasure. You could think of at least three coworkers you suspected he fooled around with. At least so they bragged in the ladies’ room.

“So why bring me home?”

“‘Cause you asked.” Toji said gruffly.

“You fuck every woman who asks you to?”

“Only the cute ones.”

Your cheeks flushed red as you reminded yourself to take his words with a grain of salt. He wasn’t interested in you any more than you were in him. This was simply platonic—almost transactional. He’d do what you asked, and then you’d pay him back with another, mundane favor like sorting mail in his stead.

You finished your drink, your eyes licking up the remaining drops at the bottom of the glass. “This line works?”

Toji shrugged. It probably did. He probably didn’t even have to open his mouth for it to work. While the moment you opened yours—

“Want more?” He motioned to your glass. You nodded, extending your arm, only for his expression to turn sour. “I’m not your fucking maid. Bottle’s on the counter.”

You sighed, getting up so he wouldn’t see your eyes roll at his comment as he shoved his glass in your face. Who’s the maid now?

Aimlessly, you strolled into the kitchen, taking longer than necessary to fill both your glasses. You didn’t mean to start snooping around, but you couldn’t help yourself from seeking a sign of his presence in his picture-perfect apartment. Houses typically reveal something about their residents, and while the display of crystal glasses spoke plenty of his ex-wife, there was no evidence of Toji’s personality.

You weren’t interested in him—just curious. That’s what you kept telling yourself as you picked up a frame stowed away behind an empty cookie jar.

Four smiles greeted you, the brightest belonging to a young girl with elongated bangs, holding a boy who strove to copy his sister’s expression. Their parents stood behind them, a beautiful woman with long brown hair tucked in a ponytail blissfully leaning against the shoulder of a Toji that seemed less happy the longer you processed his strained features.

“She left.” The proximity of his voice startled you. The frame danced between your fingers until he snatched it, his jutted-out chin betraying his annoyance. “Took the kids, left the house and me behind. Ain’t that what ya wanted to hear?”

You shook your head, about to drop to your knees and beg for forgiveness on his parquet. However, the hostility that rose faded as soon as he threw the picture in the first open drawer and returned to the living room, leaving you to fetch your drinks. Then you remembered the phone calls. They weren’t on good terms.

“Having kids isn’t bad. Nor being divorced.” You handed him the glass, assuming your previous position on the couch. “Doesn’t ruin your cool guy image whatsoever.”

“Who said I care about that?” Toji snorted.

“Then you wouldn’t care if anything slipped in front of your fan club?”

“Mind your own fucking business.” He hissed. You chuckled. Sharing a couch wasn’t that much different from sharing a desk, and sharing two secrets was the same as sharing one.

“What are your kids’ names?”

“Kid,” he corrected. “Megumi.”

By the name, you assumed it was the girl. You were wrong. You tried to ask something about his son’s mother, but somehow you couldn’t find one right thing to say, since the woman in the photo wasn’t the boy’s biological mom either. You were lost. The more cryptic answers he gave, the more unanswered questions you ended up with.

Your plan took a backseat while Toji trod the sensitive topic of his divorce to that “bitch,” who’d taken his kid from him out of spite. The custody battle was tipped in her favor, courtesy of a legal system that’d rather see a child separated from its biological parent in the face of cold cash.

Megumi only visited every second weekend of the month, which explained his father’s eagerness to leave early on certain Fridays and come late on the following Mondays. He didn’t need to say this, but you understood his reasons for cheating his way into the company. A proper job looked good in court, and whatever earned him those scars was far from proper.

Both your hands emptied as you finished your second round of drinks. Your head would be buzzing if there was alcohol involved, but you didn’t miss it. Toji was hard to engage, and talking to him felt like running into one brick wall after another. However, working out of those dead-ends was preferable to clinking glasses with some guy who wouldn’t quit boasting about his Ivy League diploma or his burning passion for vocaloid singers—both cases reflecting the sad reality of blind dating in your twenties.

“So.” Toji drawled, a burly arm stretching behind your head. “Why you want me to fuck you? Can’t find good dick in the market?”

Your mind went blank in an instant, every excuse and curated version of the story vanishing when you needed them the most.

“I—um,” you cleared your throat, while your eyes scanned over his body.

There was a lot to take in: the fine lines of his pecs, highlighted under the taut white fabric; the black tie hanging loose around his unbuttoned collar; the hem of his shirt that dangled out of his fitted pants, exposing the tiniest window to the happy trail on his lower abdomen; his slim waist and his thick thighs; the curve of his bum; and the light touch of his fingers closing around your shoulder. You traced the same route of landmarks, finding yourself returning to his achingly handsome face and the playful curiosity in his eyes that had you shifting in your place.

All the reasons for someone to want to be fucked by this fine specimen of a man were right there, and you picked the most inclusive one. “Because you’re hot.”

The ends of his scar drew apart as Toji smiled a wolfish smile. He inched closer, your back hitting the armrest when his right hand caged your body between his arms and the couch.

“Bullshit.” A tickle from where his nose brushed against yours, and a thud from where your heart dropped inside your chest. “You think I wouldn’t know if ya had the hots for me, kid?”

“N-not everyone throws themselves at others.” You tried to reason.

“Maybe. But attraction comes with signs.” The side of his hand grazed the corner of your eyelid. “Batting your pretty lashes,” he trailed off, rough knuckles softly tracing the apple of your cheek. “Blushing your cheeks red.” The pad of his thumb swiped down your cupid’s bow. “Biting your lip raw.” He continued with his eyes, glancing at the skirt that lay high above your knees suggestively. “Pressing those plushy thighs together.”

“You do none ‘f those things.” Toji accused. “So why the sudden itch? Indulge me, and I’ll pound that pussy till ya scream.”

The promise of his words forced a gulp down your throat as your thighs involuntarily rubbed together. You started to reconsider. You didn’t want to fuck him just because any man would do. You wanted to fuck him because it was him and because every patch of skin he made contact with begged to be touched again.

“I’m a virgin.” You admitted, voice low, and stare even lower—utterly defeated as he flinched away in surprise.

You wondered what he’d say. A virgin at your age? was the most common response, followed by Is something wrong with you? and typically concluded with You sure you’re not a lesbian?

Everyone preaches how precious innocence is, but no one wants the pressure of taking it. What men really want is a woman who is both a saint and a slut—a woman who can suck their dick ten inches deeper than they can provide while simultaneously shying away from every insinuation of sex.

The problem is with the poor souls who belong in either category without adhering to the other, because squeezing your legs shut is just as faulty as spreading them open for the public.

Seeing as Toji remained silent, you realized you wouldn’t get an answer, and maybe it was for the best. You didn’t want to put a strain on your work relationship. It’d take a while to look him in the eye again, but in a month or two, you’d laugh about the incident over a cup of soggy store-bought noodles like nothing happened.

“Sorry for bothering you.” You mumbled as you picked up your last vestige of dignity and stood on your feet, only to be anchored by a set of fingers that tightly gripped your wrist.

“Sit.” His unfaltering gaze confirmed the sincerity of his command.

You thought about breaking free and dashing to the door. You thought about how much it’d actually hurt to let him ridicule you, and the tears started to build up on their own. And when you didn’t do as you were told, he towered over you with a palm that was eager to cup your cheek, tilting your face in position for him to print a rough kiss on your parted lips.

“I said fucking sit.” Toji repeated, while you contemplated how someone who spews words so harshly could have such soft lips.

Sheepishly, you fell back onto the couch, expecting him to follow suit and not kneel on the floor like he did. “What’s the story?” He asked, large hands taking hold of your knees and slowly rubbing them apart.

“What makes you think there’s a story?” You prayed that he couldn’t feel your heartbeat bounce across your body as if it were an empty vessel.

“With you, there always is.” He licked his lips as his eyes settled between your thighs, darkening with lust the second they were met with the damp patch in the middle of your pink lace knickers. “Wanna hear all about it while I feast on your little hole.”

“You’re not gonna fuck—”

“First things first, sweetheart. Gotta make sure y’are all prepped before I stuff you with my cock.” Toji smiled, pushing your skirt until it rolled over your stomach. “If ya gonna scream my ears off, better be from pleasure, mm?”

You nodded, watching as his slender fingers slid your underwear off and temporarily—you hoped—shoved it in his back pocket. You saw him marvel at the sight of your exposed cunt and wished you could peer into his brain to hear him curse himself for not coming up with this idea first.

You looked so pretty down there, your puffy clit safely tucked behind its hood while your lips shimmered with your wetness—the scent so intoxicating his pants tightened into a size too small.

He was already considering his next favor. Now that the door was open, he’d make sure it never closed again. Bending you over the copy machine was the front-runner. Getting a print of your tits squeezed against the scanner while he blows your back, his palm muffling out the pathetic sounds you let slip—he’d be lying if that wasn’t what he fantasized about whenever you refilled the ink cartridges for him.

“Ya ever touch yourself here?”

His thumb swiped over your clit, drawing an incomplete circle that ended with light flicks around the sensitive nub. Left and right. Up and down. Searching for the combination that’d have your body answer in place of your mouth, and when your hips bucked forward, he knew exactly where to press.

“Y-yes!” You whined, more as a reaction than an answer to his question.

“And ya ever push a finger in?” He continued, teasingly dragging his thumb between your lips.

“Just one. Rest hurt.”

“Mhm, bet they do.” He hummed as he tasted you on his finger, exaggerating the suck with a soft pop. “Ever had a guy kiss ya there before?”

Toji gave his own answer as he buried his head in your pussy, the sticky mix of his saliva and your juices trickling down your entrance while he made out with your clit. You struggled to keep your thighs apart, the raspy grunts at the back of his throat vibrating against your mound in joint symphony with your breathy moans. His tongue felt so good soaking on your slick that you felt yourself melting into a pool of pleasure.

“Get talkin’ or I’ll stop.” He warned, slowing down with broad, near-maddening, strokes that occasionally dipped between your folds.

“I wanted to w-wait,” you panted. “Wanted to fall in love first, but then I waited too long, and—ngh, fuck, right there!” Toji pinched your folds apart, his stare lecherous as he sucked the puffy pearl into his warm mouth.

Your body jerked in response, the leather squeaking hard beneath your bared ass. You weren’t sure at what point interest surpassed curiosity, but the signs were all there, manifesting as heat in your cheeks and blood that threatened to drop from your chewed-up lip.

His jade eyes narrowed into a shrewd reminder. Putting your thoughts in order was impossible, but if you stopped, so would he.

“Everyone ‘round me started d-doing it, and I was the only one l-left.” You tried to regulate your breathing through your nose, your throat turning hoarse from all the strain. “Went on a bunch of blind dates, but the guys were t-turned off, and—how the fuck are you so good at this?”

Toji chuckled, the pink tip of his tongue parting your lips in a languid motion that made you shudder. “Let’s just say my marriage didn’t fall apart ‘cause of this.”

He mounted your knees atop his shoulders and neared your entrance, with his middle and ring fingers ghosting over the softness of your pulsing slit. “Gonna use my fingers now. Be a good girl and cum on them, will ya?”

The first digit pushed forward, much thicker than any of your fingers. You felt so full already—nails digging into the cushions, while he thrust in and out of your walls, curling the lone pad to find a spot so sweet it elicited a moan of equal sweetness.

“Ya did well to come to me.” He continued, his raspy voice effortlessly sexy. “Kids these days don’t know shit ‘bout pleasing a woman.”

The veins on his wrist flexed along with his scars as his ring finger joined in the action to defy your previous claim. There was no pain. Only immense waves of pleasure leaking through your squinted eyes as hot tears beaded your eyelashes.

“Doin’ so good for me, darlin’.” He praised, repeatedly hitting the swollen bundle of nerves inside your throbbing cunt, bringing you closer to the edge with each thorough pump.

“Maybe I was wrong, hm? Maybe that’s what ya wanted all along. I know I did. Fucking wanted my hands on this pussy since I first saw ya fidget with your little skirt at that interview.”

“Toji—”

He dived between your legs again, his hand maintaining the same erratic pace even while his tongue hungrily lapped at your clit. Your head lolled back, the tension in your guts rapidly building up until you came undone, your pussy clenching and creaming around his calloused fingers.

You’d never finished so hard on your own, the tremors of your orgasm ringing in your ears and jogging your memory.

Your first impression on that day was sadness, right? Sadness over the wedding band the handsome stranger hid in his pocket right before entering the building, thinking no one else caught sight of it, and embarrassment about how your impure thoughts for a married man followed you into the shower every night after work.

“Atta girl.” A present-day and very-much divorced Toji licked his lips into a smile. “Their fucking loss.”

His knee pressed into the gap between your thighs as he stood on his feet and prompted you to open your lips. You took his fingers in your mouth, licking your cum off while your chest heaved with one labored breath after the other.

“See how good ya taste?” Toji cooed, rhythmically fucking his fingers on your tongue before removing them. “Sweeter than honey.”

“Thought you didn’t like sweet things.” His coffee order came in mind.

“How ‘bout we make an exception?”

You weren’t sure what got into you when you grabbed him by the tie and pulled him forward, kissing him with such vigor you’d never experienced. You always thought of losing your virginity as checking an item off your bucket list. You didn’t imagine you could ever lust after someone the way you currently lusted after Toji, your desire escalating into an all-consuming need.

His tongue moved as skillfully in your mouth as it did when it explored your pussy, dancing with your own rather than overpowering it. You liked kissing him. You liked kissing him so much that you wanted to incorporate it into your morning hellos and your evening goodbyes, dragging yourselves into an endless loop of returned favors.

Without breaking the kiss, Toji hoisted you up from the couch and held you in his arms, his palms finding the perfect excuse to grab onto your ass while he carried you across rooms you didn’t care enough to see. A door creaked behind your back, and soon you were tossed onto a large body of endless softness—a bed, you realized as Toji hastily shoved a couple of pillows behind your head.

“Ever heard of that stupid nickname that goes ‘round work?” He whispered in your ear while his fingers worked on undoing your blouse. “How they call ya my work wife?” His palms slid around your ribs and back to unhook your bra. “Guess this makes it our wedding night, heh.”

You rolled your eyes, holding back a chuckle. “Don’t you feel any shame calling me your wife when you’re about to fuck me on your ex-wife’s bed?”

“My bed now, and what I say fucking goes.” He stripped your body from every garment, salaciously gawking at your nude figure on his (her) satin sheets.

You didn’t feel too bad about showing your body, but his stare was almost intrusive—especially with how he hadn’t lost a single article of clothing himself.

“Such a gorgeous body, wife.” He dragged out the final syllables, hoping to elicit a reaction separate from the soft pants you let out as he caressed your soft curves—both much softer than the bedding you were splayed across, liquid velvet in his hands. “Such a good little wife, saving herself for her husband to deflower.”

“Why thank you, husband.” You chortled, cupping his face in a deep kiss.

You knew Toji was the right choice. Not because touching him felt like winning the lottery or because he knew exactly what he was doing, but because he could’ve made this situation a lot more awkward and didn’t. He made your first time feel special, granting your wish of doing it with someone you loved, even if it was all an illusion that’d fade come tomorrow morning.

You almost thanked him as he began to unbutton his shirt, the display of corded muscles and pale scars breaking the dam between your legs. Whatever your type might’ve once been, was no more. It was all Toji, with his clenched fists lifting the weight of his brawny, veiny arms, his shoulders so wide you could ride on them, and the self-complacent smirk your stupefied expression brought to his lips.

“This ain’t an exhibit, sweetheart.” He mocked. “You can touch all ya want.”

He didn’t need to say it twice for your palms to roam his body, starting from his neck and slowly gliding down his torso, feeling out the tension in his steeled abdomen. His skin was smooth, except for the few unruly hairs leading down to the bulge in his crotch, whose sight alone made you lick your lips and buck your hips into his. You wanted to see the rest of him.

“You are the hottest divorcee I know.” You smiled earnestly.

“Ya know lots of ‘em?” Toji cocked his head while you shook yours with a giggle. “Don’t be so flattering.”

“I do have a great-aunt…”

“Oh, please.” He groaned, allowing you to laugh it out. He didn’t like how his bottom lip twitched as he struggled to contain a chuckle of his own. He’d long sworn off girls that made his heart skip a beat.

“Think y’are ready?” You nodded. Repeatedly.

Digging his knees into the bed, he stretched an arm toward the nightstand, fishing for a bottle in one of the drawers. Lube, you realized as he settled it beside you to remove his pants, flinging them along with his boxers to the other side of the room.

Your eyes widened at the sight of his cock, an expression that didn’t look too good considering fear was about the last emotion you should be experiencing.

He was packing in every sense of the word. Long, thick, and definitely heavy as it hung above his hefty balls, the reddened tip pointing at your entrance. It wasn’t like you’d never seen a cock before. Porn existed, and so did perverts in trench coats, but comparing either one to him was both disrespectful and a huge understatement.

“Don’t go cold on me now, mm? It will fit.” He read your mind, taking your hand in his and slotting the bottle in your fist. “Prepped you so good for it. You’ll see; you’ll like this more than my fingers.”

“Promise.” He added, squeezing your hand reassuringly. You chose to trust him, and when he brought your other hand to his shaft, you knew what he was asking you to do.

The bottle spurted a thick glob of liquid that your palm smeared all over his cock head. Toji watched with bated breath as you stroked his length, each thorough pump of your delicate hands warming him up.

He deserved a pat on the back for not cumming right then and there—the distinction between the clear lubricant and his creamy precum becoming more prominent while he throbbed and twitched in your tight grasp. He thought about how much tighter your walls would be, milking every drop he had to offer while you writhed beneath him, with little ah-ah-ah’s and Toji please’s complimenting the squelching of your tight virgin cunt.

“That’s enough.”

He pulled your hand away and cracked the bottle open once more, rubbing a small quantity between his fingers and then scissoring them in your walls. You clung onto him, your hips chasing after his touch. Cute.

“Eyes on me, darlin’.” Toji leaned close enough so that your field of view was consumed by his face. “Keep your eyes on me, breath in ‘n’ out, and it won’t hurt one bit. I’ll take good care of ya.”

Your legs were parted as he ran his cock between your folds and pressed down firmly, his hand moving to your hip once he guided the first inches inside.

Toji was the first to react as he sank in deeper, about two-thirds in when he felt your pussy snare around him like a vice, the warmth of your walls making him curse under his breath. His last fuck was less than a weekend ago, and yet he felt like one of those loser kids he scorned earlier. He’d forgotten just how good being inside a virgin was—a one-and-done deal that would cease to amaze him after he fucked you into his shape.

“All good?” He remembered to ask, taking your strained yes at face value.

Small creases formed over your forehead, contorting your expression into a pained wince the further he sheathed himself into your wet cavern—and when his words weren’t enough, his lips took over. He kissed your worries away and cradled your breasts in his palms, doing everything in his power to keep the pain to a minimum as his hips met with your pelvis, bone against bone and skin against skin, until he finally bottomed out.

A whimper cut your kiss short, and for a second he feared tears would stream from your glassy eyes, not considering the possibility of your shaky legs wrapping around his back and your swollen, pretty lips calling out his name with a stuttered moan.

“F-fuck me, Toji. Please—fuck, I need you so badly.” You begged, dropping the pretense of composure.

“Yeah? Want me to fuck your little virgin pussy?”

“Y-yes, Toji, yes!”

“Yes, what, doll?” He teased. “Say it.”

“Please be my first, Toji.”

His grin turned feral in a heartbeat, your words stirring something in him that he could not explain.

He was prepared to spend the entire night fucking you at a snail’s pace, buttering you up with praises, and pampering you as if you were a golden egg goose, but now he didn’t have to. He could fuck you exactly how he pleased—fold your knees onto your stomach and hold down onto your thighs, pussy all exposed to where he could watch his cock pound into your hole and hear each and every strike of his balls against the fat of your ass—and you would take it.

But when he looked down and saw the ring of red that’d formed around his shaft, he had a change of heart. Maybe another time.

Planting his fingers on your hips, he withdrew slightly, purposely aligning his tip with the roof of your cunt. He didn’t have to go hard to make you happy. All he had to do was hit that one spot, and you’d be coming back for more. Having a steady thing wouldn’t hurt either. It was convenient—certainly better than burning gas driving across town just to pick up some random slut he’d tire of five minutes into her over-the-top screams. At least you lived close by.

With lavish strokes, he rolled his hips against your own, dipping forward to grind his pubic bone against your mound. It didn’t take long for the stimulation to get overwhelming, your hair falling from your strict work up-do all over your sweaty forehead while you thrashed around the sheets, huffs escalating into whiny moans.

“Sh-shit, gonna cum, Toji.” You managed, though there was no real need to tell him.

Your body responded perfectly to his, wetness gushing over his cock while your walls tightened impossibly around him. He fucked you through your high, wrapping his arms below your shoulders and muting your blissful sobs to chase after his own release. Your breasts were squeezed against his pecs, pebbled nipples making him regret not giving them the proper attention.

This wouldn’t be the last time. Your body was like a playground to him, and he sure as hell wasn’t done playing.

“My fucking work wife.” Toji grunted possessively in your ear, nipping at the lobe. Only his lower half moved, a constant snap of hips bouncing through the room as the second lewdest sound after the ones you traded. “Wanna send your ass crawling to work on all fours. That’ll show them, mm? Show them who fucked you so good. What a—fuck, what a good slut y’are f’me. From a virgin to my whore—hah, make ‘em all so jealous.

“Shhhhit, ya like that?” He interpreted your clenching as he willed. “Wanna start a rumor? Fuck on every desk, in every stall, and have everyone know?”

“Yes, Toji! Yesyesyes, want everyone to know you f-fucked me.”

You went back and forth between panting out his name and chanting yes, as those were the only two words you could mindlessly repeat. He wasn’t joking about making you scream. You were on the verge of passing out, so engrossed in ecstasy that you’d lost track of how many times you’d climaxed.

“‘s too much, T-Toji!” You begged, burying your head in the curve of his neck and breathing in his musk. You were both so sweaty, glued together like two puzzle pieces.

“One more, sweetheart. ‘m so close—wanna feel ya cum with me.”

He toyed with your clit until he started to fall out of pace, drawing his cock out before it was caught in the spasms of your pussy. A hefty load burst in his fist as he jerked himself off to your fucked-out form, hot drops of cum spraying your stomach like creamy droplets of rain.

Neither of you realized how soaked the sheets were until Toji left the bed, his eyes not faking their surprise. You didn’t seem to be in that much pain, and yet the amount of blood and wetness was at least equal to carnage.

Would it be a dick move to task you with his laundry?

He spared you a glance, not bothering to hide his smugness. Your legs were still trembling, your breasts puffing up in your struggle to breathe through your agape lips. He was tempted to tell you off—something cheesy like, “Want somethin’ in your mouth that badly?”

“Hey, kid. You are not dead—are you?” He asked jokingly, laughing through his nose as you found the strength to flip him off. Now that the effects of your orgasm were wearing off, so was your obedience.

“How’d ya like your first time?” A thumbs-up this time. “A’right. C’mere.”

The longer he let the stain settle, the more of a bitch it’d be to remove it. That’s what Toji told himself as he picked you up in his arms and carried you into the bathroom, returning to the bedroom only to roll the sheets into a ball he’d later discard in the washing machine. He wasn’t avoiding looking at your cute face, and he definitely didn’t think of your weakened infant-like state as cute when he scrubbed your thighs clean with a wet towel either.

A weird image sparked in his memory, one from the many nights you’d spent working side by side at a dimly lit office. He remembered you ordering him takeout and looming over his head like a vulture while he went neck-to-neck with the vicious spreadsheet program. You insisted on tutoring him, claiming your dressy outfit was a result of canceled plans—even though you kept stealing glances at the clock—and staying with him until the wee hours when you didn’t have to.

You really were a sweetheart, an angel, and all the other terms of endearment he used on you knowing they made your lips stretch and your eyes sparkle. But that wasn’t for you to know.

“Toji?” Your voice jolted him out of his reverie—frail, but not as frail as the hands that wrapped around his own to snatch the towel.

What could he say to make you leave without any harsh feelings coming back to bite him in the ass?

He pondered his options while you bent forward from where he’d seated you on the counter by the sink. You held his limp dick in your palm, gently wiping the dried blood and cum that clung to his girth.

It was sickening how quickly he stiffened, all ready to ram it in your pussy and fuck you with the mirrored view of your ass in the backdrop, but what truly made his guts churn was the little cheeky smile you beamed with. He stood by his words. Virgins were the biggest sluts.

The towel dropped to the floor as you pointed his cock at your entrance, and that was all the convincing he needed.

“Fine.” Toji sighed, pinning your wrists on the cold quartz counter top. “You can stay the night, but mention work and I’m kicking ya out.”

This is definitely not how you say it.

You made it to the office the next day after a brief raid on your apartment. Going to work in your previous day’s clothes screamed, “Look at me! I got laid!” And as fun as creating all those fantasies with Toji was, you could do without earning “Hated Employee of the Month.” Everyone hated you for being friends with him as is.

He waited until you’d changed into a presentable outfit and dropped you off a block further away for precaution. You shared your final kiss in the car, wasting a whole fifteen minutes sucking each other’s faces off like teenagers at a drive-in. Dating a colleague was against the rules, and you didn’t want to date Toji either. Not that he’d asked. Not that you expected him to ask.

Losing your virginity was a lot more complicated than you thought.

He counted on you to bring coffee, and you would have if an intense craving for spicy tuna onigiri didn’t win you over. The convenience store was right around the corner, and its coffee was honestly not that bad if you squinted your eyes and fooled your senses a bit.

You grabbed two onigiri from the stand—in case Toji felt like stealing yours—along with an apple juicebox, both as a means of thanking and poking fun at him. You paid for the items and walked to the office, nauseated by the butterflies that swarmed in your stomach. You should’ve really eaten something instead of having your final hookup at the breakfast table.

A few people greeted you in and out of the elevator to the forty-seventh floor, some commenting on your looking less gloomy than usual, but that was about it. The world spun the same way it did even before you had sex. No big change or mind-blowing epiphany; just a euphoric feeling of accomplishment that dissipated the moment you saw the stack of documents waiting on your desk.

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg.” Toji magically sprouted from behind, loaded binders balanced on his arms—the same arms that’d lavished you with affection all night long. “They had a fall out at one of the subsidiaries, and now we gotta clean up their shit.”

And back to reality we go.

“Where’s my coffee?” He searched for a cup on his desk.

You pushed your desperation aside and held the juice to his face with a smile that turned awkward the longer he took to accept it.

“It’s um, you know.” You stepped closer, placing the box atop his mountain of files. “Thank you.”

“Also, got you this, so don’t even think of taking mine.” You balanced the onigiri beside the juice and plopped down on your chair, an antsy, blushing mess that refused to meet his stare until he looped an arm around your headrest and attached his mouth to your ear.

“Care to do me a favor?”

#Toji x reader #toji smut #fushiguro toji #toji x y/n #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #fushiguro toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fanfiction #jjk fanfiction #toji <3 #toji headcanons #toji fic #toji x you #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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gloryy-vs · 2 years

Note

i LOOOVE your acc so much, so when i saw that you’re taking nsfw requests, i just knew you’ll be doing the requests’ justice 😮‍💨 that neteyam with a breeding kink one was wheeeew.

could i request a reader who grew up with neteyam her entire life, the both of them used to telling each other everything. but neteyam doesn’t know how to tell her about his first wet dream being about her, and now he just feels awkward when she’s near bcause it’s all he can think about. reader picks up on him distancing himself and follows him out one night, not knowing he was trying to find a quiet place to masturbate. reader keeps on prying him since she’s been annoyed at the fact that he’s been avoiding her and now he’s telling her to leave, so neteyam ends up bursting and just telling her the truth. idk, like change up the entire thing if you want, i honestly just want more neteyam content but in your writing 🫶 thank you!

u horny mfs.

yes. but what if we turned this into mutual masturbation

characters: 21 yr old neteyam x 20 year old na’vi!reader

rating: NSFW. masturbating, wet dreams, praising

a/n: just so we’re all on the same page. neteyam might be “ooc” because these are characters that aren’t showcased in a nsfw or horny way, so their kinks/sex life is up to interpretation. that’s why i have people send requests in. 🫶🏻

not proof read cus i’m lazy.

It was painful being near you, knowing what went through his mind everytime he saw you walk by, bend over or emerge from the crystal waters. Seeing you soaked from head to toe was insufferable for Neteyam. You could tell something was bother him, especially by how he didn’t hang around you as often as you two used to when you were much younger. Every time you’d come by to join the group you could feel the awkwardness radiating from the 8 foot man, and he’d shuffle away after making up some kind of excuse.

You two were almost never alone, her make sure of it, immediately walking in the opposite direction and cursing himself silently if he saw you try and get near him. His confidence and slight ego broke down whenever he was around you. You were quite frankly sick of it. During the clans hunting time, you eyed the male Na’vi , seeing him abandon his siblings to a farther area on the shore. While he walked off you excused yourself from your newly made Metkayina friends, following after your old friend.

Neteyam found himself alone for a bit, the memory of the wet dream he had of you flashing through his head. He leaned himself against the rock, palming at his hard on and picturing you, bent over in front of him teasingly, begging for his warmth. His fantasy was cut short with the sound of your voice coming closer. “Nete? You hear..?” He heard you call out, immediately yanking his hand away from himself and crossing his legs over while standing.

“Y-yeah. Here. What is it? What’s up?” He said quickly, trying to dismiss your presence. You noticed he couldn’t even look you in the eye. his face contorted in thought.

“What’s up with you? You never hang around me anymore..” You trailed off while your hand found a spot on his toned and muscular arm. He drew a sharp breath, raising his head while looking down at you. “Just gotta get some space. New environment I guess.” Neteyam tried to convince you, but you still felt off. You squeezed his arm reassuringly , causing him to lick his lower lip anxiously while avoiding your eyes again. He squinted them shut and struggled to look at you again. It was eating him alive.

“Are you sure? I mean, we’ve always done like, everything together. I’m here if you need me, whatever you need me for I can do it.” You said, trying to look at him muscled body and soft lips without making it obvious. The way he presented himself as nonchalant and almost rough had you entranced. Neteyam rolled his eyes impatiently, gripping your shoulders tightly. He lowered his head to level yours, staring into your eyes.

“I need you. It’s fucking eating at me looking at you right now as if I don’t dream of your body every night.” He shook you lightly, searching for the right words. “Everything about you just fucking draws me in, thinking about you bent over, underneath me, on top of me. Everything.” He said.

He let go of you, rubbing his face in his hands, visibly tensed up from how hard he still was. Seeing your eyes widen at each sentence he said, it drove him crazy how you didn’t even seem opposed, with your mouth hanging open slightly. You stood there, watching him fight a battle within himself. You’d be lying to him and yourself if you didn’t think of similar scenarios, except not as often as the male did. You leaned against the rock behind you, fingers hesitantly playing with the knots in your loincloth. Neteyam stared at you, his hands dropping from his face. Your eyes dropped from his to his waist, his hard on clearly visible behind the thin fabric. It only entice your more.

“I told you I’d help you, didn’t I? Let me help you, Nete.” You said, holding your chin up while letting your cloth drop to the sand by your feet. He looked so relieved, thankful you didn’t think of him as a pervert. Neteyam removed his own cloth, surprising you with his girth and length. A perfect mix of both. You eyed the clear liquid pooling at his tip, biting your lip at the sight. Taking your index and middle finger, you brought them to your blue lips, sucking them and covering them in your saliva before taking it down south. Rubbing your clit in soft circles, you lifted up your right foot to press against the rock behind you, showcasing all of yourself to him. Neteyam looked desperate, already pumping his cock slowly, matching the pace at which your fingers were moving.

Seeing his reaction to your body grew your confidence and so you slipped a single finger inside of your gummy walls, leg twitching in response. You couldn’t resist, and added in another digit to press against your g-spot as you fingered yourself, watching Neteyams pace quicken as well.

“Fuck, you look so beautiful.” He said softly, but his eyes appeared lustful, staring at how your fingers intricately pumped in and out of you. Neteyam gripped his cock, his hand easily pumping him from the amount of pre cum collected from before. He angled his head, eyes darting from his cock to your soaked cunt. He imagined stretching you out, hearing you small whimpers and gasps as he easily slipped inside of you. The thought was too much, and his hips bucked aggressively. Your hand started moving faster, bringing your left hand over to run fast circles against your hard clit. Your body was growing overstimulated, a peaking feeling growing in your stomach at each thrust.

“I wanna feel you Nete, I wanna feel you deep in me.” You said, head thrown back as you fought your bodies demands to stop before you bursted. His breaths became more vocal, the sound of his hand stroking his thick cock grew louder as well. “Cum for me baby, please. Let me see what that pussy can do. I cant wait to feel you wrap around this cock like the slut you are.” He grew hungrier for you, eyes staring intensely at how fast your fingers were moving inside your already swollen hole.

That’s what sent you over the edge, your fingers burying deep inside of you as you orgasmed all over your hand. You whined, grinding your clit against your hand to come down from the sudden climax. Releasing a string of moans, you saw Neteyam suck in air between his teeth, pumping himself as fast as he could before his own cum spurted out, some landing on the sand while the rest dripped down his hand from the tip. His hips bucked into his hand, all while he tried to catch his breath. His golden eyes raked over your body, eyes meeting yours. You seemed hungry and impatient, and he knew just from that. This was far from over.

#avatar neteyam #avatar way of water #neteyam imagine #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #avatar #avatar jake #avatar loak #neteyam #neteyam x you #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam smut #avatar smut #avatar x reader #avatar angst #jake sully smut

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celestie0 · 5 months

Text

does anyone wanna be on taglist for this gojo x reader fic? 🧚‍♀️✨

edit: first chapter is out!!

HI BABES after much deliberation i am starting a new gojo fic series :””) I PROMISE I WILL STILL BE ON THAT KICKOFF GRIND but ugh i just had too many ideas and i just neeeeeeed to start this series rn

it's based on this concept idea i had (changed a few things though. also, if you commented on this post, i'm alr gonna tag you haha so dw ab commenting under this one too)

here’s a bit of info about it:

ᰔ title. TO BE DECIDED STILL

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader

ᰔ genres. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, lots of jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, suburban shenanigans; btw gojo in this fic is in his early 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, n have been taking care of your sick mom ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation with him is worth any amount of money.

some side quests. your ex bf is a cop and is determined to prove your marriage is a sham because he's jealous, it appears gojo's love life history is not as simple as it may seem either, also there will be lots of secondary angst because of reader's mom's sickness :'') i will really be delving into a lot of the struggles of having a sick family member (in this fic, alzheimer's & cancer)

here is a little teaser.

and here's another lil teaser i posted yesterday

BUT ANYWAYS yeah please comment below if you'd like to be on the taglist!! tysm for your support :'') the first chapter will likely be posted tomorrow (4/19) if not saturday (4/20 eyyyy)

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tteokdoroki · 2 years

Text

OCTOBER 1ST. VENOM

"eyes. lungs. pancreas. so many snacks, so little time."

♱ — katsuki bakugou + monsterfucking.

♱ — synopsis; katsuki’s been a bad fiancé recently, he tries to tell himself that it’s all in his head ( literally ) and when his neglectful behaviour nearly ruins your engagement dinner — he has no choice but to make it up to you, with the help of a little symbiotic friend.

♱ — length; 5K

♱ — warnings; please read for your own safety! mdni, smut 18+, heavy smut, characters aged up to 20s, mentions of eating people, monsterfucking, dry humping, tentacles, overstimulation, pussy jobs, public sex, clothed sex, oral sex ( f!receiving ), pegging ( m!receiving ), fem!reader, venom!bakugou. not beta read !

♱ — notes; waaa!! hello everyone, welcome back to kinktober!! im so happy to be participating again, i hope you all enjoy whats in store for this year. starting with this baddie !! - m.list ₊ kinktober m.list ₊ taglist 𓆩♡𓆪

“just eat her…katsuki…”

“no, you can fuck right off.”

“why not? she is unpleasant…katsuki…its not like we like her anyways…”

for the first time that night, katsuki indulges the mangled voice in his head— listening to the symbiotic alien that sludges through his voice and his body. venom is right. he hates his mother in law, soon to be mother in law, but the practicalities of it all aren’t what matter. red eyes drift to the devil’s incarnation of a woman, traditional yet rude and deserving of a beat down— katsuki thinks. if he could just take a bite, crunch down on the woman’s skull and swallow her whole, all of his problems would be solved.

“goodness, bakugou,” the woman leers with a nasty curl of her sweaty upper lip. “i’m paying for the wedding not for you to be dressed like a complete slob— you look awful, and at my only daughter’s engagement party!” she drones on and if venom were to murder this woman right now, she really would deserve it.

“see? you are a loser, bakugou.”

he wasn’t dressed that bad, sure, it wasn’t the burgundy blazer and pressed white shirt you’d told him to pick up from the dry cleaners on the way home from work but— it was smart casual, a nice pair of jeans and a smart jacket. you liked that. that’s all that mattered.

bowing his head slightly, bakugou wordlessly apologises before fishing himself out another glass of mercilessly alcohol free fruit punch. “‘m sorry ma’am—“

he cuts himself off when your name flitters from between your mother’s lips— the syllables that usually sound so pretty when strung together now ugly tainted by the evil woman. “she deserves so much better than you,” she doesn’t ease up on reminding bakugou of how lucky he is to have bagged you. to love you. “better than a wannabe journalist on a motor cycle.”

“die… pewny crazy woman—“

bakugou feels the familiar crawl of the venom symbiote across his skin— sharp-edges, dangerous claws reaching out for the wicked woman to snag her head off when he controls himself, controls his little friend and forces his stare back to the catered pile of desserts.

“venom,” katsuki is barely hanging onto his sanity, voice tainted with exhaustion. it’s like having a child constantly on your back, begging for things that aren’t acceptable for adults. he wonders how he’s been able to put up with this, how you’re able to put up with him. since becoming one with the alien life form— katsuki bakugou has been nothing but neglectful of you…turning his back on you during nights full of romance because he’s scared venom will hurt you, he’s missed cake and wine and menu tasting for the wedding because venom craved a little something meatier and sometimes even more human than whatever you’d been excited to try for your big day. katsuki forgets calls, doesn’t reply to texts— cycles into the night to take care of his little problem when he should be looking after you.

katsuki’s been insufferable; meaner than usual, flakier than he should be and he knows that he’s hurting you— not loving you properly like he should. blaming venom alone would be the easy way out. yet you stayed, you kept that ring on your finger and put on your best smile, because for some reason you still found it in your too big of a heart to love katsuki even when he didn’t deserve it.

still away with his thoughts, blonde is absent to notice venom popping out— a creepy, sticky black head, to greet a curious child after some of the sweets at this swanky engagement party. “want to play hide and seek? the mouth is a good place to start.” venom’s attempt at a coo is far from comforting, rows of razor sharp teeth covered in alien slobber only frightening the little one more.

“fuck off venom, cut yer crap out or i’ll—“ bakugou waves a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose only to be pulled from his revere by a whimpering child ( now identified as your five year old nephew who still hates his guts ). “oh shit—“

“would you mind not cursing in front of my kid?” your brother hastily appears from absolutely fucking nowhere. shindou is far from impressed, hates bakugou’s guts as does the rest of your family and if he had his way, the blonde wouldn’t have a leg to stand on at the alter with you. “yanno, you might wanna behave yourself tonight? it’s important to my ma, to my sister so if you could—“

there’s a burning rage that flickers through bakugou’s veins only heightened by the alien that makes a host out of his body, and it only makes it harder to fight off the urge for manslaughter. “we should eat him too…katsuki…he is getting on my nerves. i am sure he will taste like chicken.” the alien growls from the deep corners of his mind.

“they do not taste like chicken you stupid fuckin’ lug.” bakugou grunts back.

and to the outside world, the shitty excuse for a man is talking to himself— getting shindou’s back right up. “what did you just call me?”

“stay outta this, man. s’between me and the dumb fuckin’ alien voice in my head.”

insane. katsuki bakugou’s little alien friend makes him look absolutely insane.

and before he can get his ass beat by your brother— you swoop in, slightly flushed from flickering between guests of friends and family all night, there’s smile lines in your makeup, you’re tired in the eyes and you’re still the most beautiful person in the room to bakugou. his heart races when you’re close enough for him to smell your perfume, putting a safe distance between your fiancé and your brother.

you’re angry with him, bakugou can tell by the heat in your gaze when you get shindou far enough from the dessert table— he can feel it in the way it burns against his skin in broad waves, see it in how you twist on your heel so fast your dress, pretty and off-white like a bride on her wedding day, rides up enough to catch a glimpse of your thighs. it’s shameful to admit, but seeing you so full of rage turns him ( and venom ) on.

“what the hell is going on with you, katsuki?” you bark at him, hands on his chest enough to make the blood rush to his cock, swelling in the pants he’d just managed to throw on for tonight’s event.

“n-nothin’ sweetheart, ‘m just—“ fuck her katsuki. she’s angry, venom goads. she is pretty when she’s angry. we should fuck her. the blonde shakes his head, trying to rid himself of vulgar thoughts— clearing his mind, focusing on you and how your chest heaves, with annoyance, tucked away in that tight fitting dress that hugs you in all the right places, as you look up at your fiancé expectantly. fuck. “the only one that’ll be fuckin’er is me, you dumb fuck alien.”

it’s embarrassing, whatever’s gotten into your fiancé— because tonight was supposed to be special, the one night before your wedding that you could trust him to behave and not make that familiar prickling warmth coil in your core at his vulgar words. your eyes widen in shock and you push again at katsuki’s chest with furrowed brows.

“kats, please—“

shindou squeezes down on your nephew’s ears, hoping it’ll block out whatever filth spills from your lover’s mouth. “that’s my sister! you dipshit, get a grip—“

“fuck him too, katsuki…”

“yo—“ you turn around again, spitting venom ( no pun intended ) at your brother too as you grasp at bakugou’s wrist to pull him from the banquet room you’d booked for tonight’s celebrations. “go check on ma, please? i’ll deal with him.”

and you exactly that, nagging the man’s ear off as you tug him to the bathroom— tears glittering as pretty as your engagement ring in your eyes under the artificial light. you’re nearly broken at this point, months of being treated so differently, akin to trash possibly, by the man you love most being unleashed on him and the symbiote that sits comfortably in his frame unbeknownst to you.

“i’m sick of this kats,” you might as well be screaming at this point, your whiny and emotional voice is loud and noisy to the alien. it echoes through the cubical you’ve locked yourselves in and it cranks up the annoyance within venom— and you barely notice katsuki trying to keep him down. “i’ve been good to you all these years, haven’t i? i’ve loved you well enough for you to know that i deserve better than you but i just can’t—!”

the final straw is when you bang your fist against the cubical wall, the noise rattling the symbiote inside your lover, forcing ink black tendrils to take over his host body and a scream to tear in the base of your throat as katsuki transforms into something you don’t even recognise.

the man towering over you now is built in a suit of sticky, obsidian black— white, and cloudy slits peer into yours in a way that sends shivers down your spine and has your thumping heart leaping into your throat. this isn’t your man, this isn’t your katsuki. horror seeps through your body, takes residence in your veins as the monster grasps at you with claws and tentacles instead of your fiancé’s slightly calloused hands. it dwarfs you more in comparison to bakugou, it makes you scared looking at what it’s made of him as thick slime slides up and down your pretty, blemished skin in ripples.

“don’t scream.” the rasp you’d come so accustomed to, the one that makes your breath hitch every time he speaks, the one that fills you with butterflies despite the roots of fear wrapping around your heart. it’s him, your katsuki. the tendrils of black have peels back from his pretty face, his ruby gem

eyes send a flicker of comfort through your soul.

but then he’s gone again and the dark mask takes over— screaming at you at a pitch close to making your ears bleed, and you’re scared again, close to screaming too. it, pools like an oil slick over your mouth, suffocating you like a bird on the surface of oil laden water…but you like it, even as if claws ironically gently at the insides of your mouth.

“but we like it when she is screaming. katsuki. we are dirty minded.” the creature addresses you, some kind of twisted affection reflecting in the white of its eye.

“venom, i swear to fuck—“

it’s… katsuki’s… venom’s tongue, long and pink darts out to smooth over your face though you quiver, body toppling over with liquid dread. it’s warm, wet and shouldn’t send a spark of lust down your spine making you let out a muffled whimper of confused arousal.

“mouth…breasts…cunt…so many snacks…so little time.” venom pins you against the wall, pouring over you and invading every inch of your shaky frame— smothering you as it slips under your dainty little dress while you squirm about in it’s hold.

eventually, the ink black peels away from your mouth, only when your muted screams die down. “t-this? katsuki? this is what’s gotten into you?” he’s relieved to see that you’re still filled with anger as you gulp in fresh air between ripping him a new one, he’s completely aware of your growing arousal too. “a parasite! you’ve let a fucking parasite take over your body and ruin our engagement night and now—“

venom, is offended, however. “—i am not a parasite!” he growls. “i am venom, and you are mine.”

“ours…fuck, i mean mine.” katsuki comments, but he doubts you can hear him through the layers of teeth venom wears while arguing with the symbiote itself. it’s a back and forth, but even during that your fiancé can practically smell how your cunt drools into your barely-there panties— from fear or desire, he can’t care to tell. you’re so wet, and between dealing with venom and not seeing you during wedding prep, the blonde can’t remember the last time he fucked you good and proper.

it’s been ages, and you look too fucking good tonight.

“we should just take her…katsuki. flood her insides with seed. she is asking for it, like a hunk of meat waiting to be devoured….”

you squirm against venom’s web like hold, “don’t talk about me like i’m not here you piece of shit! give me back katsuki—!”

“her pulse has quickened. she is hungry for us.” the voice of venom roars from inside his head, equally as desperate for you as katsuki is. katsuki, in combination with the symbiote, surges forward to kiss you with greedy lips and to press his saliva covered and syrupy tongue into the heat of your mouth so he can silence you. it’s big, hefty as it fills you up until there’s drool pooling out and sitting on the corner of your pretty lips. “i like her. more.”

and then you moan, it sounds like a symphony as your mouth swells with the thickness of the slimy tongue exploring your throat and rolling over your tongue. “we’ve been neglecting’ you, hah, sweetheart?” bakugou, your fiancé, groans against your spit slicked lips— smiling at the way you choke from his tongue retreating from choking you down your oesophagus. “wanna take care of ya, been letting you work yer ass off f’this weddin’,” venom’s strawberry tongue slithers out again like a snake seeking out its pray, leaving a sloppy trace over your neck as if to taste the salt that shimmers like crystals on your skin.

“i’m getting hungry as well, katsuki.”

they’re both starving for you, depraved of a meal that is your cunt with your panties tucked between swollen folds. “i-if you think…that you can make it up to me.” your speak hoarsely, throat still raw as you pant and catch your breath, “k-katsuki if you think i can forgive you…”

“let us fuck you, baby. i just— we just wanna feel you. c’mon sweetheart, you trust me yeah? y’missed me so much i know,” all three of you feel it, the way your pussy throbs against venom’s beefy and wet thigh from where he’d shoved it snug between the pair of your own.

“d-did… i did. m-miss you, oh fuck!” you stutter out as thick digits belonging to your fiancé— thickened even more by venom, brush against your hip, dip beneath your skirt and panties to glide up and down your pussy. bakugou teases your entrance, scissoring two fingers inside of your warmth while you ooze into the seat of his palm and grind against him with wanton. “fuck me. both of you, p-please kats,” you beg, riding his fingers until they’re pulled out of you, coated in juices.

your body admits it before your brain does— that you’ve missed him, he can tell from how your chest naturally arches into the eager hunting path of katsuki’s mouth. your flavour reads sweetness, like salted caramel due to the sweat on your skin— his, venom’s tongue runs a course down your body, the sweetheart neckline of your dress rough on his taste buds before he drools between the swell of your pretty tits. he leaves trails of saliva every inch of you possible.

a patch is licked down the front of your dress— katsuki barely fighting off sharp teeth desperate to tear through the front of it so he can kiss the softness of your tummy. instead, hands large enough to crush a skull stick to the dips and fat at your waist, the doughy-ness of your darling thighs he’s missed so much.

the black veil of venom peels back as katsuki’s head dips under your flimsy skirt— and he practically moans, huskily at that, upon seeing the crotch of your underwear darker by your ever growing wetness. “must’a really missed me, sweetheart,” a wildfire of lust sweeps over katsuki’s ruby red eyes and he coos deviently, nose nudging against your pulsing clit before venom’s tongue happily comes into play this game of sinful chess. he moves just a touch, mouth pulling wide to split at the sides much like a snake unhinging it’s jaw, and latches onto the entire length of your silken slit. his tongue greedily pokes at your hole from over the soaked material— sucking until your juices stream against his taste buds. you’re like a drug, ecstasy— sending waves of dopamine over katsuki’s brain.

burning desire trickles into bakugou’s bloodstream at an alarming rate, bursting through his veins and shaking about in his lungs at every little whimper that bubbles wetly on your messy lips— these soon turn to gasps, straining for air as if you’re drowning when your fiancé peels back your wet layer of clothing, nearly tearing completely through it with a life threatening talon belonging to venom, so he can expose your hot cunt to the cool air of the bathroom. he laughs, breathless and giddy against your mound before dragging his tongue along it— kitten licking your addictive little core just to see you twitch and writhe against the wall venom has you pinned to.

you’re heaven on earth for a greedy, predatory creature like venom.

but you’re the universe to a regular man like katsuki bakugou.

your cute little clit is his next stop, pointed teeth only just latching onto the pleasure bud before your fiancé rolls it between the two sets until your nose scrunches adorably and your eyes shoot back into your skull. “i think the little human likes this.” venom’s deep voice inches down your spine, hits deep in your core just with its vibrations— and even he is amused with how wet, you’ve become. gushing like a fruitful stream, pouring liquid gold straight into katsuki’s awaiting mouth, down his chin and painting his cheeks until they shine like treasure.

there’s an uneven rise and fall to your chest as you’re fucked by two entities— you can barely breathe between them both, the shapes on your clit and the stickiness of venom catching your juices before they have a chance to run down your thighs. bakugou is lovesick, and so are you— big bambi eyes staring down into his own so earnestly, imploringly. the blonde pushes his tongue past the entrance to your fluttering hole, watching as your stare trembles before flickering to between your legs where you stretch over the fat pink appendage. it’s so big, that it might as well be a fucking cock.

“h-ho’fuck…h’my god…ka’suki…s’too much. too fucking much!” the words feel like cotton in your mouth, slurred over venom’s tentacles and while the world spins on it’s axis around you, you cream around the base of the scorching, spit dripping limb in venom’s mouth as it wriggles inside you— tip writing sinful praises against your gooey walls, languidly stroking your insides and pressing up against pleasure spots that are new to both you and katsuki. big hands grasp at the meat of your ass— the tips of piercing nails marring your skin and spreading you nice and wide, pulling you onto your lover’s face so that you’re practically suffocating him with have no escape for you either, making your hips canter down to meet the thrust of his tongue in and out of you, barely parting from your honeyed sex.

a scream rumbles in the base of your throat as venom’s lengthy, girthy tongue twists against your lush inner-walls, churning up your guts. the symbiote using your partner as a host is quick to think— shoving his slime deep into your mouth again to tame your sacchariferous griping and grousing, the inestimable melody laying flat against the saliva pooling on your own tongue. “quiet sweetheart, can’t make you cum if yer too loud,” bakugou breathes, his voice laden with lust and amusement from watching you ride his tongue like it’s a plump, pretty and veiny dick. “y’gunna cum baby, fuck yes…gush f’me just like that, oh yeah…”

“for us, katsuki.” the beast inside his head reminds your fiancé, his mask coating bakugou’s face once more— easing you into fright once again, one that makes you quiver just right on him, nearly pushing yourself over the edge.

it’s disgustingly delightful how the pink appendage has a mind of its own, acting like your own personal dildo, fucking you good like one and it’s not long before your body succumbs to the mounting pleasure— the taste of an orgasm like honey oozing across your tongue while happy chemicals dance across your brain, accompanied by white noise as you finally get to cum. you’re spiralling, the tip of venom’s…katsuki��s… fuck it. you don’t even care anymore, the tongue brushes against your g-spot hard causing you to clamp down, suffocating your fiancé, and your jaw to goes slack.

you gush as much as water falls, humping pathetically at your fiancé’s face until your entire body is limp and strands of the symbiote have to keep you up and away from katsuki’s eager mouth ( he’s still hungry, happy to clean you up ) where your legs can’t.

venom slowly retreats from your throat too, but your brain doesn’t have time to catch up when he does, for bakugou’s lips replace the heat that your own mouth has lost— pulling you into a frenzied, spit swapping kiss. “‘m not done with ya yet sweetheart,” he laments, lips grazing yours, licking into your open mouth so you get a taste of yourself too. your body bows into katsuki’s, you feel it before you see it, hear it too— the clink of a metal belt, the sticky tap against your stimulated mound from underneath your panties…fiancé’s iron hot cockhead twitching forward and poised to push through your awaiting salacious folds. “venom wants ya so badly, wants me t’make it up to ya…paint yer pretty cunt with my cum.”

the alien matter has crawled back from surrounding your lover’s hips, sitting just beneath his weighty balls, heavy with seed all for you. it’s obvious how painfully hard he is, standing at full mast and the sight makes your mouth water, pupils dilate and a hunger settle in your chest for katsuki, one you haven’t felt for a while. he’d been neglectful, dealing with this venom shit alone when you could’ve been beside him—guiding him through, though you supposed that didn’t matter anymore…seeing as they were both willing to make it up to you now. “our cum. we are going to ruin her…katsuki.” the symbiote growls, making his presence known to you both in the heated, sex scented bathroom stall. “i am going to ruin you.”

underneath his hair, matted to his forehead by perspiration, katsuki’s brows furrow in confusion. “what the fuck are you on about—?” his question falls away into an airy exhale, twisted with a sharp clap against his ass, like skin on skin. “f-fuck…oh fuck….d-damn parasite’s f-fuckin’ m-my ass…” your fiancé’s head drops to the junction between your neck and shoulder, pointed teeth latching onto your saltine skin as venom twists his ink black tendrils into a shape made to ruin katsuki from behind— thrusting sharp into his puckered hole.

“i am not a parasite!” the symbiote snarls, pulling back to pump into your lover again, this time with no mercy on bakugou’s ill prepped and fluttering hole—pressing right up against the blonde’s prostate. the force only has his own hips cantering forward, his cock, wrapped in pretty blue veins bullying it’s way through your swollen pussy lips— dragging back and forth against your overstimulated clit.

the whole ordeal is slimy, hot and steamy— katsuki pressed against you with no room for anything else aside from lust and the doubled down sound of skin clapping against each other. him grinding his shaft into your sweet cunt while venom pounds away at his warm, tight ass. when the symbiote pulls back, bakugou peels his seedy dick from between your selfish folds— clinging onto him by viscid ropes of evidence from your last orgasm while his cockhead smears fat globs of white against your mound.

“my fuckin’ god,” you can feel every twitch of his length between your messy thighs, every throb as venom pushes deeper into katsuki— subsequently pushing his tip against abused and sensitive entrance. “m’baby’s got the prettiest pussy… can’t believe ‘m marryin this fuckin’ pussy… oh god.” he whines, drooling over your shoulder because he can’t keep quiet without pacifying himself on you, bakugou’s venom covered hand descends between your bodies to tap his mushroomed milky tip against your pleasure button a few times, smirking as your body jolts and the oil slick arms of venom spread your pussy lips further apart to watch more of the action ( your throbbing cunt and the pearls of arousal that leak from it ). “can’t believe she’s all fuckin’ ours, hah parasite?”

“no one can have her. only you and i.” he says in response, and your tummy flutters when bakugou repeats it back to you— the possession both he and the alien have over you doing nothing to stop the ticking time bomb of your orgasm building up in your lower tummy again.

to see your future husband with flushed cheeks and vacant eyes as he’s being fucked raw ( by an alien or not ) only serves to turn you on further, pussy drooling and juices slinging between both of your thighs with the back and forth of your humping, sticky noises accompanying your in tune breathless moans that follow one another’s with ‘O’ shaped mouths and end in sloppy kisses.

with your gasped pleas and katsuki’s gruff mewls echoing throughout the bathroom— venom picks up the pace— rocking his dick shaped appendage harder and faster into your fiancé’s ribbed insides, forcing your bodies against each other in a passionate miry dance of nasty, filthy sex. the walls of the bathroom stall creak on their hinges from the force behind venom’s thrusts, jamming hard against katsuki’s prostate which in turn has your rubbing down on his fat dick, faster and faster until all you can hear is the pap, pap, pap of your sexes working with one another.

“want it inside, need you inside! f-fuck yes!” you garble, almost pornogroahically, katsuki’s convulsing creamy cock driving you up the wall insane. “please.”

bakugou presses his forehead to your own , body bouncing forward against yours from the power behind venom’s aggressive pace inside of him while your pebbled nipples brush against each other. “can’t,” he whines with nearly teary ruby eyes, the crystalline droplets already gathered in his lash line like yours. “been gone from the party too long, g’nna cum soon anyways. s-shit!” though you whimper with faux disappointment, you’re not far from release either— the feverishness to either of your movements dragging you by the ankles to another high after all the abuse to your sensitive sex. you find yourself throwing hips down to meet katsuki’s rapid thrusts. his hands fumble for one of your meaty thighs to hook it over his slender, slime covered waist while you grasp at his taut ass to spread him wider, allowing venom to reach deeper spots inside of him.

katsuki shifts, changing the angle of his venom controlled thrusts so that his glistening cockhead breaches your entrance only just— making your eyes roll back for the millionth time that night, your nails sinking into his peachy ass. “‘m right there kats, oh—! right there…” you warn him through gritted teeth.

he tilts head up, tongue licking over the sweat on your Cupid’s bow. “yer cummin’… g’nna cum f’us baby?” you nod rapidly in response, barely standing on the crumbling edge of your orgasm. between that and the alien parasite tearing his ass in two, jammed up on his prostate— dancing in the back of his mind and commanding him to cum… katsuki can’t seem to hold of either. “let go f’me baby, lemme feel it. give it all fuckin’ to me. to us.”

“cum katsuki.”

your body follow’s bakugou’s lead, and he, venoms. “ohh fuck, uhhh shit! ‘m fucking cumming— yeah, yeah. oh yeah…” your fiancé beefs needy and loud, his first spirts of thick white seed barely hitting your cunt before you let out a large wave and gush so hard your release makes a crude slap when ir hits the ground. your panties are soaked through and blood rushes through your ears— all your senses numb to the world except for katsuki using your shaking body to ride out the rest of his high, pouring his release into your soiled panties and against your slit.

you see new colours, new galaxies and universes— everything hitting you so hard you barley have time to comprehend that you’ve just fucked an alien that’s using your fiancé as a host. it still doesn’t register within you as katsuki puts venom away, pulling out from underneath your skirt before he fixes your panties warm with cum snug against you again.

“‘m gonna take ya back to the party sweetheart, we’ll have to talk about this later.” bakugou coos, though you’re both wobbly on your feet as you come down.

it’s so cute that all you can do is nod, seemingly appeased with your fiancé compared to how furious you had been before venom helped fuck you good.

if katsuki had known using the alien as a sex toy would get him out of trouble with you and back into your good books— he would have done it much earlier.

“i will not eat any of the humans here tonight… as long as we are able to ravage your tiny human again…katsuki.” the symbiote promises when bakugou hangs back a few seconds as you slip back into the party— hoping that your sins go unnoticed.

and even if you squint while watching you join your family and friends for the rest of the night, you would notice all of them— the way you stagger on your legs and the shiny marks from venom’s slime decorating them too, leaving a sweet smile on bakugou’s face.

“oh buddy, as long as yer a fuckin’ parasite in my body, we can ravage her like that any day, for the rest of my life.” katsuki boasts proudly.

“for the last time. i am not a parasite!”

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padfootagain · 3 months

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Only an Almost (XX)

Chapter 20: Toothaches

Hi! Here is the very last chapter of this series!

Thank you all for reading, and for your reactions to this fic. I won’t lie, I’m very emotional as I say goodbye to this fic. I’ve worked on it for several months, it feels strange to let these two idiots go and live their happy lives now.

The next series I’ll post is my professor!AU, so stay tuned ;)

I hope you’ll like this chapter! Please, tell me what you think!

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Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader, friends with benefits AU

Warning: No explicit smut or nsfw content, but there are sexual themes and heavy make-out sessions (it’s a friends with benefits AU, I can’t really escape it), so 18+ only!

Summary: Andrew has been in love with you for years, and yet he has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.

Word Count : 2054

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

Two years later

You placed back the panel into the hive; gently, delicately, being careful not to harm any insect that might have gotten in the way.

The buzzing sounds around you were loud, but you were used to them by now. Accompanying Andrew once a week to take care of his bees, you had grown more confident around his tiny friends. You were a real pro now. A reassuring thought for him, now that he was about to tour again. He could place their safety in your loving hands.

“Alright, that was the last one,” Andrew spoke, a happy smile on his lips.

“Good job, ladies,” you complimented the bees, making Andrew chuckle fondly at you.

“Good job indeed. And to you, too. Good job, love.”

“Thanks! I am getting good at this!”

Andrew closed the hive, and you both made your way back to your house.

Your house. Andrew still struggled to wrap his mind around the idea that you were sharing a home now, but you did. Even after ten months, he still needed to pinch himself sometimes to believe it.

He helped you out of your beekeeping clothes, and you did the same for him. Teamwork at its finest to repeat movements you were both used to by now.

“You won’t be nervous to take care of the bees alone?” Andrew asked you, voice soft and tender as he brushed a strand of your hair out of your face.

“No, don’t worry! Besides, if I need help, I’ll just call the guys at the brewery!”

“Right. Don’t hesitate to call them if you need help.”

“Don’t worry, baby… I’ll be just fine.”

He nodded, his heart doing its usual little jump at the sound of the pet name. He bent down to drop a peck on the top of your head.

“Let’s eat some of this delicious honey our tiny workers have been making!” he offered, and you enthusiastically nodded, following him through the house and inside the kitchen.

The house had changed quite a bit since you had moved in. Asides from accommodating your belongings, it had gained a few plants, some decorating items, a little bit of your warmth that mingled with his own.

Outside the sun was shining brightly, spreading its beams through the kitchen, while Andrew was cutting some fruits and you were making coffee. You kissed his lips to steal a piece of apple, making him laugh at the mischief shining in your eyes.

“Thief,” he mumbled, still a little stunned after feeling your lips on his.

You merely giggled in response, the sound as sweet as the honey he was adding to the two bowls of fresh fruits.

“I love you too, baby,” you cooed, wrapping your arms around his waist to pull him closer, mischief written all over your features.

“You’re annoying.”

“Don’t I know that already.”

“Unbelievable, that’s what you are…”

“Hmm… Don’t I know that too…”

Slowly, Andrew bent closer and closer to your lips. A fall he longed for, a dive he dreamt about still.

“Insufferable…” he mumbled against your lips, before kissing you properly, hands rising to hold your face in place, to let his fingers disappear into your hair and his thumbs spray across your cheeks.

You tasted so sweet; like the apple you had stolen, like love turned into a flavour.

“Christ… I love you so fucking much,” he whispered as he rested his forehead against yours.

He brushed his knuckles across your cheekbone, gesture infinitely sweet, desperately tender.

You ran your fingers through his hair, and he couldn’t help but lean into your touch.

“I love you too, Andy,” you whispered, your breath fanning over his face. “I love you more than anything.”

He bent lower to wrap you in his embrace, to bury his face into your neck. He inhaled deeply your perfume, until the scent was carved into his lungs. He closed his eyes, shivered as your hand slowly moved from his hair to his chest, to rest right upon his heart.

“I’m going to miss you,” he whispered into your skin.

He listened to the little gasp you let out, he wasn’t certain whether it was because of his breath across your neck or the meaning of his words.

“I’ll miss you too. God… it feels like I miss you already.”

You pulled away, after granting him another minute of the intimate embrace. You turned to the table, grabbed a bowl and a spoon, took a bite. You hummed in satisfaction.

“Our honey really is the best in the world,” you nodded, making him laugh.

“Our honey? These are my hives. That my family gifted to me…”

“We both take care of the bees! It gives me some rights on them!”

“Some rights?”

“I get 51% of the honey.”

“So… the majority of it. Even if those are my hives…”

“Because you love me.”

“Oh, I see,” he couldn’t refrain a loud laugh.

“I’m sleeping with you for two reasons: the honey, and Raine.”

“I knew it. I knew you were using me for something.”

“Of course, I’m heartless.”

“Can’t blame you though… the honey is delicious,” he added a hum of approval, as if to prove his point, while he took another bite of grapes, apples and honey.

You finished eating in silence. It was comfortable, comforting even. Warm and happy and full of love. You sat down after a couple of minutes, and your feet were touching under the table, a mingling of limbs just to make sure that you were always touching.

It was simple, domestic. Andrew caught himself staring at you, at the way the sun embraced your features and got caught in your eyelashes, pearling on their curve.

There was a deep, warm feeling bubbling in his chest, the kind he had felt before, for other women. But never to this extent, never reaching this absolute tenderness that was coursing through his veins as he looked at you. You, sharing a simple snack with him, in his kitchen. You weren’t leaving, you were home. You were his home and he was yours.

As he stared at you nipping on a grape, he was more content with his life than he had ever been.

You started humming, the melody of a song you had heard on the radio that morning, he couldn’t remember the title nor the lyrics. Still, he hummed along, and the sound seemed to make you grin.

“On a scale of ‘being happy to finally be rid of me’ to ‘on the verge of total panic’… how are you feeling about me leaving for tour tomorrow?” Andrew asked softly, his voice almost a whisper, afraid to break the warmth of the moment you were sharing together.

You blinked at him, put down your spoon in your bowl, and reached out across the table for his hand. He held it without a second thought, brushing his thumb across your knuckles.

“I’d say… a strong 5. ‘Sad that you’re leaving, but certain that we’ll make it work’.”

You offered him a reassuring smile, and he let out a long exhale.

“Are you angry against me for leaving?” he asked, but you were quick to shake your head.

“Of course not… that’s your job. And you were meant to be a musician, there is no doubt about it. I’m glad you’re doing what you love… I’ll just miss you.”

“You’ll wait for me, right?” he asked, voice quiet and vulnerable. He brushed his hair away from his face in a hurried and nervous gesture.

But you were calm, perfectly confident and serene as you answered.

“Of course. There is no need to ask that question. We’ve talked about this, we have a plan. We’ll be fine.”

The plan…

A call every day, no matter the time difference. A flight to join him in four weeks, a flight to join you again in nine. Texts whenever you woke up and before going to sleep. Updates on your books. No secrets, no lies, no attempts to hide if something didn’t feel right. And then it would start all over again after his two-weeks break, in eleven weeks. And again, and again, an unbreakable cycle for the foreseeable future. It was alright. Andrew knew he would still love you the same, even from the other side of the globe. But that was the breaking point for all his previous relationships, the distance and the missing and the loneliness that came with him.

And yet, when you tightened your hold on his hand and he focused on your eyes again, there was no trace of hesitation or doubt whatsoever there.

“You didn’t want to date me because of this, at the beginning…” he went on, but you shrugged.

“It was two years ago. I was afraid. I’m not scared anymore.”

“Really?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

“No… I’m happy with you. I love you. I know we can do this. I have no doubt about us.”

His lips parted in a somehow shocked smile, and he had to blink to process your words.

“I have no doubt about my love for you either,” Andrew answered. “You’re right, I shouldn’t worry so much.”

You looked down at the bowl before you, it was almost empty already.

“I will burn your collection of Heaney’s books if you miss more than three phone calls, you are warned,” you joked, making him laugh again.

“How cruel! Leave Seamus out of it! He did nothing to you!”

“I don’t have a choice, I know you love him more than me!”

You were laughing, clearly joking, and yet Andrew’s expression softened.

“Now, that would be impossible. I couldn’t love anyone or anything more than I love you.”

You stared at him with an emotional smile on your lips, knowing that he was being serious, that he truly meant it… and he did. The songs he had written for you were proof. He hoped that the things he did for you every day were enough to demonstrate his feelings too.

He was surprised when you stood up, when you circled the table to stand by his side, waiting until he had pushed his chair so you could straddle his laps. You held him tightly against you, arms around his neck and face buried in his hair. He held you with the same affection, the same desperate need to show you how much he loved you.

“You don’t have to worry, Andy. I’ll wait for you,” you whispered in his ear, making his heart stumble and quicken at the same time, his breath catching in his throat. “You’re the love of my life. I want to spend all the time I have left with you.”

Andrew blinked, tightened his hold on you, tried to take in your words and their meaning and what it meant to have you confessing such feelings for him.

You pulled away as he started laughing, still sitting on his laps but frowning at his reaction.

When he looked at you, he wasn’t hiding the adoration he felt for you.

“And I was afraid I was being too cheesy…” he chuckled, making you roll your eyes.

“Eejit…” you mumbled, a fond smile on your lips still.

“I thought I was the one breaking the crazy love confessions quota in this relationship…”

“Don’t make me regret saying it!” you joked, moving closer again.

He brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, putting all of his love in his gaze and his gesture.

“I feel the same, you know?” he grew more serious again. “You’re the one for me. It was always you, my love.”

You smiled just like he did, a mirror of emotions and love and something close to relief. You rested your forehead against his, closed your eyes.

Andrew thought about the break he would have in nine weeks, about coming home to you. He thought about the next leg of touring, and the break that would follow. And he thought about coming home to you with a ring in his suitcase, and he thought about you in a white dress, about waking up with you every day, going to sleep with your hand in his every night…

When he kissed your lips again, they tasted sweet, like the future they promised.

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #fanfiction #fanfic #hozier fanfiction #hozier fanfic #writing #hozier series #series

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palfriendpatine66 · 5 months

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Woke up to Owen Lars thoughts. Specifically re: C-3PO.

Our guy Owen has avoided owning a droid for 20+ years because they remind him of Shmi. He’s had to deal with the Jawas the whole time and knows it would go a hell of a lot better with a translator, but every time he thinks about getting a protocol droid he thinks about Shmi. About how she doted on that insufferably annoying droid because it was her last connection to her son. And he decides he can go another year relying on gestures and paying more than the parts he’s getting are worth.

But now he only has Luke’s help for one more harvest and he’s not getting any younger - his joints ache more and more with each sandstorm - and he decides it’s time to face his ghosts. He can’t avoid reminders of the past forever. He sends Luke for some droids.

And the boy comes back with C3P0

The droid doesn’t look the same - he’s been treated to some upgrades over the years and some fancy gold plating they couldn’t have afforded to give him - but he gives his designation and it’s not just a similar robotic voice dragging up memories that both haunt Owen and remind him of better times. But it’s him, without a doubt. C-3PO human cyborg relations. Shmi’s most prized possession. Returned back to her home and final resting place, back to the last piece of her son.

To Luke.

And when the stormtroopers break down the door and pour in, he has a moment of pure relief that Luke isn’t home. That this time it won’t be a Skywalker’s body found broken in the desert.

He should have known. An R2 unit had rolled up and interrupted Shmi’s humble funeral and Anakin had swept away to whatever dangers waited for him in the stars. He’d brought the two droids with him and the Lars were left to mourn and heal and carry on under the harsh suns. They looked after themselves and weathered the heat and the sand like everything else that was born, and fated to die, in the desert.

But not Luke. Luke wasn’t born on Tatooine, even though the boy has the desert in his blood. Owen sees the same relief written in Beru’s eyes as he takes her hand. Luke isn’t going to die here.

He has the stars in his blood too.

Owen just hopes the boy will meet a better end than his father. That his story won’t end so soon.

#I’m so normal about this #it’s fine. i’m fine.#i’m not fine #where the Lars love at?#Owen he is my own Lars #aunt peru fan club #owen lars #uncle owen #beru whitesun lars #beru lars #aunt beru #c3po #r2d2 and c3po #star wars

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kazbrekkerscrutches · 2 months

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Spencer Reid - We Shouldn't Be Doing This

Warnings: smut themes but no actual smut, fed!spencer x enemyfed!reader, enemies to something (let u pick babes), insults, angst, one-bed trope (ur welcome)

This is Spencer in the more recent seasons, but you can picture him in your preferred season.

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: Y/N and Spencer have never liked each other. They are always competing over who's the smartest, who's the most handy with a gun. Yet, when they're sent on a mission and they end up in a motel room with one bed, things get interesting.

A/N: Yall are gonna love this. This is inspired by this. Thank you for that. The girlies are gonna love this one! Thanks for reading <3. Let me know ur feedback! @hereforhalstead thank u for the idea.

I had started working at the BAU for a couple of years. I got along fine with the girls, JJ and Emily. Garcia was my girl, hyping me up and helping me with anything. Most of the boys were fine too, Morgan made me laugh until I couldn’t breathe, Hotch was like a big brother to me and Rossi was a father figure to me. But there is one guy that was very insufferable and the only person in the BAU that I could not stand. Dr Spencer Reid.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s a very attractive man. Yet he is the most infuriating person I have ever met.

He didn’t seem to like me too, when I joined the BAU. He looked at me with dark eyes. His hair was always messy, his snarky attitude made me want to kill him sometimes.

After joining the FBI for about six months, Spencer and I were competing against each other all the time. It didn’t matter if the subject was mentioned, we were already arguing on who was the smartest. He kept making the remarks about his IQ, his eclectic memory and the fact that he could read 20 000 words per minute.

It didn’t matter what I told him, he kept laying it on thick. He kept trying to prove to the entire world that no one could be smarter than him.

One day, Hotch and Rossi had enough of us screaming and arguing all the time. They sent us on a light care in New Jersey, about a girl who escaped a convicted killer.

This is just fucking perfect. Now I’m stuck with the encyclopedia. I tell myself. I bet he wasn’t happy too, just by the look on his face. He looked like he was boiling on the inside. His face was red, his hair looking worse than usual and streams practically coming out of his ears.

We got into a car, driving us to the airport. Total silence filled the car, neither of us daring to start an argument. We got out of the car after a while, heading into the jet and off to New Jersey.

It took about two hours to get there. My headphones were placed on my ears, reading the file of the young woman who escaped. I could see Spencer playing with a coin, not really doing anything.

When the jet landed, we got into another car. We arrived late at night, meaning the interview with the girl would have to be in the morning.

The car dropped us to a motel, where Hotch and Rossi had reserved a room for us. The lady in the front desk gave me the keys, both of us walking towards our room in silence. I could feel his stare burning the side of my head.

As I opened the room, I was the first to see that the room was missing something.

There’s only one bed.

I swore under my breath. Spencer saw it next, shutting the door behind me.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I heard him say.

Rossi had planned this, he had to. He planned for us to get away, fix our issues and get back to Quantico like nothing was wrong between us.

I dropped my bag on the chair beside the window. “This is just wonderful.” I mumbled sarcastically.

I earned one of Spencer’s glares. “What? You think I want this more than you do?” I look at him, not amused by Rossi’s ruse.

He drops his bags, taking off his coat and suit jacket. “I would’ve preferred to sleep on the concrete than to share a bed with you. I bet it would be much more comfortable.”

I scoffed, taking off my coat and dropping it on the chair. “Right in with the fire, mh? You like that, to get me fired up and all ready to insult you. What’s your fucking problem?” I speak with a harsher tone, anger clearly lacing my throat.

“What’s my problem? You’re an arrogant idiot who barged into the BAU like it was your living room! You’re intolerable, Y/N! You know that?” He practically spit in my face.

“Oh, so now I’m the problem. Please, Dr Reid, tell me all of the remarks you have against me.” I say, stepping closer to him, looking up at his stern face. His breathing has gotten faster, his hands in fists by his side.

“You’re ignorant, selfish. You only care about yourself and that small head of yours. You try to make yourself smarter than everyone else! Just because you went to fucking Stanford doesn’t mean your Einstein.” He started walking closer to me, anger radiating off of him.

“What else? Hm?” I whisper, my voice stern and angry. I didn’t care what he thought of me. His opinion was the last thing I cared about.

“You’re a spoiled little girl who got everything she wanted in her whole life. You got the job, the looks, the money. Everything. You didn’t work a single day in your life to earn all of that.” He grabbed onto my forearms, clenching his fists entirely against my wrists. He had pushed them behind my back, pinning me to the wall behind them. His voice got quieter, still angry and venomous.

“Fuck you, Reid.” I whisper in his face, my face clearly affected by his words. My breathing has quickened too, my pulse fast and hard in my chest. My cheeks were flushed, the heat of his chest radiating off of me. “You’re telling me this for what, hm? To get me to hate you? Because, trust me, I already do. You’re a selfish prick, who only cares about how smart you are compared to the world. No wonder you can’t get anyone to stay with you.” I tell him angrily, his hands twisting around my forearms, untwisting them from my back and pulling them flush against his chest.

His blood was practically boiling. I could feel his hot breath on my face, his eyes burning with fury. “You better shut up before I make you shut up, Y/N.” He whispered roughly.

I raised my eyebrow, testing his patience. “Or what? You’ll have me arrested? You can’t do that.” I whisper, close to his face. I don’t think he could’ve gotten more mad than he already was but boy I was wrong.

He slammed his lips against mine, releasing my wrists to grab my face roughly. His hands claimed dominance on my jaw, sliding into my hair and pulling it. His mouth was engulfing mine, his tongue deep in my mouth. I melted into his touch, his rough hold on me making me release the madness against him. His lips left my lips, melting down to my neck. He left heated kisses, making my head lean back on the wall. His teeth grazed my neck, nibbling it and licking it with his wicked tongue.

My hands clinged on his chest, the hardness of it under my fingers. His chest flexed under my harsh touch, my hands going all the way to his back and his slutty waist I had been eyeing for months. His breath was hot and sweaty on my neck, suddenly taking a bite into my neck, making me whimper softly.

His lips left my neck, lifting his head to speak directly on my lips. “I hate you so much that it makes me love you.” He whispered on my lips, kissing me harshly with his hands around my jaw.

He pulled me off the wall, his hands roaming down to my thighs and lifting them up to his waist. My hands went in his hair, his sharp jaw and all of the hot skin I could touch.

He sat down on the bed, taking me on his lap. His hands were all over me, on my waist down to my hips and ass. He groped anything he could find. My lips went on his neck, tilting his head to give me better access. I found his sweet spot, making him cry out, moaning into my shoulder. He whispered in my ear, “We shouldn’t be doing this, Y/N.” His voice was rough and needy at the same time.

“Everything about you tells me otherwise, Spencer.” I whisper roughly, kissing back up to his jaw, my hips set over his. He pulled my hips flush on his, a gasp leaving my mouth.

“Fuck it.” He mumbled under his breath, switching positions to set me under him, his tie falling on my chest. Both of us were hot and sweaty, our breaths labored and heart pounding. His hips were set harshly on mine, feeling every single inch of him.

I grabbed his tie, pulling him closer to my face. “You’re not lying?” I whispered, my eyes fiery but not angered. He knotted his eyebrows slightly. “About what?” He mumbled softer than usual.

“About loving me? Because I would be a liar if I said I didn’t feel the same way.” I spoke softly, one hand tugging his tie and the other touching his jaw.

“I’m not lying.” He whispered, a glimpse of surprise in his eyes. His gaze softened a little, both of his arms around my head.

“Good.” I whisper, my lips grazing his swollen lips. “Because there’s not going back to before after this.” I whispered, kissing him roughly. My hands on his jaw, feeling the power of it while he kissed me with exploding passion for the rest of night and for the following years.

#spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #bau team

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thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch · 11 months

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the general of the luofu has a habit you've picked up on. a habit in which when he finds himself in a place of predicament, he will gracefully place his hands atop each other at the small of his back. that is why you also decided to develop a similar habit of standing just slightly behind him.

never when you had first relocated from a separate xianzhou alliance ship to the luofu's exalting sanctum did you imagine you'd be standing within the seat of divine foresight on a near regular basis. of course, the notion was not unheard of since it is the office of general jing yuan, but then again you hadn't expected yourself to eventually be working so close to him either.

working nearly in step with jing yuan was not in your relocation papers. when you first arrived and he was always on your heels, it nearly made you lose your cool more than you'd care to admit. the way he would just smile your lack of alone time off irked you further. you figured he was just doing it because he could, because no one would demand the general to knock it off aside from the master diviner and- more often than not- her nags were brushed aside unless absolutely dire.

but with that same, insufferable smile and persistence of his, jing yuan did what he did best and used it to his advantage until you were absolutely smitten with him, and he knew it.

you had attempted moving your work to central starskiff haven where all the hustle and bustle of the main hub for all things imaginable could take your mind off the dozing general, but it was a useless feat.

the bond between general jing yuan and yourself was something precious yet unnamed. it was seen and noticed, but you both refused to adapt to the way of labels- another thing jing yuan had a habit of. superstition about labels and them ruining everything he holds dear to him was a belief he had yet to be proven wrong.

the labeling and eventual tragic fall out of the high cloud quintet was more than enough proof for him. he would not risk you slipping away from him if he were to try and repeat the mistake. jing yuan was more thankful than you could ever imagine when you told him you understood.

"labeling a relationship with you, general, would surely bring unwanted gossip."

a rather poor excuse to try and ease his mind, since you both would float around each other's orbit, but it still worked nonetheless. thus, the nameless, labelless, and unspoken relationship that everyone aboard the Luofu knew about grew.

"he's like a weed," you had told fu xuan when she was once again pleading with you to try and convince him to do his job behind his desk and not run around avoiding it. once successfully coerced, fu xuan admitted she had no idea how you could withstand his stubbornness. "he's persistent and tough to get rid of. i just kind of let him be after getting too tired of trying to fix my garden."

jing yuan was easily within earshot of the jab, whether you meant to hurt his ego or not, you did bruise it. how could you not when you were calling him a weed just 20 feet away from the very desk he was confined to?

time can be both noticed and unnoticed by long-life species. on one hand, the passing of time seems so endless it just flits by seamlessly. 100, 200 years are nothing short of youth to them. until you reach the gate of older age where you then worry about when the mara will eventually strike.

jing yuan did not speak much of his past to you, and you never found a reason to harp and pry on it. you knew more than enough from texts and scrolls recorded in the halls you were fortunate enough to work in; no need to reopen old wounds he is too stubborn to admit still bleed.

the general who cares for the luofu cannot decide if he fears being stricken with mara himself and slowly losing his sense of identity to the point he cannot recognize you, or you being marked as an enemy for him to strike down because the mara struck you first more. should the former ever come to pass, he has faith that what needs to be done will be and you will stay safe with yanqing.

now, as you stand in the seat of divine foresight with the newly arrived trailblazers from the express also occupying the office with jing yuan, you notice his hands neatly folded behind him.

a slight advantage to the many layers of clothes he puts himself through dressing every day is that his two-tailed half-cape that rested on his shoulders and flowed down to his hips can offer some peripheral coverage.

like clockwork, when you noticed his hands placed in the small of his back, you took half a step closer to his diagonal and placed the pads of your fingers in the middle of his open palm. his fists would never fully curl behind his back, left open and lazily sitting on top of each other.

jing yuan's shoulders would drop just a fraction- hardly noticeable to anyone even if they were looking directly at him- every time you did so. the tips of your fingers were warm, a reminder of the present and also a teether to not let his mind wander too far.

he could feel the callouses on them, the rough skin so accustomed to battle ingrained into the skin of your hands and it brought him such comfort. his eyes gently shut and a smile lifts his lips, not one to mask behind, but one brought about naturally.

and just like always, when he felt your fingertips push lightly into his palm, his hand opened further, fingers pulling apart before he was curling them into yours.

yes, the general of the luofu has a habit you've picked up on. but he has also picked up a new habit of waiting for you to hold his hand when they're behind his back.

#jing yuan #jing yuan fluff #jing yuan x reader #honkai star rail jing yuan #jing yuan x y/n #honkai star rail #jing yuan blurb #jing yuan fic #hsr jing yuan #hsr #hsr fic #honkai star rail fic #honkai star rail fluff #jing yuan angst #jing yuan comfort #jing yuan hurt/comfort

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marragurl · 5 months

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I have this VISCERAL need for an AU where everyone’s perception of Ratiorine is completely skewed and they all think they hate each other when in reality they’re actually married.

They had a small ceremony years ago, fully live together, have matching pajama sets, cutely bicker and have inside jokes with each other, constantly use endearments when referring to one another in public, have a combined 20 step hygiene routine, are each other’s first choice if there’s a mission that require 2 people, AND NO ONE BELIEVES THEY’RE MARRIED! OR EVEN IN A RELATIONSHIP!

AVENTURINE EVEN SIGNS HIMSELF AS AVENTURINE RATIO ON INVITES OR LETTERS OR PAPERWORK (Kakavasha Ratio on their marriage certificate, I like to think in this AU they’ve worked through their past trauma together already), BUT EVERYONE THINKS IT’S A TYPO AND HE MEANT TO WRITE THEM SEPARATELY SINCE THEY’RE ALWAYS ASSIGNED ON MISSIONS TOGETHER.

The only people who know are the Stonehearts, and that’s only due to Aventurine’s contract/work as IPC, so they were the ones who officiated/were witnesses to the wedding.

Everytime they all go out to get a drink or something, I need Topaz in the back looking insufferable as Ratiorine are in full lovey-dovey mode AND NO ONE NOTICES. I’d be the same girl, they could broadcast their honeymoon and STILL people would think it’s some weird powerplay hate thing, Topaz is later found crying to Jade about how she finally understands why Ratio calls everyone idiots, how are people so blind?! They’ve even started using the same motions and same phrases Jade, WHY CAN NO ONE ELSE SEE IT???

The only reason the Penacony plan goes off without a hitch is that everyone has the biggest preconceived notion that Aventurine and Ratio despise each other WHEN IT’S JUST THEIR USUAL MARRIED BICKERING. NO ONE CAN EVEN FATHOM THE TWO OF THEM LIKING EACH OTHER, LET ALONE MARRIED???

(In this AU, Aventurine gives up his room because the Reverie made the same mistake of not understanding the signature and assigned him and Ratio to different rooms, and now there’s a nice clean way of getting rid of the extra room, making a connection with the Astral Express, AND rooming with his dear husband, what great luck!)

I want it to get to a point where they could fully make out in front of Sunday and the man would STILL believe that Ratio would betray Aventurine. Aventurine during the entire interrogation scene is just constantly in the state of “my husband is such a good actor, I’m so proud of him” *heart eyes and winks to Ratio when Sunday isn’t looking* and Ratio is just straight up looking worried for Aventurine and immediately rushes after him when it’s all over AND NO ONE BATS AN EYE

Ratio just mentally apologizing to Aventurine after every little fake fight they have and dying on the inside and doubling down on every bit of affection he can in between (and even during) the fights, and Aventurine is just having fun having his husband’s attention all to himself no matter the form. (plus the rush of knowing just how much they trust each other always makes him warm)

Aventurine is fully ok with this weird perception people have of him and his husband since it always helps with his schemes and gambles paying off, and while Ratio wants to bash everyone in the head for even daring to think he hates his husband, he keeps quiet because he trusts that Aventurine will always come back to him and make it all work.

But that’s not enough to stop him with showering Aventurine with adoration and love in public. If the public are too much of idiots to realize something as obvious as their love, Ratio won’t stop it from showing his dear husband just how much he means to him.

This is fully AU of course, we all know canon Ratiorine is the longest softest pining game in history. Funny enough, Topaz is still suffering in the back due to their relationship shenanigans. She better be getting some financial compensation for this, I just know Aventurine complains to her about his crush. Ratio is fully at his own place writing out thesis after thesis about the meaning of love and psychoanalyzing his own feelings. He forwards them to Topaz for review because I like to think she’s somehow become a weird bouncing board for his frustrations about her coworker. Topaz is crying.

#honkai star rail #hsr aventurine #aventurine honkai star rail #hsr #ratio hsr #dr ratio #dr ratio honkai star rail #ratiorine #aventio #idk what else to put here #I just #we keep getting so much ratiorine food #I’m drowning in them #I can’t-#marrapost

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thecharacterchronicler · 3 months

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Friends With Benefits… And A Baby (Part 2 ) || Sebastian Sallow x Reader || Smut

Outline: You and Sebastian decide to be “friends with benefits” during your pregnancy.

Word count: 2’500

Warnings: explicit smut, (accidental) pregnancy, characters aged up (20s) and probably a few mistakes here and there because English isn’t my first language.

Author’s note: This is the second part of Exams, poltergeists and supply closets, hope you’ll all enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing this little series.

(( Part 1 - Exams, poltergeists and supply closets )) - (( Masterlist ))

“What’s wrong with you ?” Ominis asked, as you sat down at the dinner table, after rushing out of the Great Hall when a very smelly dish of fried fish appeared in front of you, the smell instantly making you nauseous.

“I gave her some Bertie Bott’s beans before dinner, guess she ate one that tasted like boogers.” Sebastian shrugged, in an attempt to cover for you but all it did was give you the urge to throw up again.

“I felt ill for a moment but I’m okay now.” You assured your friend, not so convinced by your words yourself. You placed a boiled potato on your plate, the only thing among the various other dishes on the table that seemed edible to you in your almost constant state of morning sickness.

“Maybe we should walk you to the infirmary after dinner.” Ominis suggested, obviously still very worried. “You haven’t eaten much these past few days, it might be more serious than you think.”

“How would you know ?” Sebastian asked, before you could come up with an excuse to refuse paying a visit to the school nurse. Surely, she’d know what’s going with you at first glance and then you wouldn’t be able to hide it from anyone much longer.

“I have ears, Sebastian. You eat loudly like an animal next to me every day and yet I can still hear that her fork and knife are barely touching her plate lately.”

“I’m fine.” You stated, as confidently as you could fake it. Yet, a wave of nausea came to prove you wrong, making you gasp and cover your mouth. You couldn’t decide between swallowing it down and staying at the table or running off to the bathroom once more.

“See ? There’s only so many days she can go on without eating, it could be dangerous.” Ominis pleaded, and Sebastian’s gaze landed on the small potato in your plate, that you were pretty sure you wouldn’t eat anyway. Then, he looked up at you, his expression now as worried as your friend’s.

“Maybe he’s right. Maybe we should get you checked up, just to be safe.”

“I’m fine.” You repeated, once more. The only thing stronger than your all day sickness was the irritation you felt towards your friends at this very moment. You were determined to finish your last year at Hogwarts normally, passing your exams as brilliantly as you could and graduating with pride. The baby that Sebastian put in your belly will have no choice but to go along with your plan.

“The Gaunts are important contributors to the Saint Mungo hospital, if I send an owl I might be able to get a doctor to visit you here if it makes you more comfortable.” Ominis suggested, which brought you to the conclusion that there was no point in keeping it a secret from him any longer. Would he still be insufferably worried about you if he knew the truth ? Probably. But at least he would stop pestering you about seeking medical attention, if only temporarily.

“I’m fine, Ominis.” You stated again, for the third time at this dinner table. He opened his mouth to protest but you leaned closer, lowering your voice. “I’m pregnant, that is all.”

“Pregnant ? That is all ?!” Ominis exclaimed, repeating your words in disbelief before both you and Sebastian urged him to keep it down. You were sitting at the very end of the dining table but students nearby might still catch a glimpse of your conversation. “What were you two thinking ?! Do you have any idea of the gravity of such a situation ? What it means for your future ? By Merlin, what on earth went through your head to let you think that you two absolutely reckless lunatics could be capable of raising a child ?”

“H-How do you know it is mine ?” Sebastian asked him, surprised.

“Oh please, you both can’t shut up about each other when you’re not together.” Ominis retorted, as if it was the stupidest question his friend had ever asked him.

You exchanged a look with Sebastian, both of your faces blushing.

“What were you thinking ?” Ominis asked once more, shaking his head much like you imagined your disappointed parents will when they’ll find out.

“To be fair, not much went through my head the moment it happened.” Sebastian said, smugly.

“You should have controlled yourself, Sebastian !” Ominis scolded him, as you desperately tried to hush him up again.

“Easy for you to say, you weren’t there. If you heard the way she moans when she likes it and felt how wet…”

“Alright, that’s enough.” You interrupted before he got too carried away with very private details. “There’s no point having this conversation, it happened and now we have to deal with it.”

“At least this child will have one reasonable parent.” Ominis hissed, shaking his head at Sebastian, still way too cocky about it all next to him.

You were sitting down on the cold bathroom tiles, your back pressed against the wall, trying to focus on your homework. You barely noticed the door opening until you realized someone was standing in front of you, a concerned expression on his freckled face.

“This is the girls’ bathroom.” You informed him, which simply made him shrug.

“Imelda told me you were here.” He said, approaching and crouching down to your level, taking in the open books on the tiles with an amused smile. “I’m not sure we’ll be able to keep our secret if you move in into the bathrooms.”

“It’s just so I don’t have to run across the castle every time I need to throw up.” You explained. “Nobody will notice, when I told Imelda I had a stomach bug she just told me to stay away from her because she’s planning on winning the Quidditch cup this year.”

“You have friends that are more caring than Imelda Reyes.” He said, making a point. “And you know, I did some research in the library last night and found out that the best way to beat morning sickness is to actually eat.”

“But I’m not hungry.”

“Not at all ? Isn’t there something you’d be happy to eat ? Whatever it is, I’ll go get it for you.”

You smiled at him, grateful to have such a caring friend. Because that’s what he was to you, right ? Just a friend. A friend that happened to be your future baby’s daddy… But still, just a friend.

His traits softened as he smiled back at you, moving to sit on the floor by your side. His shoulder pressed against yours and you found relief in his familiar scent of old dusty books and faint remains of smoke, your nausea easing up a bit for the first time in days.

“Do you need help with…” He reached out to check the cover of the book on your lap. “One thousand magical herbs and fungi ?”

“I do but not yours if I want a chance to get a good grade in Herbology.” You replied playfully, which made him laugh.

“Fair enough.” He shrugged, his hand absently finding yours, letting it rest on your thigh as your fingers intertwined together. “We’ll figure it out, you know.”

“I know.” You nodded, knowing that he wasn’t talking about school anymore.

“And if we look at the positive aspect of it all, it means we can hook up as much as we want to for the next eight months without having to worry about getting you pregnant.”

“Right.” You rolled your eyes at his words, your giggle resounding against the bathroom tiles.

“And there’s no better way to find your appetite back than a bit of exercising.” He insisted, jokingly but you knew he definitely was trying his luck under the guise of making you laugh.

“Do you really think that would be reasonable ? I don’t think that’s something friends do.”

“We can be friends with benefits… And a baby.” He shrugged, unaware of how tempting the idea was to you. His presence next to you was the only thing that had managed to ease your symptoms and, if you were being totally honest, Sebastian Sallow had never looked more handsome than right now, with his sleeves rolled up and his tie slightly loosened, his hair tousled and that odd pride you saw in his smile every time he talked about hooking up with you - and getting you pregnant - that definitely made up for the slight panic you still sometimes noticed in his gaze.

“Okay.” You nodded, breaking the silence that had taken place between the two of you.

“Okay ?” He repeated, his brown eyes widening in surprise. “You… You want to do it ?”

“Yes, why not ? It’s not like I’d be comfortable hooking up with Garreth in the boat house anymore, anyway.” You replied, adding that last part to mess with him, not expecting the instant jealousy that took over his features.

“Garreth Weasley ?! This walking fire hazard…” Sebastian groaned, his hand tightening its grip on yours possessively. You smiled, flattered that your friend cared so much about you.

He was still mumbling to himself some colorful words about Garreth when you leaned in and pressed your lips against his to silence him. At first, you felt his surprise but soon, he kissed you back, his body irresistibly gravitating closer.

“What if someone walks in ?” He asked, when you moved to reach for his pants, taken aback by your boldness. The first time you had crossed the line of friendship with him, you had sounded so shy and cautious that he couldn’t quite believe you were the one with your hand inside his pants this time, fishing for his rapidly growing erection.

You knew you were breaking school rules by doing this. Again. And you promised yourself that next time, you’ll make sure to abide by the regulations and find another location, out of Hogwarts, to have your fun with Sebastian... But right now, your need for him was too urgent to be ignored. The images of that night in the supply closet were haunting you every night, to the point you sometimes could feel his kiss on your lips and his warm touch on your body in the darkness and loneliness of your dorm room. But you knew nothing could compare to the real thing, and having the opportunity to actually see him while giving in to your desires was something you didn’t have the strength to refuse.

“Then they’ll think that we hook up in bathrooms and won’t question why I’m in here that often anymore.” You told him to ease his concern, the heat of his cock in your hand making you wonder if he had a sudden rush of fever. You pulled it out of his pants, shamelessly looking down at it. He gulped and blushed in front of your fascination, your thumb carefully caressing his pink tip, collecting the clear and sticky precum that was already coating it. His cock was still growing, getting longer and harder in your palm, the veins under his flesh becoming more and more apparent. Then, it was your turn to gulp down and blush as you took in the size of it, wondering how you had even managed to take it all in without any pain the first time.

You lifted your eyes and met Sebastian’s gaze, staring at you with still a slight pink blush coloring his freckled cheeks. You had been so bold that he was waiting on you to take the lead and be in charge, this new side of you not helping him control himself and his urge to tear your school uniform off of your body and show you how wild he could get when it came to fucking you.

“Can I see you too ?” He asked, managing to act like a gentleman, although he truly wasn’t one, judging by the amount of filthy thoughts he had about you and what he wanted to do to you on a daily basis.

“Alright…” you agreed, your voice trembling slightly. You could understand his curiosity, after all, he hadn’t seen anything of you in that dark closet a month ago, only felt your body against his but your self confidence wasn’t at its best after being sick for almost an entire month, with your hormones acting up to make it worse.

He carefully reached out, popping open the buttons of your shirt one by one until you were left with nothing but your bra on. He looked at you questioningly, and you nodded, giving him a silent permission to remove it too.

His eyes instantly widened when your bra dropped on the tiles, your bare chest exposed to him.

“I didn’t think they would grow so much in so little time.” He stated, clearly dumbstruck by the view.

Your hand returned to the hard buldge between his legs, perking up at your touch as you closed your hand around it and pumped it up and down a few times, pulling him out of his daze and making him gasp in reaction. You didn’t think it possible but the movements made his cock grow even bigger and larger.

A groan dropped from his lips as he momentarily closed his eyes, as if he was struggling to keep control over himself.

“Sit.” He told you, his voice so low it sent shivers down your spine. His hands flew to your waist, already maneuvering you to get you in a sitting position over his lap.

You held your skirt up, your legs pressed on the cold tiles on either side of his thighs. His hand slipped underneath your clothes so swiftly you didn’t notice at first, until you felt his fingers pulling your panties aside, baring your very wet pussy.

With his other hand still on your waist, he guided you down until you were low enough for his erection to push past your entrance, stretching your walls as you sank lower and lower until his full size rested inside you.

You gasped at the sensation, your hands on his broad shoulders to help you support yourself and he grinned, the hand between your legs moving all the way up to your hair, gripping on a piece and pulling them back so that you’d bare your neck to him, allowing him to plant a few wet kisses all the way down to your collarbones as you still adjusted to his size inside you.

You slowly moved your hips in wide circles, exploring the pleasant sensations it sent throughout your entire body. He seemed to enjoy it too, his breathing instantly becoming ragged and desperate.

When you pushed on your knees, pulling yourself up before sitting back down and impaling yourself on his hard cock once again, you heard him curse under his breath. One of his hands held your skirt scrunched up in his fist while the other found your hip, guiding you in a faster rythym as you rocked up and down onto him many more times.

He pulled you closer to feel your swollen boobs on his face, appreciating the way they moved in synch with your hips, wanting to bury his face between them until he suffocated. Your moans and whimpers were causing his mind to go blank once again, unable to think about anything other than the pleasure you were apparently having while bouncing on his cock.

You dug your nails in his shoulders, the bliss bubbling up in your core becoming so intense it was almost unbearable. You would have slowed down, afraid of the strength of your own imminent orgasm, but Sebastian kept guiding you at an unrelenting pace, his tip hitting so deep inside your core each time that you barely managed to not let out a scream that could have echoed through the castle’s hallways, your body violently shaking and tensing with the pleasure that spilled into every fiber of your being.

Sebastian had been holding himself back from the very moment you pulled his cock out of his pants. In all honesty, he could have cummed in your hand right then and there but he had fought it long enough to make sure that you’d enjoy it too. He wanted to make you feel good as it felt like the only thing he could do to help you out right now, and now that your body had collapsed over him, effectively suffocating him with your plump chest, crying out his name in a way he would never forget, he allowed himself to come too, shooting his full load inside your still pulsating pussy.

“Are you okay ?” Your voice asked him, after a moment, your chest moving away from his face and leaving him cold.

“Of course.” He answered, panting and smiling. “What about you ?”

“I’m fine.” You told him which, for the first time in days, wasn’t a lie. You moved to sit next to him, his spent cock gliding out of you easily, drops of his white release lightly staining his pants and your skirt in the process. “You know, I think I’m kind of hungry now.”

“Ah! I told you it would work !” He exclaimed, excitedly. “What do you want to eat ?”

“A waffle with chocolate.” You told him, without hesitation.

“Alright, a chocolate covered waffle coming right up !” He nodded, immediately jumping to his feet, adjusting his clothes and walking away, determined to bring you exactly what you had requested. Surely, he’d be able to bribe a house elf for a waffle. And if not, he would sneak into the kitchen and cook one for you himself, how hard could it be ?

(( Masterlist ))

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