#i will cancel this if i get too embarrassed

[procyonloser]

Adam was waiting for Lucifer to show up to their meeting, which was always an exercise in frustration. Lucifer always fucking cancelled, with some bullshit made up reason, and he'd send someone else in his stead. Lilith, one of the sins, he once had Charlie do it when she was like 4, which Adam wagered she didn't remember.

He spun his pen around between his fingers, then tried balancing it on his nose, before it fell and rolled under the table. Adam huffed and leaned down, realizing how far the fucker had actually gone. He grumbled, getting on his hands and knees to reach out and grab the pen, but when he tried to get back up, the horns of his mask caught on the curved gold supports under the table. Adam cursed, trying to wiggle free, but it just wouldn't go. Why the fuck was Lute on leave today, her ass should have been the one getting his pen-

"........Adam? I uh can't tell if that's you from...behind."

Motherfucker! Of all times Lucifer actually decides to show up, after ten thousand fucking years out trying to get him in a meeting, this was the only time he actually turned up?!

"I actually fucking hate you! Go die!" Adam yelled, trying to push against the table, but his head was good and stuck. He tried taking off his mask, but it was such an enclosed space he couldn't get it off. He struggled and struggled, but nothing was happening.

"Fucking help me or I'll burn down your awful fuckin' theme park!" Adam barked out, using anger to hide the fact this was actually the most embarrassing thing to have happened to him, and he was including eating the apple and realizing he was fully wang out his entire life.

"Okay, okay, goodness you really need to work on that temper..." Lucifer said, before hands landed on Adam's hips. He pulled, and Adam only went back a bit, but it didn't free him. He tried again, and again, until he was just rocking them back and forth. Lucifer's grip dug into his flesh as they rocked, but it didn't seem to be doing much.

"Fuck, Lucifer." Adam whined, starting to feel claustrophobic. "It's too much! You've got to do it harder!"

"I...um," Lucifer started, sounding a bit off. "I need to... go. Right now, right away. Good luck, Adam! I'll see you next time! Maybe!"

"Wait- what?! Don't leave me here, asshole!" Adam panicked, but suddenly the room was quiet. Then it went dark as the lights went out.

"... Fuck."

[randomwriteronline]

Pohatu was not here.

Kopaka registered the thought in an objective manner, not angry nor relieved, and kept laying down in the half miserable little cave in Ko-Metru which might as well have been his sad attempt at a den.

Misfortunes and blessings always come in groups of six; so of course six Visorak had stubbornly remained in Metru Nui even a thousand years after being told to scram, one for each of its sections, and of course each Toa Nuva (Takanuva notwithstanding, furtunately) had gotten bitten by one of the disgusting little pests while exploring the desolate city that felt so incredibly unnatural compared to the island paradise they had just left, and of course the Hordika venom had ensnared them all in an iron fist and mutated them into six new unwanted flavors of monstrous Rahi-adjacent beings.

Sure, they weren't alone in this hellish situation: there were the Matoran, and the Turaga, and the Rahaga, and Keetongu. Technically speaking, this should have been a non-issue, and it shouldn't have been taking so long to be rectified - it was just a matter of wrangling the Nuva up all together, making them hold hands, slapping the majestic Rahi in their circle of friendship, and boom. Problem solved. No more Hordika. But things could never simple, and this time the new complications were caused by the very simple fact that the venom had that annoying effect of adding on top of the already horrendous packaging of the new forms a nice complementary picnic basket of inane oddities and instincts that had immediately taken over the Toa's lives and made them even harder to handle than they already were.

It is one thing to deal with a bunch of seven-foot-tall children who came out of their canisters full of elemental powers, a lot of fighting experience, and no knowledge of the world whatsoever. It's even more of a hassle to look after those same barely matured kids after they've promptly gotten even more power, instantly had it stripped away, regained it, gotten the tar beaten out of them by snakes in gundam suits, and gained a brand new even taller baby brother. All things considered, the former Toa Metru and their villages had done egregiously already.

But to deal with semi-feral Toa was a new can of beans entirely.

Not that the interested specimens were having an easier time wrangling themselves - by all means, they were failing at that rather spectacularly: Gali had begun voicing her displeasure with her brothers in more assertive manners, which would have been very healthy if she also hadn't fallen into a habit of roaring them into submission and smacking them around like Kohlii balls if they were too stubborn for her opinion; Tahu had put Ta-Metru under a protective seige of one, essentially, yelling at his siblings to piss off when he saw them come too close and whining inconsolably when his cries and growls frightened the Matoran away from him as he tried to groom them clean almost obsessively; it had taken roughly two days to find Lewa after he'd mutated, plus one and a half to catch him, the other half to convince him not to start another round of Tag across the Metru and another good dozen hours to make him promise to engage in less expansive games before they had to do all that again, because keeping him put did not work; a group of Matoran was now glued to Onua to keep him company and give him little safe excavation tasks so he would not dig directly through the Archives' floors and into the deepest pits of the world, because the last time he absentmindedly started doing that he almost collapsed half of Onu-Metru and thank the Great Spirit Taipu had managed to drag him back up or they might have lost him forever to the depths; and Kopaka, of course, had gotten an enormous anxiety attack due to his horrifying appearance and had decided that the only way to handle this was to disappear into the mountains for an indeterminate amount of time, possibly forever, avoiding any and all contact with civilization before either his looks scared someone to death or he was laughed at into his grave.

Pohatu was fine. Because of course, Pohatu was fine. He'd gotten the sensory overload of a lifetime for all of ten minutes, and then he'd gotten immediately over it and taken it all in stride. As Pohatu does.

He'd very quickly acclimated to his new body, senses, instincts, and secret languages, and since there was technically nothing wrong with him he had been allowed to leave his Metru and try to help out his siblings regain their minds from the intensity of their uncontrollable Hordika moods. His intervention had generally proven irreplaceable in those terms: just by splaying himself on the ground he was able to calm his brothers and sister's boiling rage, he could coax them into playing or stopping almost on command, and thanks to the way he angled his body at every step his mere presence soothed them into a more agreeable state. He'd even managed to find Kopaka and be admitted into his sad little recluse home, bringing him toys or food or water and tending to his needs - including his fears and his desire for privacy from wayward Matoran who tried to seek him out, reassuring them that their Toa was just fine and they needn't worry about a thing.

Perhaps he was almost a little too comfortable in this situation. Almost like this entire ordeal had given him a new role among their group, their pack - that of the peace-keeper, of the calming presence, the one who keeps everybody happy and at ease for the sake of themselves and those around them - which nobody else had been able to fill, thus easing his nagging worries about what exactly he brought of worth to the team. Maybe this was how the Hordika venom was trying to corrupt him, promising a shield from his anxieties in exchange for his and his siblings' real natures.

Kopaka pawed at the ground and furrowed his expression. His mind felt too disgruntled and heavy for these thoughts.

His entire being had been feeling too disgruntled and heavy for anything in the past few days. It was like having a weird itch in a point of the back that is just unreachable without putting yourself in an awkward position that is just as if not even more uncomfortable. Standing up was a chore, and while moving around did help it wouldn't stop the annoying sensation from sitting all over him with a light but maddeningly ever shifting weight; so he generally preferred to lounge around lazily as he allowed the days to pass him by, looking like the spit image of depression. Not that he was depressed in truth, he felt anything but - he was just... Fatigued. Lethargic. Uninterested. Maybe just too busy trying to shake off that bothersome feeling to focus on anything else around him. He had responded so differently to so many different stimuli already, he reasoned, so who was to say this couldn't have had something to do with the climate, then? If that was the case, he hated that. How dare this new form make him so tired and devoid of energy in his preferred environment and weather. He wasn't going to look for a hotter place to stay at, that was certain: the Hordika could be as miserable as it wanted here in the snow, but the Toa refused to be made miserable by migrating to any of the other Metrus.

While he'd been stuck in this funk, Pohatu had been stuck at his side. He hadn't seemed too worried about his condition, but he definitely wasn't too keen on it either: he was always gently coaxing him into at least some activity every day, usually through some of the puzzle toys that Onewa would carve for him and that he placed with Kopaka's reach, not forcing him to engage with them but offering him some low effort entertainment nonetheless, or simply sitting or laying by his side to nap with him if he really couldn't stomach to move at all. He had decided to handle the hunting for him as well, as he was clearly too distracted by his inexplicable condition to fetch food properly. It was logical to imagine that he was off getting breakfast for the both of them right now.

How nice he was, Pohatu. Nice and reliable. A real sweetheart, when he put himself to it.

Normally, when the Rahi instincts within him stirred and dropped their muddled thoughts into his mind, Kopaka snarled and shook his head in an attempt at getting them out of himself; he was his own master, thank you very much, and he did not need nor let alone want some incorporeal semi-voice to tell him what to think or do or feel.

In this case, however, he didn't fight back against them. Why should he? They were right. Pohatu was nice, reliable, and a sweetheart. Those were simple objective facts he had known and been keenly aware of for months by now - nothing less, nothing more. Even an idiot would have come to the exact same conclusions, because they were true. The mere fact that the Toa of Stone had thought of seeking him out to check on him in the first place and then decided on sticking around in a relatively unobtrusive and pleasant manner upon seeing his sorry state spoke volumes of his kindness and patience already. None of their other siblings would have managed to stand him like that, especially in their current situation.

Yes, Pohatu was so kind, the beast within him nodded as it began kneading at the ground: a very kind, very good being. He was open and friendly, so willing to listen even when he got bored, terribly stubborn and yet also fast, strong, protective, steady - maybe his quick thinking got the best of his common sense and he was not too smart at times, but that wasn't anything Kopaka couldn't fix. He had proved himself to be a great provider in times of need, and awfully loyal to boot - so many chances to desert him in favor of someone else, someone more agreeable, more fun, more pleasant, like he was, and yet it was always the Toa of Ice he was drawn to the most... He was so good at handling smaller beings as well, taking care not to frighten them too much if unnecessary: when Matoro had come around looking for Kopaka on Nuju's behalf, Pohatu had taken it upon himself to greet the Matoran in his peer's stead, carefully posing himself to appear as inoffensive as possible so that the little hunter would not react violently against him. He had even helped Matoro on his hunt, and made sure to secure him on Kopaka's back so that he would have a safe trip back to the slowly rebuilding Metru while he carried enough food for all of the villagers waiting - even allowing them to actually bask in their Toa's presence for a few minutes before his anxiety demanded kicking and screaming to be whisked as far away from people as possible again, yet another wish fulfilled by his Stone peer's unmatched affability reassuring Turaga and Matoran alike that he'd look after him. A kind heart in a powerful body; yes, his instincts purred again, making his entire frame stretch out across the ground with a sudden rise of delight, Pohatu really was a great candidate, and Kopaka was so caught up in the satisfaction of that assertion that he didn't even stop to wonder what that meant.

He pulled himself to his feet, feeling reinvigorated all of a sudden. His joints popped with a pleasant feeling, and a strange antsy excitement coursed through them in careful jolts: he began pacing around the cave restlessly, almost trotting, his previously stifling itch turning into a soft energy that pervaded his entire frame. His stomach shifted a little with a low rumbling growl and his mouth started to salivate: he probably must have been hungry, though he didn't quite feel like eating yet, either. Strange. No matter. A great candidate, his instincts kept repeating, a perfect candidate, and despite not knowing what exactly the phrase referenced he couldn't help but agree wholly, feeling more and more energized.

If Pohatu had said he didn't miss his normal body, that would have been a plain lie - but he had to admit, readjusting his teeth's grip around the poor no longer breathing thing that had the unfortunate duty of being his and Kopaka's breakfast today, that wading through the snow on four legs was much easier that on two. It still wasn't ideal by all means, what with the wet feeling it left on him and having to trudge through it because he couldn't help but sink in the freezing cold stuff; however, he'd take the mild discomfort over nearly falling face first in the white cover at every other step.

His back wagged a little. What was he excited about, he wondered briefly, interrogating his rumbling instincts? The speedier travel, the food in his mouth, or the fact that he was almost at his destination? The Rahi in his chest made him jump into a few piles of snow for the fun of it: a bit of all of that, he assumed in the end, plus the hopes that Kopaka would be awake enough to eat with him. The Toa of Ice had been woefully under the weather recently, laying around most if the time, not even wanting to go out hunting. He wasn't big on playing, Pohatu had realized very quickly - or at least not on the sort of roughhousing that their other siblings enjoyed destressing through from time to time, which made sense considering his character. No, he had much more fun tracking down scents and footprints, stalking little beasts with his light paws barely pressing dents onto the snow as he almost slid across it only to suddenly jump high!, and lodge his snout into the candid mound so hard that his spine bent from the momentum and sent him sprawling on the ground, tiny unmoving prey proudly secured in his jaws so tight that it probably hadn't even realized what had happened. He was a joy to watch, frankly, so graceful and goofy and happy - it made Pohatu almost whimper ruefully at his inability to emulate him: they could have had fun racing each other after ice lizards, or maybe one could have hidden in the snow and the other would have had to track him down and pounce him, or even just going off to find food together... Kopaka's sudden melancholy had managed to keep him even from his preferred source of fun, and if it kept going on like this the Toa of Stone was going to start seriously worrying for him.

It wasn't anything to be scared of, his instincts soothed him once again: it was a normal if fragile state for his peer to be in, just passing a little slow. His mere presence was helping, he was certain of it - he just had to wait for the right signal. After that, everything would have gone right back to how it always had been without a hitch. In the meantime all he had to do was take good care of him and make sure his needs were met.

It was very, very important, to show he could look after him so well; the Toa of Ice needed to be assured of that as much as possible, lest he found him unsuitable in the end. The beast within made his stomach clench at that discomforting thought, no doubt just as worried about losing such a close friend as Pohatu himself was. Felling his anxieties mount over his spine, the Toa breathed through his occupied teeth and calmed himself: there was no need to worry about such unlikely things, he reasoned, when Kopaka's body language had been consistently hollering with delight whenever the other so much as caught a glimpse or whiff of him. He had cuddled him out of his worst moments and offered him all of his support, and right now he had some fresh breakfast in his mouth just for him - or mostly for him, if he wasn't hungry enough or instead felt inclined to share. Pohatu could admit that hope was mostly gluttony, as he'd had quite a few snacks of his own already while stalking down a good enough prey for his friend, but still, eating together did always feel nicer than doing so all alone... But that wasn't important: the sight of the entrance brough him back to the present.

He readjusted his grip on the meal again and slipped into the cave, easily making his way into the innermost chamber. To his delighted surprise, Kopaka was up and about, looking much more energetic than he had in the past few days: he threaded across the ground restlessly as if looking for something, although his snout was not grazing the ground following a track and his stance was very different from the one he adopted when out hunting. He made a few quick turns, joints essentially sparking with energy, aching for something indeterminate. His curious, quiet enthusiasm stirred a satisfied excitement in Pohatu's chest, the source and meaning of it unknown; the Toa of Stone decided to make himself known by throwing the prey a little further in front of himself (just in case the other didn't feel like fake-battling for it for fun) and letting a long shudder cross his body to shove off any snow on it and make a curious yet mostly indiscreet noise which would have surely gotten the other Toa's attention. As predicted, Kopaka turned to look at him; Pohatu noted with no shortage of curiosity that his eyes were unusually clear.

He pointed with his snout to the breakfast he'd caught for his friend, wiggling with pride just a little bit. And yet, despite the rumble in his gut certainly pointing towards his hunger, the Toa of Ice did not even look at the tasty morsel but instead kept his gaze fixed onto his peer with a sort of twinkle in their light blue color, a quiet wordless excitement that made Pohatu's back straighten a little by reflex. Still in perfect silence, Kopaka trotted over to him until their noses grazed one another as though to sniff him - which made it all the more surprising when instead he ducked his head under the other's jaw and leaned heavily against him, rubbing between the crook of his neck and chin. Before the Toa of Stone could fully grasp the motion his friend had already slid his entire body against that spot, the bumpy spine massaging his tough skull from underneath it before slinking away once more, putting a little distance between them but immediately turning to look at him with that same strange gaze while Pohatu stumbled a little in an attempt to follow along so that the velvety feeling would continue. It struck him only then: Kopaka smelled really, really good.

Did he want to play? Kopaka never wanted to play. Not roughhousing. But something in the way he posed himself before him was very deliberately making him want to flatten to the ground and jump him, roll with him, push him, cling to him. His eyes frantically looked all over him, trying to decode his physical language and coming up with blanks - he seemed to be nudging him closer to something, but what? He'd never seen his siblings speak like that. His confusion was slowly overwhelmed by another feeling, one he couldn't put a word to - his instincts were clearly familiar with it though, seeing as they were singing along with it, exalted, delighted, bursting with joy: their reasonings weren't fully comprehensible (many of them weren't) but amidst the confusion clouding his mind he still understood the enthusiasm coursing through him, and that this was fine, this was great! He had done everything just right! Kopaka was over the stars about the careful and attentive way he'd been treated, and now he was inviting him! Waiting for him! All he had to do was follow his lead!

The Toa of Ice watched him intently. He trotted closer once again to repeat the motion: something in Pohatu's chest jumped as he felt those hips rub against his chin, and one of his legs rushed above and over them, to trap him - which caused Kopaka to swiftly slink away again, widening the gap between them with a sudden stiffness.

Right, right - this was Kopaka's game, under Kopaka's rules.

The Toa of Stone flattened to the ground sheepishly, asking for forgiveness with wide guilty eyes. He hadn't meant to do anything wrong, he'd just gotten a bit too excited... Could he really blame him? No, he read in the smooth tilt of his peer's head, he really couldn't, not when they both had that confused antsyness animating them. Another chance, just one, alright? But be careful this time. Just follow my lead, the cadence of his steps said as he approached him for the third time while his new tantalizing smell bloomed from him so magnificently that it almost made his peer shake, and wait until the right time. I'll show you. You will? I will. You promise? I promise.

Pohatu held himself very still as their snouts almost touched. On his best behaviour, wasn't he? Kopaka's throat rumbled, pleased and amused; his nose dug into the crook of the other's neck playfully, to make him squirm a little and ease him up. No need for all that formality - just pay close attention. His head slid under the Toa's chin, rubbing against it as he slid forward, and soon his skull was replaced by his neck, then his shoulders, then his back, his waist, his hips... Just as his tailbone was about to break contact, something snapped for the both of them: Pohatu shifted in an almost liquid manner until he was essentially laying on him, legs aligned with his own, chest and stomach pressed against his spine; Kopaka wriggled beneath his weight until he deemed himself comfortable enough, and his entire upper body went down placidly, laying on the comfortably cold ground while a sweet nose rubbed his nape affectionately and tickled it by sniffing.

A sudden pressure caused them to pause for the fraction of a second, confused. But their insticts purred loudly in tandem, the vibrations rattling through them so comforting and soothing, reassuring them it was alright, reassuring them everything was just fine and normal and good, everything was going perfectly, and they were doing so very good; so the Toa were gently sat back down once again and simply watched, curious, a little excited even, as the Hordika resumed to move in perfect synchrony, filling a void they didn't even know was there with a comfortable warmth.

The sensation was so good that they didn't even register anything else they might have been doing. The rest of the world didn't exist: there was just comfortable weight, their bodies' shapes fitting together like puzzle pieces, a gentle ondulating rhythm, and purring.

So much delightful and delighted purring.

All of a sudden the pressure increased again, much more forceful: Kopaka grumbled and squirmed at that, stopping his intense kneading as discomfort slithered into his mind. Pohatu was quick to nuzzle the side of his head in order to soothe him, promising it wasn't anything to be concerned about - but he too could feel it, some kind of uncomfortable opposition that kept him from going forward. He just needed a moment, a very quick moment, and if he could relax for just a second, if he could help him... They slipped closer against each other in unison, growling quietly to get rid of the foreign sensations together, and the action produced a welcome feeling, like sort sort of tactile equivalent of the onomatopoeia 'pop', dissolving both the pressure and the unpleasantness back into their rumbling enjoyment with a pair of long sighs.

The strain of getting through that moment had worn them out completely. They laid down on each other, not moving a single inch, eyes closed and breathing even; their paws rested close while they absentmindedly rubbed cheek to cheek, exchanging every now and then little licks to comfort each other without any real purpose, and their instincts continued to purr intensely, praising perfectly satisfied their performance.

They prattled on within their chests and minds about things that the two Toa couldn't hope to comprehend nor really wanted to try decoding at the moment, tired as they were.

Pohatu reached out enough to pull his morning haul a little closer: Kopaka nibbled on it without even prying an eye open, just thankful for the offered breakfast. They shared it like that, one laying over the other, buzzing with quiet affectionate rumbles between bites, wondering lazily what all of this had been about. By the time they were picking off the last morsels from the protodermis bones they'd each individually come to the conclusion not to think about any of this too much. The Toa of Ice was clearly feeling much better anyways, and his peer didn't seem to have caught whatever had been plaguing him during their strange game - so all in all, everything was back to normal.

It wasn't like this once in a lifetime happenstance was going to have any long standing repercussions in the future anyways...

[pranklinfierce]

Found another pen so I'm sketching again.

I accidentally composed my page so that cartoon conkling and cartoon old maid buchanan seem to be really unhappy that John wilkes booth is there. Maybe they didn't like manhunt. Neither did i

[zeb-z]

wtf is it with political roleplay that gets all the weirdos coming out of the woodwork and putting a damper on things. specifically on twt like can people let the cc’s play characters and have conflict and have fun like goddamn man

[sieglinde-freud]

resplendent awakening trio!!! what do you mean my laslow looks weird. no he doesnt. why would you even say that?? to my girlfriend????? bitch??

[shidouryusm]

As a Kpop listener I’ll say- Kpop stans are fucking weird man

[gatogotica]

prodigal son is so wild to me because they - seemingly accidentally - made this incredibly dynamic, complex, intelligent, sympathetic & lovable character then was like holy shit what do we do with him. then they shrugged and decided to hurt him endlessly for 2 seasons

[cerealmonster15]

ougugugughghhh i get,,, so embarrassed when i try to be Earnest lol especially w/in the context of like fanart/fic like i LOVE when other people do it i LOVE reading earnest and vulnerable deep fics and seeing intense fanart etc etc etc. but then i do it i feel like i am Going To Be Killed LJFDKSLF SDJFLS

[lonesomedotmp3]

cried and started rewatching bojack and now I feel a little better <3 I love you TV show

[insert-game]

called to schedule a hair cut appointment with the same person who cut my hair last time, and despite my best efforts they scheduled it down as a Woman’s Hair Appointment so now i’m so anxious to go in and be humiliated

the receptionist did not seem to buy that i was a man i guess and i’m just aaaaaaaaaaaaa 😭😭😭😭

[cherryblossomgothomite]

Guys, I don't wanna go to/can't fall asleep, but I've got school tomorrow, any tips and tricks to not almost pass out in my classes on the first day? Or anyway to successfully trick my caregivers into letting me skip?

[puppmeo]

And the cycle begins anew . As it does every week

[hedgehog-moss]

I went to a restaurant with a friend yesterday and upon entering we saw these splendid blueberry tarts under bell jars on the counter and we made jokey small talk with the waitress like oh, people will fight over these if there's not enough for everyone, it'll tear families apart, are you making more later? and she said no, I'm afraid that's our entire stock for today, but there are 18 slices, it should be plenty! It was a small village restaurant with only one menu du jour so there weren't any other dessert options but they don't usually get that many customers—but then a couple of large groups arrived and most people noticed the tarts like we did, and went ohh blueberry tart, it's been a while, I can't wait, and it became clear that when we'd get to the end of our meal there would be winners and losers in the blueberry tart rush

But later as we were about to order dessert I wasn't hungry anymore and I was like well that's too bad but someone else will be glad to get 'my' slice of tart—and my friend said yeah, me :) You should order it anyway, I'll eat both! At first I thought she was joking, but no. I said, there's not enough for everyone, you can't take two, and she said, we were going to order two slices, what difference does it make? and I was baffled that she couldn't see the ethical difference between two people eating one slice of tart each vs. one person eating two, when there's a limited quantity of tart. I felt like we were in a simplistic social justice metaphor it was so obvious, but there was no changing her mind. When I said "it's just... not nice" she said "okay" with a shrug, and what can you say to that. She added, you don't know any of these people and I was like, why are we reverting to tribal dynamics in a non-apocalyptic setting, how would you feel if we'd arrived a bit later and seen others ordering two desserts knowing you'd get zero? And she said, I would think that's their right, and I felt kind of amazed.

I pointed out that if she didn't think it was a wee bit wrong, she wouldn't ask me to order her second piece as if it was for me, and she said yeah maybe we don't need to do that, there's no law preventing me from ordering two desserts. What about Kant's categorical imperative Okay I guess you're not breaking any laws by taking more than your fair share of a thing other people also want, just failing a kindergarten-level morality test. I felt embarrassed for sounding like an annoying preachy rigid person so I dropped the issue, and as she ate her two slices she'd smile at me every time we overheard someone order coffee without dessert—like "See? There'll be enough, no one will be deprived of tart because of me!" as if that cancelled the fact that she didn't care in the first place. I guess it was one of these tiny issues that can still significantly alter the way you perceive a person. I tried to tell myself not to be so bothered about this small thing but I was! so bothered. And I felt like writing a letter to some agony aunt like "should I end a friendship over irreconcilable blueberry tart ethics"

[thevillainswhore]

New Tricks

Pairing: Virgin!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 9.5k

Summary: After your brother has to cancel movie night, you’re ready to resign yourself to an uneventful evening back at your dorm, alone and dejected. But what you didn’t count on, is your brother’s best friend and roommate, bursting through the door and asking you to stay; to spend the night with him, instead

What unfolds, however, while you spend time with the star football player, both shocks and astounds you — one confession in particular. 

Bucky Barnes, the Prince Charming of campus, the man you have been crushing on for an eternity, is a virgin.

Warnings: first kisses, fluff, smut, grinding, making out, big brother!steve, college!bucky, shy bby bucky, mutual pining, swearing, pet names, huge ton of reassurances, lots of praise, big hints of subby bucky

Author’s Note: beta’d by my baby @rookthorne

Okay, so where to start with this… the idea for this fic sprung from a certain someone 👀 and I just had to write it. Thank you to my girl for being a huge support through this, I love you 💗

These two have my whole heart and who knows? Maybe more will come of them 😌 for all my playlist lovers, you’re welcome - new tricks playlist ❤️

New Tricks Masterlist

I hope you enjoy this as much as I’ve loved creating it 🥹

Standing outside of your brother’s apartment, your impatience starts to wane thin. For ten whole minutes, you have been waiting for Steve to open up. And knocking like a crazed woman is beginning to get old; so is waiting on the doorstep to his front door. 

“Oh, for–” You grumble, and you lift your arm up to bang against the door for the umpteenth time,  when your hand misses it entirely, owing to the fact it swings open to admit you with such enthusiasm, it creaks and threatens to bounce back off of the wall.  

Bucky — your brother’s roommate, best friend, and your crush — sheepishly smiles and scratches the back of his neck. 

The line of his shoulders slump when he lowers his arm, and you notice (and appreciate) just how broad and muscled he is. He must have just been working out, or you interrupted him — nonetheless, you’re thankful for the sight before you, and how it makes the crush you harboured for the brunette for years roar to life all over again. 

Excellent, you inwardly sigh.

“Buttercup,” Bucky says — the affectionate nickname born from his sappy personality always makes you swoon, and his hesitant smile morphs into a wide one. You’re left fighting  internally to keep your giddiness at the sight of him to a respectable level.  “Hey, you. Sorry I didn’t hear you; I was listening to music.” 

Your gaze continues up to his hair, finding it tied back with an elastic at the nape of his neck.  Oh, how you wished you could run your hands through–

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, furrowing his brows. 

Embarrassment floods you and you realise far too late that he probably has asked you a question, or several, while you were daydreaming. “Sorry, Buck,” you squeak, praying that the heat crawling up your neck was not as obvious as it felt. “What was that?”

His soft, puppy-eyed expression brightens when you meet his gaze. “It’s fine, doll. Everything okay?” 

No matter how badly you want to stand and unashamedly stare at your brother’s best friend and roommate, your true intention behind your visit comes to mind. 

“Can I come in?” you ask, lifting the bag of snacks you brought up higher. Bucky’s eyes glance down at the bag, and then back up to your face. “Stevie planned our movie night and he isn’t answering his phone — I told him I was on my way and I asked him if he wanted anything else.” 

The confusion that creases Bucky's brows and downturns his lips in a small frown makes you narrow your eyes. 

“Surely he didn’t forget,” you accuse, still staring into Bucky’s face. “I make the trip down from campus every two weeks. It’s been two weeks.” A sudden, encompassing guilt fills Bucky’s eyes, and he starts to worry his bottom lip with his teeth — a sight far too hard to ignore. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Um– I just–” Bucky stutters, and you watch as his fingers twitch and fidget — a nervous tic. If he didn’t look cute while stumbling over his words, you would feel sorry for being so blunt. “I just thought that– Uh, I thought it was cancelled. The movie night, I mean.” 

You step forward slightly, and Bucky opens the door wider. A wordless invitation. 

Bucky rushes to clear a space on the entryway coat rack for you, when he suddenly says, “You know, because of his date, an’ all.” His words falter at the look you shoot him. You stop taking off your coat, and you drop the bag of snacks to the floor, ignoring the crinkle and rustle of plastic. 

“What do you mean date, Barnes?” The use of his last name causes a flush of deep red to pattern his cheeks, but you don’t let up. There’s music playing from down the hall of the apartment – right where Steve’s bedroom is. “What’s going on?” 

Bucky skittishly fidgets and glances around the apartment, before meeting your heated gaze. “I– Look, I didn’t know–” 

You silently mouth a curse, beyond frustrated with your older brother, and with yourself for taking just a second to indulge and admire just how sweet Bucky is when he is unsure. “Fine,” you huff, and you turn to walk straight towards the source and to investigate it yourself.

Bucky’s frantic footsteps behind you don’t deter your haste. “Wait, stop — Buttercup, wait!”

Forgoing a courtesy knock — having had enough of banging on his front door — you barge straight into the room with as little as a greeting call or warning. 

“What the shit–“ 

The door to Steve’s bedroom slams against the wall, and you come face to face with the blond in the middle of a dance off with himself in the mirror. “Sis! Hey,” he gasps, holding his hand over his heart in fright. “What’re you doing–?” 

In lieu of an answer, you cross your arms and stare at him, unimpressed and exasperated with his antics. “Don’t you hey sis me.” The fear in Steve’s eyes as you stomp towards him almost vindicates your indignation of being uninformed. “What do you mean you’re going on a date? It’s movie night!” 

Steve has the decency to look ashamed. “Flower, I swear, I’m sorry,” he rambles, and he takes your hand, directing you to sit down on his bed. “I would’ve called to let you know but everything was so last minute.” 

The grip he has on your hand is firm, assuring you of his true intentions, even when he turns the Roger’s charm up to an eleven to worm his way back onto your good side. “I swear sis, I wouldn’t bail on you without a good reason.”

“Okay,” you say, staring into his face — still not wholeheartedly convinced of his graces. A line of questioning is in order, you decide. “So, who is this good enough reason?”

“Natasha Romanoff.” The dreamy, love-struck sigh that leaves Steve’s lips after her name is uttered has you reluctantly trying to hide your giggle; the righteous anger and frustration slowly leaves your body in his admittance.  

The fact that he has been obsessed with the college’s most popular redhead since forever, was a balm to the annoyance. You truly did feel happy for him underneath it all. 

And, in the end, it’s how you decide to let him off the hook — though not without teasing him, first. “No way, the Natasha Romanoff? How the hell have you managed that one?” 

Steve pushes your shoulder, and the force of his shove knocks you sideways onto the covers of his bed. “Fine,” you grouse, sighing heavily and resigning yourself to a night on your own. “I’ll let you off this time.”

“I’ll make it up to you, Flower,” Steve promises. And you believe him. He has always kept his word; ever since the two of you were kids. 

“Good,” you say, smiling softly. “I expect an apology at my door in the next few days, though.”

Laughing, Steve nods, and then he stands from his bed. 

“I’ll leave you to it then, I hope you have fun, bro.” 

It is an impossible task for you to hide your dejected hurt from Steve, though. Clever and perceptive as he is, he detects the subtle sombre undertones underlying your reassurances, narrowing in on them like a dog to a bone. 

You get to your feet with a quiet sigh, and as you move, you miss the thoughtful expression on his face; the perk of his ears at the almost indistinguishable shuffling of feet just outside of his bedroom. “How about you have a movie night with Bucky, instead?” 

You stop in your tracks, frozen in shock at the sudden and downright surprising suggestion. “Stevie,” you admonish, “Bucky does not want to waste a Friday night with me–“

“I don’t mind!” Bucky shouts eagerly from the doorway, and you spin around to face him. The nervous fidget of his curls his fingers and hands around one another, over and over. 

Had he been listening that whole time? 

Guilt begins to flood you. Imposing on any plans Bucky  may have made was a burden you did not want to bear,  and you couldn’t fathom who would want to spend the night with their best friend’s little sister. “Thank you, Bucky, that’s really sweet of you,” you placate, smiling at him. “But I know you’ve probably got better things to do on a Friday night than be with me.”

Bucky seems to swell in the doorway, his chest puffing up and he sets his jaw, a determined glint in his eyes. “Actually, Buttercup,” he retorts, crossing his arms in a decisive move. “A movie night with you sounds perfect.” 

The confidence in his tone takes you by surprise, and you flounder for a second while you stare into his steel blue eyes. “Really?”

“‘Course,” he replies easily, shrugging his shoulders. “It’ll be fun.”

His words, and charming smile, ultimately win you over.  

With your attention wholly focused on Bucky as he begins to talk about what movies to watch, you miss the knowing, victorious smirk that curls Steve’s lips.  

“Okay,” Steve calls from the doorway, looking back at the two of you, and you can’t help but be frustrated by his stalling. “Be good and behave while I’m gone. Oh, and, no staying up past your bedtimes — Bucky, her bedtime is ten o’clock sharp.”

The scowl on your face only serves to make him laugh, and you huff your exasperation before your hands grip his biceps; the only way to get him out the door is brute force. “Get out, Stevie,” you grunt, pushing with all your might, but it is to no avail. Steve is as immovable as a statue made of marble. “Don’t you have to go see Natasha?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, and you hear the rustling sound of fabric. “Don’t you?”

Instinct tells you to duck, and you do so, just in the nick of time to avoid the pillow Bucky launches across the room from his place next to the couch. The pillow hits Steve square in the face with a comical thump. 

You burst into laughter at the stunned look of disbelief on Steve’s face, and you look over at Bucky, who is leaning against the sofa; a smug grin pulls his lips up and scrunches his nose.  “Get the hell outta here already, punk.”

With Steve distracted by Bucky’s betrayal, you take the chance to shove him out of the front door and watch delightedly as he stumbles in the hallway. “Hey–!” The door slams shut behind him, cutting him off. 

Giggles shake your shoulders as you put your back to the door, leaning against it with all of your strength as Steve turns the handle — evidently not finished in the war of quips. 

Bucky’s laughter from his place by the sofa makes your stomach flutter, and he walks closer, just as Steve stops attempting to break down the door. 

With the end of Steve’s attempts to forcefully open the door, you turn and face the wood and peer out of the peephole. A blond mop of hair is just within view. “Bye Stevie!” you call through the door, “Have fun, wear protection!”

Steve’s reply is muffled by the wood, and he flips you off before walking away.  

Shaking your head, you turn back to face the living room, and you see Bucky fussing around the sofa and coffee table. The strong aroma of a sweet, spicy scent fills your senses and you inhale deeply, letting the tantalising smell fill your lungs, before you ask, “Bucky, what are you doing?”

He sends you a furtive glance before looking back down at the snacks laid out on the coffee table, neatly placed next to two already filled glasses of drink. A bag of popcorn threatens to spill from his arms. “I’m, uh– I’m setting up? For the movie–?”

You could not help but notice how fast the bravado and confidence he displayed in the presence of Steve vanishes when he was with you, and you alone.  

“Oh, sweetie,” you coo, walking closer. “I thought we could watch the movie in your room, instead of out here. It’ll be more comfortable, at least, and we can spread out. Is that okay?” 

The popcorn bag that threatened to spill from his arms bursts instead, scattering the popped kernels all over the floor, making him yelp. “Ah! Uh– Okay, we… We can if you want?”

You nod once. “Absolutely. I’d rather be in your bed any day, then out here,” you tease, amused by the way Bucky’s eyes bulge and his cheeks flush. Then you look down at the popcorn all over the floor, and add, “But first, let’s clean this up.” 

Bucky starts to clean up the mess, and he tells you to grab the movies you agreed upon from the collection in the bookshelf. 

The selection to choose from is packed, as it always is. “Why don’t I grab a couple?” 

“Sure,” Bucky answers, sweeping the popcorn into a dustpan. “I mean, why not? May as well go all out.”

You grin and grab a couple of cases. “Do you need some help–”

“No, I’ve got it, Bubs,” Bucky interrupts. You look over your shoulder at him to see the blankets bundled high in his arms, and before you could protest and insist you help carry them, he shuffles off in the direction of his bedroom. 

Then, you glance down at the coffee table to see that the snacks and drinks are missing. “Did you grab the snacks?”

“Yeah!” Bucky calls back, muffled by the walls between the two of you. 

A fond sigh falls from your lips and you follow after him, DVD cases in hand.  

The tension in the air of his bedroom is charged with something you could not quite describe, and the butterflies in your stomach roar to life for it. You square your shoulders, and smile through it. “It’s no different, it’s no different,” you mutter under your breath; a mantra for confidence. 

Though, it is short lived. 

Bucky throws the blankets onto his bed with a grunt, and both the TV and DVD player switch on, ready to accept one of the disks you held in your hand. 

A shuddery breath falls from your lips, and you make your way to the player to place the first disc in. It whirrs to life as you turn to look at Bucky, who is placing the snacks on a tray table, his tongue between his teeth as he works. 

“Okay,” he hums, turning to face you, a shy smile on his face. “You ready, Bubs?” Without waiting for an answer, he walks past you to the light switch, his index finger poised to flip it off. 

You look down at your body, the warm outerwear you had thrown on to get to Steve’s apartment suddenly becomes scorching hot against your skin, and an idea comes to mind — flustering him has given you a rush of confidence before… 

“Almost,” you say, a hidden smirk on your lips. The layers of warmth are soft in your hands while you take them off, and you’re left in a thin tank top and soft, cotton shorts. “Now I am.”

A faint choking noise comes from the doorway behind you when you place the warmer clothes on Bucky’s desk chair. Inwardly, a coy smirk lifts the corner of your lips; outwardly, you look over to him, concerned and ever curious. 

His face, normally soft and kind whenever he looked at you, is taut with embarrassment; blotchy and red. His eyes are frantically looking anywhere, and everywhere around the room but at you. 

“Buck?” you say, getting his attention. His eyes meet yours. “You okay?”

The fidgeting is your first clue that he is struggling with something, and it is a battle to keep the teasing smile off your lips when his hands run constantly through his long hair and or come to a stop in the pockets of his grey sweats. 

Patiently, you watch while he repeats the same actions several times, each pass of his hands only serving to make him even more flushed. “Yeah. Yep,” Bucky coughs. “Mhm. Just great, thanks.” He looks up to the ceiling and gulps loudly. “You’re really wearing those? Uh– Just those, I mean?” 

You thin your lips to try and hurriedly fight off a smile as you grab your warm, fluffy socks from your bag. “Of course, silly,” you tease, shaking your head once. “I always wear my comfy clothes on movie night.”

The room turns deathly silent when you bend at the hip to pull the socks up your feet. 

Peering up from your task, you see Bucky staring at your legs, evidently thinking he hadn’t been caught and his eyes begin to trail upwards, towards your chest. The slackjawed expression amuses you, though you feel the beginning sparks of your own shyness come to life.

“Buck?” A nervous laugh bubbles in your chest, and you play with the hem of your tank top at the heat in his gaze. “Bucky?” you try again, “Are you ready?”

“Uh– Yeah, yes,” he rushes, quickly flicking the light off so his face is cast into shadow. You could have sworn he looked like a kid getting caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar — wide eyes and a deepening blush that spread down his neck.  

Bucky had always been a little shy in your presence, this you knew. Whenever you come over to visit Steve, or you bump into Bucky on campus, you always notice a remarkable difference in his normal, unwavering charm that he had in familiar company. 

This lack of swagger gives you the impression that you unfasten the young, boyish version of him; the one ruled by nerves, and hindered by a severe lack of confidence. 

Sure, you enjoy spending time with him here and there when you hang out at your brother’s apartment, but never before have you been this close to him, and alone. 

“Why don’t we–?” You gesture towards Bucky’s bed, and before he could either protest or agree, you jog to the edge and jump onto the plush mattress with a squeal of laughter. The blankets cover you easily as you roll yourself in them. “This is perfect,” you sigh, happy and content. 

“And where am I meant to sit?” Bucky laughs, appearing in your eye line with a bright, amused expression. “You blanket hog.”

“Fine,” you drawl, and you disentangle yourself from the cocoon of blankets. 

“Why, thank you, madame,” Bucky says, extending his hand in a mock salute, and he sits down in the now available spot, before sidling up the mattress, to rest his back on the headboard.

The broadness of his shoulders don’t leave much room between the two of you, and you decide to snuggle up to his side in a bid to get comfortable. You feel him tense with the proximity, but he doesn’t push you away or say anything.

“Are you ready now?” you ask, reaching for the remote. “For the movie?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” he rasps, nodding quickly.

Despite his initial nerves, Bucky settles comfortably in your presence — half of the movie goes by undisturbed with only the occasional shuffling to get comfortable after getting a snack, or a drink.  

That all changes the moment Bucky becomes restless,his leg twitching against yours constantly, and he repositions himself every couple of minutes. From the corner of your eye, you see his mouth opening and closing; the courage building within him to speak up. You bite your tongue against the urge — let him speak first, you chided yourself. 

“So,” Bucky eventually says, his voice quiet. “How are your classes going, Buttercup?” 

You take your eyes off the screen and face Bucky, but he’s already looking at you, his eyes bright from the glow of the TV. 

“They’re going good,” you reply, just as quietly. “Yeah, they’re busy — hectic, even, but good.” 

The fabric of the comforter ruffles as you turn your body towards him — your shorts ride up with the movement, and your bare thighs brush against his sweats. Bucky tenses while you settle in and only relaxes when you stop shifting in place. “This time of year is always busy, the coursework and exams,” you continue, shrugging your shoulders. “But I’m managing okay, thanks.” 

Bucky nods his head thoughtfully. “Yeah, all those art projects you’ve gotta finish, it must be tiring.” 

Shock slackens your features and you reel back — you could not recall telling him what you studied. “How do you know what major I’m taking?”

“I– um,” Bucky stutters, suddenly overwhelmingly shy. “I hear you talking to Steve about it. Y’know, when– When you come over, on movie nights, and other nights.” 

You can sense Bucky is not done explaining; he licks his lips and stares at his lap, where he fidgets, again. Quietly, as if embarrassed, he continues, “I see you lugging your big canvases across campus sometimes, too. From class, and– And from the window, when I’m actually studying.”

Warmth creeps up your neck again and you blink rapidly. You hadn’t noticed that he took so much notice of you before now, and you couldn’t help but feel endeared over it. 

Desperate to shift the attention away from yourself, you blurt, “How’s, uh– How’s training going for football season this year?”  

Bucky freezes for a second, then trips over his words, “Oh, it’s good– Yeah, it’s great. Coach says I’m progressing well, so I’m doing alright, I guess.”

“So modest, Buck,” you tease. It was common knowledge on campus that Bucky is the star player of the college football team, while also being scouted to join the professional leagues. You place your hand on his arm and squeeze his bicep reassuringly, lending him a bit of your confidence. “Don’t you sell yourself short, I’ve seen you play — you’re amazing!” 

He inhales sharply and grimaces, an expression that contorts his handsome face. “You really think so?” 

“Bucky,” you say slowly. The tense line of his body is obvious as you shuffle closer, but you are determined to prove your point; assure him of his talent and abilities, for all of a shy puppy that he is.  

“Listen to me, honey,” you continue, and Bucky refuses to meet your gaze, instead focusing on his hands. “Everyone can see it, all of us — all of the women in the crowds, all of the kids that watch you from the sidelines. We’re all screaming for you.”

His skin is warm under your palm, but you don’t remove your hand. Instead, you grip his arm and shake it a little. “You’re amazing.”

Bucky stays silent — contemplative of your words, and you take the opportunity to think over the reason why Bucky chooses to stay in on a Friday night. 

There is no questioning the fact that Bucky Barnes could pull anyone he wanted, whether it was to party, or to fuck, but to your recollection — and from what Steve had slipped in the past — no one has ever witnessed Bucky bringing anyone home, drunk or otherwise. No partner he could call his own, either, and he didn’t brag about the obvious charm he held over the many women on or off campus. 

Cautiously, you venture towards the subject of your curiosity. “Speaking of, shouldn’t you be going out on dates on a Friday night, like Stevie? Surely you’ve got tons of girls lined up for you.”  

Bucky’s silence turns deafening, unnatural. His body becomes stiff and he looks to be barely breathing. 

“Buck?” You sit up and look into his face. It’s pulled taut with what you could only guess as shame, but that made no sense, and with a mounting, swelling horror, you realise you may have pushed him too far; teased beyond the point of what is acceptable between friends. “Hey, did I say something wrong? I’m so sorry–”

“No! No– I… fuck.” Bucky throws his head back against the headboard and covers his face. “Oh, God,” he groans, muffled by his hands. “Shit.”

“Bucky–” You hesitate, unsure of what to do or what to say. You’ve never seen Bucky behave like this, so anxious and uneasy. “I– I’ll go, it’s alright, I’m sorry,” you say quickly, and you start to shuffle off of the bed when you hear his muffled voice say something behind his hands. “What was that, I didn’t–?”

A heavy sigh lifts his shoulders, and they slump back down as he exhales. “Ihaventevenhadmyfirstkissyet.”

“Sweetheart,” you say quietly, and you shift back towards him. The curtain of hair he’s so fond of covers and conceals his eyes from view, but you refrain from tucking it behind his ear. “I did not understand a word of what you just said.” 

Bucky clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably, looking up at you with a great effort. “I– uh.” His hands land on his thighs with a finality not unlike the final siren at his football games, and he utters a reluctant, “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.” 

His bedroom is quiet enough you would hear a pin drop. The TV had long powered off, since the movie finished while you talked, and the tension was palpable; a living, breathing encumberment that could not be cut with a knife. The flickering light from the still burning candle on his bedside drawers makes shadows dance across Bucky’s face. 

Okay, you think privately, so what? 

Bucky hasn’t kissed anyone before. It was justifiable — too busy with life, training and keeping up his GPA. You didn’t have to make a big deal out of this. “That’s okay–” Then the reality of the situation hits you, and your mind screeches to a halt. 

If Bucky hasn’t had his first kiss… “Does– Wait, does that mean–?”

“Yes.” Bucky squeezes his eyes tight and refuses to look at you — it is obviously a painful confession, yet he still forces himself to spit it out, putting voice to the doubt in your mind. “I’m a virgin.”

Now that catches you off guard. 

Bucky… is a virgin? 

Bucky, the star football player; built like a Greek god with the charisma to match. 

Sweat beads on his forehead and he looks like he is about to bolt from the room in his fear, and you realise all of your thoughts had shown in your expression. 

“Oh,” you manage, blinking slowly. The hand that was gripping his arm had moved without you realising, and you hastily place it back on his bicep. “Oh, Bucky.”

No other words come to mind. 

When you came to visit Steve for movie night, a calm, easy tradition in your routine, you never expected to end up in this kind of situation; on the other side of a confession that has left you speechless with shock, all while a strange confliction brews deep within your guts. 

You had been there once, and what you wouldn’t have given to have the opportunity to experience it with someone you trusted wholeheartedly — like you did Bucky, your mind supplies not-so-helpfully. 

The realisation hits you harder than you expect, and you gasp quietly, still gripping his arm to reassure him. 

Bucky moves his hands to cover his face again, and his chest rises and falls with a sharp hitch. The nervous pants for air that part his lips bring you back down to earth and away from that revelation. You know he’s embarrassed; ducking his head to his chest and glancing up as though you had scolded him. The entirety of his toned body is rigid with fear, each muscle clenching and poised to run, to save what dignity he feels he has left after such a confession. 

It’s difficult not to stare at the veins that line and bulge from his forearms down to his deft hands,  and you almost feel guilty for it; he’s in distress, fretting over the reveal of his lack of sexual prowess, but you cannot help the lingering gaze over his body. He just looks so pretty. 

From the get go, ever since you had met the star football player, you have always fantasised about him. The silent crush on Bucky had developed into such a deep attraction you almost couldn’t bear it any longer. 

Having convinced yourself of the non-existent reciprocation kept your tongue at bay, in the past.  And while Bucky’s virginity is a surprise, it did not hinder or lessen your feelings for him, quite the opposite; the heady weight of it settling over your mind like a blanket. 

What was stopping you now? What would be the harm in testing the waters?

To hell with it, you decide. The springs of the mattress creak as you move to shuck the blanket off of your body, then your legs. 

Bucky audibly gulps behind his hands when you move closer, and he positively freezes, like a deer in headlights, as you lift your leg up and over his thighs to straddle him. The soft brush of his sweatpants over your legs sends a shiver up your spine, and you sit down, settling your body comfortably on his thighs, just above his knees. 

“What– What are you doing–?” Bucky whispers, and his words are muffled behind his palms. You grin, unseen by your quarry, and you shuffle up his thighs to his hips, your clothed cunt just below the seam at his crotch.  

The sound of Bucky choking on his own spit is comical. 

You pull his hands away from his face, the urge to kiss each palm overwhelming; feather-soft brushes of your lips against the soft skin sends the pulse in his throat racing. “Buttercup, please– This is embarrassing enough–”

“Bucky,” you whisper, cutting him off. “Look at me.”

Blue eyes meet yours, and you pour all of the unspoken words between you both in your soft gaze, willing him to feel the yearning. “Kiss me.” 

“But–” He hesitates, a fish out of water again. His mouth hangs slack from the shock of such a bold request, and you place your pointer finger over his lips, shushing him before he can carry on protesting. 

You pout, placing a hint of pleading in your tone, “Please?”

He looks at you as though you’ve grown two heads. “I– What, I mean,” he flounders, arms hovering at his sides, hesitant to touch you — terrified of taking it a step too far. “I don’t know–“

“Aw, Buck,” you coo, smiling softly. Carefully, you shuffle further up his lap until your knees brush against the headboard of his bed. Gently, you place your palms on Bucky’s toned chest, just above his beating heart hammering away — not wanting to frighten him. “I’ll show you, okay?”

“Yeah.” The tremble in his voice makes your heart ache, but you smile encouragingly.

“Here we go,” you soothe. He smiles weakly back, eyes still wide with shock. “I’ve got you.”

You slowly and steadily move closer to Bucky’s face. A shudder racks through his whole body when he feels your breath against his neck, and you peck his stubbled cheek before sitting back upright to face him.

“Okay,” Bucky shakily says, fisting the blankets in his hands. “Okay. That was okay.”

“See? It’s not so bad,” you tease, and you tilt your head to the side, sticking out your cheek. “Your turn.” From the corner of your eyes, you watch his eyes sweep across your face, still hesitant and nervous, but a slither of curiosity now shining through. 

Broad, strong shoulders lift in tandem with his deep, grounding breath, and he steadily leans in before he second guesses himself. He resolutely does not touch your body, but he manages to find the confidence to gently press his lips against your skin, kissing your cheek. 

This time, he sits back and looks up at you for direction and reassurance. 

You consider it, ignoring the fluttering of your heart. His touch was sweet, but polite; a kiss on the cheek that you would give a friend after such a long time apart. And, in the end, you want Bucky to gain more confidence and actually enjoy kissing — he shouldn’t have to be ashamed to want it. “Good, that was good,” you say, keeping your tone mellow so as to not spook him.

He is making good progress, and gentle encouragement is the way to ensure it continues, you reason with yourself. “Now, I want you to do the exact same thing, but start gradually moving towards my lips.”

“Oh– Okay, okay,” he breathes, and his eyes widen slightly before they dart down towards his lap. 

That needs to be rectified immediately, before he shuts down, you hastily think, and you react swifty, your hands roaming from his chest and up to the sides of his neck, adding a little pressure to bring him back down to earth. 

There was an innate need for him to know that he could trust you; that you would treat him with the respect he deserves. 

Gently, you lift his head up, forcing him to look at you, and the downturn of his lips makes your heart ache. All you want to do is soothe the fear and rid the worry from his pretty eyes that pierce you, even through the strands of hair that have fallen in his face. 

“You’re okay, Buck,” you soothe, rubbing your thumbs over his warm, rosy cheeks. The movement and assurance seem to do the trick. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

A minute passes, and you watch as the confliction flitters across his face; an inward battle to assemble his courage to bridge the gap between you both.

There is another minute of silence, when he slowly advances, leaving his palms flat on the covers of his bed as he kisses you on the cheek. 

“That’s it,” you praise, sitting still in his lap, but smiling softly in encouragement.

Bucky hesitantly returns the smile, and he doesn’t move away, rather, he decides to stay close. “You did good,” you say, still smiling, and he takes you by surprise when he moves forwards again to place another tiny kiss even closer to your lips. “Oh–”

The soft brush of his lips makes you freeze, and he takes his time, building his confidence with each peck he makes. 

Finally, he reaches the corner of your lips, and he stalls; confidence wavering and faltering with the daunting task. You go to part your lips to speak on instinct, to encourage him, when he suddenly moves even closer to your face, making you hastily shut your mouth and brace for what was to come; willing for your heart to slow down the tattoo it beats against your throat.  

“Okay,” Bucky whispers more to himself, and he clears his throat before licking his lips. “Okay, okay. Just–” His lips connect with the curve of you own, the brief and fleeting connection enough to tell you that his lips are plump; ripe to swell and redden with a passionate make out session. 

Hastily, Bucky withdraws, but not all the way back — he lingers and only allows the tiniest space between your faces.

“You did it, sweetheart,” you coo, keeping your voice low. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Th– Thanks,” he stutters, and the rosy blush he sported turns a splotchy crimson. Interesting, you think.  

You turn your head to look at him, and the proximity of his face makes both of your lips brush against each other. The intoxicating softness consumes you, and you cannot deny the reality that Bucky is there, he is right there. A torture that intensifies in the billowing silence, while a burning, reckless spike of adrenaline rushes through your veins.

“Do you want more?” you ask quietly, breaking the silence and shattering the tension. 

A harsh breath falls from Bucky’s lips, and he presses forward to kiss you properly for the first time. 

Whatever you had been expecting for a first kiss from the inexperienced, sweet, charming man beneath you, flew out the window. Your lips slot perfectly over his, a chaste kiss that held enough need and want to be something far more; it could not hold a candle to the sex you had with past flings.  

The kiss, unexpected as it was, lasts only for a couple seconds longer before Bucky pulls back from it, panting lightly — puffs of air fanning over your slightly parted lips. He lingers, bumping his nose into yours to keep close. 

But eventually, Bucky pulls all the way back to rest against the headboard. 

The silence is not deafening — not like it was before, and you open your eyes, blinking slowly. 

Bucky is already staring at you. His eyes are glazed over with hunger, and he's out of breath, the rise and fall of his chest faster than before. 

You fare no better. Your heart pounds heavily in your chest, but it still feels like it’s lodged in your throat. No words are spoken between the two of you; just an invisible string that keeps you entwined to one another. 

It’s difficult to find the words to say, especially after something so raw and vulnerable; so new and budding. You want him to feel safe, like he had done good, though; you want to tell him he has nothing to worry about, not with you. 

And just as you open your mouth to speak, to praise him for how well he had done, Bucky slides his hands up your thighs, over your waist, and up to your neck, cupping the back of it in his large palm. “I want–” 

To your utter shock, he drags you closer, his lips greedily slotting over yours for a far deeper kiss.  

Bucky can’t get enough of you; already addicted and demanding more. You can’t be mad for it, not when he’s a sensational kisser — he’s good, far too good. The basics have you dizzy with want, and you decide on a whim to challenge him, to push him a little further and test the boundaries. 

You part your lips as Bucky pulls back, and before he could kiss you again, you tentatively tease your tongue against his lips. The sensation makes him sit rigid again beneath you, and he chases your tongue, the surprised moan he lets slip vibrates into your mouth.

The power of such a move has you smirking into the kiss. 

You only plan to stoke the fire by pushing him into the deep end a little — the prospect of overwhelming him too risky, but when you feel the effortless slide of Bucky’s tongue entering your parted lips to dance with your own, it leaves you physically stunned and unable to move. 

Bucky compliments you perfectly, as though he is a natural, and someone so timid should not be capable of that — it’s dangerous. 

It escalates — tongues dance and lips clash, and Bucky’s breath is heavy on your lips, as yours is on his, when he pulls back for air. There’s a pull that you can’t ignore, not any longer, and you bring your hands up from his neck to his hair, threading your fingers through it, making him moan quietly against your lips, “Bu–”

Your nails scrape against his scalp while he speaks, and you squeak in shock as Bucky’s hips surge upwards, forcing his hard cock against your clothed cunt. “Oh, fuck–” he gasps, and his body turns rigid with fear again while he pleads for forgiveness. “I’m so sorry, so sorry, Bubs– I–”

Quickly, you place your index finger over his lips. “Hush, you. It’s alright. I loved it,” you reassure, and suddenly, it turns into a game for you — you are desperate to see how Bucky plays along, how close to the edge you can get him. “Let it go, it’s okay.”

Bucky’s breath hitches as you grind down hard against him, and his hands rush down from your neck to grip your waist. The unabashed moan he lets slip is sinful; a delight to be the cause of, and a Cheshire Cat grin splits your lips. You’ll be damned if you don’t get more from him, you decide.

“Fuck,” he grits out, the grip of his hands on your waist turning painful. “Fuck, yes.” 

You moan and allow him to move your body where he wants it — predictably, he perches you straight on his crotch and his hands wander, slipping beneath the tank top you wear to brush against your skin. 

The resolve he had held onto so strongly is starting to slip, and you inwardly scream with joy at the dilation of his pupils, the heavy pants of his breath — a poor, virtuous man is melting into a puddle at your feet. 

The position of your body gives you an impression of just how big Bucky is, and with his cock hard, you can feel the girth and the size of him against your cunt  — a crime, you think, that it wasn’t inside you.

Your motions of grinding down into him have the tip of his cock catching on your clit through your shorts, and the thin material has no pretence of protectiveness, and you greedily lap every single, last sensation up while shamelessly taking more.  

“Bucky,” you whine against his mouth, and in turn, he nips at your swollen bottom lip before sucking on it. “Fuck– S’good.”

“Buttercup, baby,” Bucky slurs, and his fingertips dig into your skin, unknowingly marking you in his lust-fuelled haze. “Fuckin’ feel good, please,” he whimpers, unable to keep kissing you with the way his moans and litany of quiet cries fall from his lips, longing for more; too far gone, he can’t help himself anymore. “Need more, please.”

You’re all too pleased to listen to his cries for you; begging would taste so much sweeter, though. Next time. “Okay,” you soothe, pecking him on the nose. “I’ll give you more, sweetheart.”

The bed creaks as you shuffle up Bucky’s lap, and you move your hands to grip the headboard. “Don’t keep quiet on me,” you warn. 

“Wha– Fuck!”

You pant as you grind down on Bucky’s cock, the effort of making your hips work this hard and fast steals your breath, but the sounds — oh, the sounds falling from his pretty lips make it all worth it. 

The added friction of your lace panties against your soaked clit only amplifies the pleasure for you, and it’s all you can do to keep going.

Bucky throws his head back and groans to the ceiling, but you follow him, leaning over and panting into each other's mouths and kissing messily, barely able to put anything behind them as you work the both of you closer to release. 

You pull back to look at him, and the slope of his neck is too tempting to leave alone — the  loose strands from his hair are sticking to the sweat gathering on his skin, and you watch a bead of it roll down a curve of corded muscle. 

Of course, you weren’t going to let it go — you want him to crack.

Bucky moans, his breath stuttering as your tongue chases the bead of sweat, and you latch onto his skin, sucking steadily at his pulse point. “Baby– Baby, please, fuck,” he babbles, forcing his head back further to expose more of his neck. 

You oblige, all too willingly and with a giddy enthusiasm; the bow of your lips trace over his Adam’s apple and down to his collarbone, where you bite down gently. 

“Shit, shit,” Bucky suddenly exclaims, his words slurring together. “No– No, please, I ca– Can’t,” he begs, and you pull away from his neck, brows furrowing in concern. “Please, I don’t want to– To, shit–”

Words seem to be out of his grasp, and you wait patiently for him to gather his thoughts while you watch the thread of his restraint wearing thin, so close to snapping when he’s this overwhelmed with the pleasure you are giving him. 

You can’t have that, though. 

Bucky was torturing himself, not allowing himself the pleasure of giving into his base desires - what he needs. “Can’t what, sweetheart?” you ask. “You can’t cum?”

Bucky nods his head frantically, his eyes widening. You consider him, the sweat on his brow and upper lip, the way his eyes plead for something more; he’s so desperate to not cum, to let go. 

It’s plain as day that he is holding himself back, when you knew deep down that he is itching to relinquish control and give in. 

You decide then to push, to throw caution to the wind and make him take it. “Why not?” you whine, grinding back and forth, back and forth, over his painfully hard cock. “Doesn’t my pussy feel good, baby?” 

Bucky whimpers and scrunches his face up, cock throbbing as he grows closer to finishing. You don’t think he realises how he rambles to himself, “Fuck, yes! It does—fuck, it does baby.” 

“Think for me, sweetheart,” you say, leaning close to his face. “Just think for me, how good being inside my pussy would be.” The lure of being inside your cunt cracks the last of his resolve; control slipping through his fingers before he can grasp hold of it.  

You smirk, watching how his brows furrow and his eyes squeeze shut. “Just think, Bucky,” you repeat, “How wet and tight I’d be for you. How I would scream for more; beg for more of your cock and what you give me.” 

The sound Bucky makes is close to a wounded animal, and his grip on your waist is sure to leave bruises. “Oh, sweetheart,” you coo, mouthing softly up his neck until your lips brush over the shell of his ear, and you whisper, “Doesn’t that sound good, baby?”

Something snaps within him. 

The headboard of the bed thumps against the wall as Bucky tumbles over the cliff, his restraint long gone, and he wraps his arms tightly around you, curling them around your waist to hold you impossibly close. You feel something wet on your neck, and you realise belatedly that Bucky is crying silently, overwhelmed with the pleasure. 

To reassure him, you thread your fingers through his hair again to scratch at his scalp. You feel his lips move up and down your neck, placing open mouthed kisses over the skin “Are you okay?” you ask softly, careful to not move in his hold. “Bucky, baby?”

“Mhm,” Bucky hums, and he buries his face further into your neck, nodding frantically. “Pleasepleaseplease.”

A victorious smirk pulls the corner of your lips up. You know you have him — Bucky’s too far gone to come back down now, and he won’t be able to stop. 

“Go on,” you purr. Bucky hungrily grinds up into your heat, seeking it out and forcing a gasp from your lips with the pressure. “That’s it,” you push, and your last deadly blow has the dam breaking, once and for all: “Cum for me then, pretty boy.”

“Oh, oh, fuck– Baby–” Bucky moaned, but you keep steady pressure over his cock, and his hips start to stutter in rhythm. “Shit!” 

“That’s it, that’s it, sweetheart,” you coax, just as a damp patch stains the crotch of his sweats, and his legs tremble under your thighs. There’s a loud thump as his head hits the headboard of his bed. 

“Fuck–” Your own climax begins to mount, the tension of it unbearable, and just the band snaps, you cry out to the ceiling, “Bucky!”

The room is full of pants for air, the synchronised rise and fall of your chests in tandem with the twitching muscles of your body; the rushed gasps for breath a symphony to your ears.

“Holy shit,” you murmur, and you finally look at Bucky — only to be taken aback with the awestruck expression on his handsome face. His lips are stretched wide in a dopey grin, and his eyes, while normally so bright and soft, are glazed over with post-orgasm bliss. 

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he whispers. You feel the brush of his fingers over your waist and thighs, a soothing touch that in combination with his words sends another wave of heat up your neck. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

You smile nervously, suddenly speechless with the earnestness and fondness in his voice. Instead, you shuffle down his thighs to rest your arms on his shoulders more comfortably, and you play with the hair on the nape of his neck — the soft locks damp with sweat. 

The two of you stare into one another’s eyes, then, you rest your forehead on his to whisper, “Well, handsome, not so bad for your first kiss.”

Bucky starts to laugh, then giggles take over as he faceplants into your chest, nuzzling himself against your tits in shyness. 

After a while, Bucky starts to shift in place, and you start to rise up off of his lap, when his sudden stiffness alarms you. “Bucky? What’s the matter?”

“I— I don’t, I didn’t mean to—“ He stutters, looking down at his crotch. You follow his gaze, utterly confused — there is nothing abnormal, only the wet patch of cum staining the material. 

Your confusion only increases, and you look back to Bucky’s face. It’s blotchy and red from embarrassment. “Bucky?”

“I– Oh, goddamnit,” he mutters, and he looks down at his lap again pointedly.

The realisation washes over you; a lightbulb suddenly going off in your head. He was embarrassed over coming in his pants. “Bucky, sweetheart,” you say, moving to cup his cheeks and force him to look at you. “Listen to me, okay?”

Blue eyes meet yours, his gaze pensive. You muster the warmest, kindest smile; no judgement apparent in your own eyes as you stare at him. “There is no need to feel ashamed.”

“But–” Bucky tries. 

“No, listen to me,” you interrupt, and you lean in closer, bumping his nose with yours before reassuring him, “There's no need to feel ashamed, sweetheart.”

His pure, innocent gaze doesn’t fail to make you swoon even more over him. “It doesn’t?”

“Of course not, you know why?” Bucky shakes his head, eyes wide and intent to listen to anything you have to say. Your lips hover over his as you whisper, “Because I love you making a mess for me, baby.”

The weekend passes by swiftly, a tangle of bedsheets and limbs; kisses and fleeting touches that turn into passionate embraces. 

It was only when Steve came home on the Saturday night did he kick both you and Bucky out of the apartment with a yell of, “Bye! Have fun, kids!”

You decided to take Bucky back to your dorm-room — an easy decision when you get to watch how his eyes trail over your body as you walk down the halls holding hands. 

And on Sunday morning, bright and early, a series of knocks on your dorm-room door wakes you out of your slumber. “Damn,” you grumble, blinking slowly into the dimly lit room. The curtains are drawn, but a slither of gold peeks from behind the fabric; right over Bucky’s face and the mess of his hair. 

You sigh and tiredly throw the covers off you, mentally preparing yourself to get out of bed, but before you can get up, two arms curl around your waist and tug you backwards into a muscled chest. The warmth of the embrace makes you sigh contentedly.

“No,” Bucky groans before burying his face into your neck and smothering you with his body; trapping you with his arms and winding his legs around yours. “Dun’ get up.” 

You giggle as he starts kissing your shoulders and nibbling at your neck — the stubble of his jaw tickling the soft skin while his lips soothed over it. “I have to,” you say quietly, and you grab his arm to pull it off, only– 

“Nuh-uh. Where y’think you're goin’, Buttercup?” The deep rumble of his morning voice has you inner self trembling, memorising your antics of your weekend together. “Can’t leave me.” And to solidify his claim, Bucky clings onto you like a koala. 

“Bucky, you big goof.” You slap his arm, but he just grunts his protest, clinging to your body tighter. “Come on,” you say, wriggling — it’s met with no success of him releasing you. “Get off of me so I can answer the door.”

But you should have known that he is far too stubborn to let up that easily — a stubborn puppy that refused to give up his treat. “No. Tell ‘em to fuck off.”

“Fine.” Your only hope is an attempt to bribe him, you decide, and you look at him to find he’s staring at you through a half-lidded eye, the other eye obscured by his pillow. “How about you let me go, and I promise to give you unlimited cuddles for the rest of the day, no moving whatsoever?” 

That gets his attention, and he perks his head up to lean closer to yours. “I wan’ unlimited kisses, too,” he negotiates, pouting his lips and narrowing his eyes. 

You cannot help but chuckle. “Deal, handsome.”

Bucky plonks backwards onto the bed, star fishing in his sulking — the treat now successfully taken away. 

With your newfound freedom, you sit up and stretch, ignoring the grumbles and quiet whines of, “Bein’ left alone ain’t right,” and, “Tell whoever it is to fuck off, I mean it.”

The bedsheets rustle under you when you scoot to the edge, the warmth of Bucky’s body and the softness of the covers already sorely missed, especially when you stand up and slip into your fluffy, warm gown and slippers. The brush of Bucky’s shirt over your skin makes you smile, the fabric soft and worn but oh so perfectly Bucky. 

“Hurry back, Buttercup,” he calls after you as you walk slowly out of the room. “Please—don’ leave me too long.”

“Drama queen,” you whisper, quiet enough he wouldn’t hear. The knocking comes again and you curse the cause — if it’s your friend from class asking to borrow your notes again, you were going to slam the door straight back in their face. Aloud, you say, “I’m coming, I’m coming. Don’t bust the hinges.”

You prepare the speech to scold your friend as you walk to the door, and you grab the hand;e — the metal of it cold from the chill overnight. The door swings open with a loud creak, and you start saying, “What are you–”

The lack of a presence, or anyone at the door, stops you short — not even a shadow of someone running away down the hall.  “Fucking door dashers,” you groan, and you turn on your heel to go back inside when the toe of your slipper bumps into something on the ground. “What–?”

A gift basket, filled to the brim with an assortment of chocolates and scattered gift cards to your favourite stores, is innocuously sitting there. In the middle of the basket, poking its head out next to a bouquet of your favourite flowers, is the head of a stuffie Golden Retriever, the fur irresistibly soft and the eyes bright — much like Bucky’s. Its mouth held a note scrawled in messy cursive. 

“Okay,” you mumble, and you kneel down to look at it closer, worried that there had been a mix up or confusion of a dorm number. As you near the letter, you realise that the messy scrawl spells out Flower. “Wait.” 

That meant only one person was responsible. 

Your fingers tore open the letter and unfold it; the messy scrawl continues on the inside, too.  

Flower, I’m sorry for bailing on our movie night. 

I know you’re pissed, but I hope this and the beefcake attached to your back makes up for my mistake. 

Love ya squirt, 

Your big bro.

“Stevie,” you say, eyes darting over the lines of script. “You sneaky bastard.” There is a post script just below his sign off, and you continue to read.

P.S. Date went well, tell you all about it on movie night next week? I’m sure we’ll have guests joining us x 

Shaking your head in amusement, you place the note back with the stuffie, and pick up the rest of your basket. “What am I going to do with you,” you mumble, stepping back into your dorm to place the basket on the entry table to admire it again. 

“Wha’s happenin’?” a voice rasps behind you, and sure enough, the aforementioned beefcake in the letter from Steve plasters himself to your back; arms around your waist and his face tucked into your neck again. “Back to bed, c’mon.”

Bucky drags you backwards, chuckling deeply at your squeal of laughter that echoes down the hallway to your bedroom. “You made me a promise,” he grunts, and he pulls you back into bed and underneath the covers, intent on making sure you fulfil your end of the bargain. 

Part Two, Part Three

[screampied]

POKERFACE! — ☆ GOJO SATORU.

➤ popstar!gojo masterlist

headline. gojo gets nominated for his fifth grammy. you being his plus one, he takes you—yet right before he’s prompted to go on stage, instead of getting an award though, he gets a…boner.

wc. 4.9k

warnings. fem! reader, popstar!gojo, semi-public, degradation, praise, hair pulling, oral, unprotected sex, overstim, implied multiple orgasms, spit, creampie, fingering.

an. stream 'it guy' on all platforms for a cheap price of $69.69!

“and the award for best solo pop artist goes to...” there’s a long abrupt pause as the female emcee gently peels open the red-encased envelope. the audience grew quiet. you could hear a pen drop at the sudden anticipation for who would win. “satoru gojo—toru!”

gojo lets off a dramatic gasp. the cameras pan towards him and he tugs on his tie. everyone starts to clap inside the filled up arena before he turns towards you. holding out his hand for you to take, he mutters out a, “oh please. i’m not going up there alone, c’mon girl.”

you didn’t expect for him to drag you along too, the press were already speculating things about you two—yet you still placed your hand in his, feeling the warmth of his palm as he flashed you his cheesy popstar signature grin before ushering up towards the stage with him. bright lights throughout the scenery nearly blinded you as the both of you walked. amid the background played one of gojo’s most recent blown-up pop songs that topped the charts for seven consecutive weeks straight.

“heh. wow. uh. this is actually crazy,” gojo starts off, taking the small awkward, cupping it in his hand before leaning into the mic. “fifth award of the night. for once, i’m speechless,” and then he pauses to snicker. “….that’s a joke. you guys are supposed to laugh...”

the crowd goes into sudden forced laughter and you sigh, meeting eye contact with various a-list celebrities. you tug on your dress before feeling gojo bring you close to him, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“eh. but anyway, i just wanna start by thanking her,” and there’s sudden confusion. you glance at gojo before he grins straight at the audience, dimples poking near the corners of his mouth. “yeah. her pussy. it’s gotten me this far, and most celebs thank their fans or parents, but why not thank the most important thing?”

that….was hours later.

everyone was buzzing about how gojo ended up getting canceled for his famous, ‘thankful for my assistant’s pussy! speech.’

it made various article headlines—yet as of now, hours before that scene happened, you were currently in his dressing room with gojo for reasons you don’t even remember why.

“this is fucked,” he whines, pacing back and forth. you sat in one of his chairs. watching the pop star have his sixth outburst of the night, here he is complaining why he can’t go on stage. this was a regular thing, and by now you started to become used to it. “…i’m supposed to be on in five but i— i can’t do that.”

“any reason why?” you muttered, tracing a nail over your thighs, brushing against the fabric that ran against your skirt. “is it your stage freight again, ‘toru?”

“pft. that’s not funny,” he glares. “and no, it’s something more serious.” he trods his feet towards you, a few white strands racing down the sides of his eyes — it’s a cute unintentional look that makes you smile at him, seeing him up close. in this cute panicky state, gojo’s bright blue eyes remained on yours before his lip quivered. “it’s embarrassing.”

right before you were gonna speak, you glanced down at your phone, the text from one of gojo’s managers signaling how he should be preparing to be walk on stage in a few more minutes.

“uh huh,” you nodded, eyes fully darted away at your phone and not him. he frowns, glancing down himself before bringing two hands towards your shoulders for you to fully look at him.

the popstar had a long designer suit on, eye-catching in the least with various rhinestones pressed against specific spots. you picked out his outfits, a thing he doesn’t mind you doing.

“look at meee…it’s serious,” he pants, and you stare into his eyes, and it takes you a moment before you finally realize. “is this…what you call a uh.. wardrobe malfunction?”

“oh,” you mumble, not realizing how quickly your pupils averted toward his bulge. you prayed gojo didn’t notice, mainly due to how embarrassing not to mention unprofessional that’d be…staring between your clients’ legs.

“oh….” you repeated, watching gojo’s face flush entirely. a smile tugs against your lips before you furrow your brows, his hands still gripped onto your shoulders before you query, “satoru, do you have a boner?”

“ . . . ”

you giggle at his silence, and he only gets more abashed and flushed. your eyes continue to linger on the pop star. he removes his hands away from your shoulders as you stand up to face him. “is that why you can’t go on stage? because you’re hard?”

“don’t…say it like that,” he grumbles, a cute pout curling against his lips. you watch as he digs his hands into the holes of his pockets, having a staring contest with the marble ground before clearing his throat. “and yeah. it’s your fault so you need to help me uh.. you know.”

“how’s it my fault?” you play along, tilting your head.

“look at your outfit,” he whines, and he says that purposely just to take a second to check you out, which he does.

gojo’s eyes roam towards your body, the pretty long dress you wore — the color matched gojo’s outfit, it wasn’t anything too revealing but it was enough to make gojo suck his teeth. the structure of it made your curves, the physique of you entirely show off, and it made him bite his lip in such want.

“ever since you came in here, i felt all hot and um.. hard. just wanted an excuse to rip your dress off instead of attending this stupid awards ceremony.”

“well,” you whisper, bringing two fingers towards his tie, giving it a kittenish pull. gojo looks down at you, and he’s so flustered you could visibly see. the way the tips of his ears perked, he was panting a bit from feeling so tense. “what are you waiting for then?”

“you’re a really bad assistant,” he murmurs, his hands starting to trail up your waist, quickly unraveling the ribbon look that went against your back. “and a really fuckin’ bad influence.”

he snickers at the concluding part of his words before you feel the popstar’s warm lips press against yours.

you kiss back, and a finger of his lifts your chin upward. he tasted sweet, honeyed even.

gojo’s hands gingerly meander all over every inch of your body, he presses into you. so close to where you feel his bulge prod and prod. he moans into your mouth, strands of his hair tickling against your forehead. you run your tongue over his, tasting the sweet tang of what appears to be wine.

he was so needy, you could tell practically from his breathing patterns. a small grunt leaves his mouth once he leads you towards the sofa. gojo’s hands roamed all over your body, his touch made you flutter in response. 

gojo strokes a tress of your hair before a smile tugs against the corners of your mouth. you ran a hand down to give his slacks a playful pull, his boxers were just about hanging out. 

he moans into your mouth, and it’s shaky. your touch made both tips of his ears grow to a feverish hot. as your nose brushed against his, he then suddenly pulled away — gasping for air before his lip trembles. 

“f-fuck, i can’t wait anymore. i need to feel your mouth,” he pants, bringing a hand to his face to cover his embarrassed state. the pop star was so impatient, that his body language showed entirely. he was the embodiment of the saying, ‘is it hot in here or is it just me?’

you giving him that cute doe-eyed expression only made things ten times worse — the bulge forever growing and throbbing achingly in his pants made his bite down on his lip. 

“don’t be so loud,” you tease, and he’s still recollecting short breaths as he watches you make your way down on your knees. 

gojo’s eyes linger down toward you, and he is already envisioning your mouth. just sinking straight down on his length, drool running down your chin — he couldn’t lie to himself.. ever since you started working with him, he’s had quite the imagination. 

the thought of his pretty little assistant with her mouth all full, he’s gone down on you at least twice, but the image of you returning the favor made his mouth water. 

“princess, i don’t wanna…rush you or anything, but make it quick, yeah? i do have a g-grammy to win after all,”

he swallows, watching you slowly start to unzip the fly of his pants. your stare did things to him that he simply couldn’t formulate into words. gojo brings a hand on top of your head, stroking a few strands of your hair before breathing. “if i’m late, ‘m gonna blame it on you.”

“you’ve gotta be the most unprofessional person i’ve ever worked with,” you roll your eyes with a sass.

a cold sweat runs down gojo’s neck once he watches you tug his black slacks down, leaning in to kiss the white print of his boxers.

once your eyes met with his bulge, you giggle, gradually lolling out your tongue to lick the hardness that was tucked underneath the fabric. 

“f-fuckkk,” he breathes, keeping his eyes on you for the entire duration. he was so pent up, gojo’s boner made you lick your lips, purely from the intact sight.

as you traced your tongue all over his bulge, tasting the blandness of the fabric—you part your lips, slowly starting to peel his boxers off with your teeth. “dirty girl. you’ve been thinkin’ about this too, huh?”

you shake your head and he lets off a pouty frown. “don’t lie.”

a smile spreads amongst your lips again, and once his boxers were finally peeled off with the help of your teeth. you meet eye contact with gojo’s lengthy cock. just a quick second glance and your tongue was already salivating from pure zeal.

gojo was long, of course, he was well-trimmed.

yet, he had a few specks of white hair scattered near his base — it was sexy. your eyes stared at his body, the way his undershirt from his tuxedo was slightly lifted.

you could see his abs clenching, his happy trail that ran down…

“l-look what you did to me” he huffs, and his tone sounded entirely whiny. he had somewhat of an upward curve. you lean in to give the soft plump tip of his a chaste kiss. 

a few remnants of pre-cum smother against your spit-glossed lips. gojo’s jaw tightens, watching you roll out your tongue unsteadily, swiping it against his frenulum. “just…just like that.”

a sharp breath gets caught in his throat, you looked so pretty like this — slowly lapping your tongue against his smooth cockhead.

his pre-cum barely had a taste to it. despite that, you’d still describe it as purely sweet. lashes of yours fluttered as you continued to taste him before starting to leisurely sink your mouth lower and lower. 

“…damn,” he grunts, feeling his own eyes start to flutter. your mouth was so warm, it made gojo tighten the grip he had on your hair just a bit more. he tickled against your scalp with a ring that was thrown on his finger. 

the pop star quickly started to grow obsessed with that tongue of yours, the way you playfully swirled it around the inner part of his tip—you knew the exact spots to reach. he shivers, feeling both temples of his cheeks burn with such intensity. 

“keep lookin’ at me,” he murmurs sheepishly, raising a thumb against the side of your face to stroke your cheek lovingly. “stare at me while you’re gettin’ a good m-meal, yeah.”

your eyes flicker towards gojo, and he says that yet could barely hold eye contact. your gaze made him so flustered that he looks away. you simper, further inches going down your right throat. 

he felt you roll your lips around your teeth, strands of spit already starting to seep near the corners of your mouth. gojo’s just groaning and whining in the distance—you were so good with your technique, it had him at a loss of words. 

“spit on it,” he suddenly says, pulling your head up to look at him again. “i— i wanna make you a messy assistant for me. can you do that?”

you nod, skimming your tongue around his tip before breaking away, gathering a reasonable wad before spitting on his shaft, going back towards it to lap it up with such filthy ease. 

“nasty girl,” he starts to pant, his right thigh bounces before within moments later…you go back to your original place. gojo’s got a bit of thickness to him, so you gag about two times before he’s fully reached down your throat. he whines, feeling his eager tip prod against your uvula — and that’s when you start to bobble your head. “with a throat like this, you’d be such a good fuckin’ singer, y’know.”

gojo starts mumbling seductive words at you left and right whilst your mouth’s being occupied. it starts to make you throb from underneath…

so much so that you can’t help but reach between your thighs, past your fishnets, and touch yourself. 

“…this could be a good vocal training reflex actually,” he adds, and your lips remain enclosed over your teeth. he finds it hot especially how you don’t even use your hands, just your mouth—you had him swallowing imaginary lumps in his throat. 

while you’re still abiding inches up and down your throat, his abdomen curls. he lifts a part of his shirt that’s tucked underneath his tux just so you can get a brief view. his biceps were forevermore swollen. you moaned, feeling him keep such a gripping hold on the crown of your head. 

“s-shit,” he cursed, starting to chase his breath as if it was some kind of race. he was in love with how sloppy you were.

strings, an entire glistening cobweb of spit slithered down the corners of your mouth—all down your chin. “how’s it taste? ‘s good for you?”

again, your response was a nod, and for a concise moment you sink yourself all the way down.

breathing through your nose, gojo grunts, stroking underneath your chin that was smeared with nothing but your saliva before he pulls you back up again. 

“goddamn,” he throws his head back, and he’s starting to stutter. each time your tongue swiped across his sensitive tip, near the entrance of his frenulum, he whined. he leers before that’s when you feel him starting to thrust right into your mouth. he couldn’t help himself. “pretty mouth was just askin’ to get fucked a l-little.”

your jaw opened a bit as you happily took him into your mouth, your eyelids were half-lidded and you stared right up at gojo. 

he returns the stare, flashing you a cute abashed grin, uttering a, “h-hey princess.”

your nails dug into the thin layers of his pulled-down pants, feeling him thwack and thwack against the very back of your throat. gojo’s hips were so erratic, thoroughly sloppy that you just craved for more. 

“keep suckin’ me l-like that, ‘n i’m gonna make such a mess down that nasty throat of yours.” he whimpered, feeling the way his abs tightened. all from a few kitten licks of your tongue running against him, taking him fully with that most intense eye contact imaginable. 

he shifts his feet a bit, and that’s when his phone starts to buzz. gojo grunts, reaching into his pocket before taking out his phone. 

with stubby fingers, he uses his same passcode of ‘sexymansexyspraycan69’ and his eyes widen, murmuring out, “aw man,” you briefly look up at him — confused as to what happened before he scrolls, still having another hand gripped on your head. “my nudes got leaked again?”

…again? 

with your mouth full, you kept up a pace, and whilst keeping his attention focused towards the bright blue-lit screen, he makes you suck him off just a bit harder. with a groan, he lets off a snicker. “oh well. at least i look good. i wonder if sugupoo saw..”

he was so unserious, probably the most unserious man you’ve ever met — let alone had to work with for a living. 

gojo notices your cold stare and he nervously chuckles, “what? i didn’t say anything,” and then he fakes a moan, moving your head back and forth, an obnoxious grunt. “sorry…i mean uh. fuckkkk. right there, ‘m gonna cum.”

you give the pop star a deadpan before he meekly smiles at you, yet that’s when he moans for real once your tongue cursorily brushes against the scar tissue that resided near the underside of his tip. 

“f-fuck. ‘m sensitive there,” he heavily pants, and the nerves throughout his body. his cock that was shoved deep down your throat, you felt your breaths leave through your nose. gojo’s head goes back before he groans, his orgasm feeling like a wave. an abrupt riptide. 

once he came, it was so much — it trickled right into your mouth, thick velvety strings of ropes that coated all over your tongue. to halt your gagging, you squeezed your left thumb into a fist, still holding onto his thighs. 

gojo’s lip quavered, and his face flushed. with swollen, varicose veins that briefly popped out displaying on his body, he sighs. 

“s-so much to give to you, princess,” he slurs, completely out of breath. he was taken aback, watching your cheeks become cutely hollow. gojo’s dick remained in your mouth before he tapped your left temple, whining out a, “say ah. i wanna see.”

immensely, you loll out your tongue, showing him the paint of his cum that stuck in your tongue, how it sprayed all inside.

he groans. gojo rubs his sensitive achey tip near the flatness of your tongue, it turns into short slaps on your tongue and you moan. 

“mmh. i read somewhere that if you swallow cum it strengthens your overall vocal performance,” he cheeses, and a droplet of sweat races down the side of his forehead. you sat on your knees, already taking his warm cum down your throat. 

gojo was obviously joking…or he wasn’t. you could never tell with this guy.

as he’s calming himself down, catching his breath, the top part of his teeth gnaws down on his lip — he’s too eager because within seconds, he’s got you pinned down on the spare sofa. 

“i- i need to be inside you again…” he whispers in a needy tone, and you’re already laid flat on your back. he didn’t even have the decency to take your dress off. 

with a single hand, he pulled it up, taking a glimpse at your laced panties. he runs a finger against the thin strap of it, making you shudder before sprawling your legs open. 

“you’re supposed to be on stage,” you giggle, watching his lips curl into a pout. he’s so handsy, gojo starts to peel your panties off slowly, licking his lips before a pant exits his mouth. “you’re not gonna hear the end of it from nanami.”

“don’t care,” he whines, grabbing ahold of his length. gojo swallows, such a hungry gaze was presented at you—it made you start to pulse a bit between your thighs.

“couldn’t go onstage like this,” and his voice briefly cracks, it’s cute. gojo brings his fat swollen tip towards your slick entrances and grows quiet once your cunt hums out a squelch. “they can wait. i c-cant.” 

the pop star’s eyebrows come together, and once he starts to gradually go inside you—you moan, feeling the immediate sensation of him stretching you out. 

“of course y-you can’t,” you roll your eyes teasingly, wrapping your arms around his collar. gojo stares at you and for a split second, his gaze seems romantic. 

full of nothing but lust.

he looked like he was about to say something, but he turned away, disregarding it. it was cute, you pulled him in for a kiss and he only moaned right into your mouth. 

his fingers traced all over your jaw as your tongue ran against his. his breath was heavy against yours, and the feeling of his body pressed on you made you whine. gojo’s thick cock continued to make its way inside, you were a bit drenched earlier, soaked practically. 

gojo couldn’t pinpoint his feelings towards you.

he didn’t know what this thing was. he adored you, he’s always rambled to you about how you were his favorite assistant, whilst being his only assistant ever.

you wanted to ask him if this thing was just a fling or something more.

but…you were far too shy to ask, you figured he was just having fun. which you didn’t mind entirely, yet—you couldn’t help but be curious. 

as your lips parted, you felt your legs start to wrap and lock securely around his waist. strands of gojo’s hair pokes against your forehead, and he feels a strong wave of tingles race down his back. 

“fuck…i need y-you,” he murmured between kisses, and he was such a perfect fit. the moment he was fully inside, you moaned, giving his bottom lip a sudden bite. 

once he started to move, just a single thrust was enough to make your head spin. gojo delivered such a sloppy thrust, that your legs tightly hugged him—and your breathing started to hitch. 

he always had such a sweet taste to him, whether it was candied or a rich tang of alcohol to it, you craved it every time. 

gojo brings a hand down towards your tummy to lightly press on it, curving his thumb against your bare skin before breaking away for a split second. his nose rubbed against yours before he gives you a cunning sly smile. 

“you always have this look on your face,” he whispered in a teasing tone — gojo traces a finger by your lips, pulling your bottom lip down before sliding a finger into your mouth. you willingly suck on it, and he stares intently. “pretty girl. you drive me insane, y’know that?”

his fingers were always made with such length. so slender…

gojo starts up a pace, and the way his hips start to snap against you—you moan a muffled moan. the way your thighs recoil from a single slam against you, it had your mind going in circles. 

“always grippin' on me,” he huffs, leaning into the inner part of your neck to lightly sink his teeth. “f-fuck, fuck the grammys. i just want you.”

you wondered if he really meant that. 

it was no secret with gojo’s problematic love life, he often gets around… but he’s never had an actual decent relationship. well, he’s had one. 

he often doesn’t like to mention it, but it was all over the press. 

you wanted to ask him about it, it was far before he became famous — some other a-list celebrity, but he’s always avoided that particular topic. 

gojo probably doesn’t even know the true meaning of love.

but you’ve had thoughts that perhaps, just perhaps. maybe you could change that. as unprofessional as it was, the industry was always strict with gojo.

and ever since he stumbled upon you, he’s always felt a bit better. you never treated him any different, and he’s forever liked that about you. 

whilst you’re deep in thought, you get brought back to reality once gojo’s covering your neck with visible marks. he’s moaning all into your neck, and he sounds so sweet. melodic moans. 

“f-fuck,” he huffs out, kneeling a bit between you. this was the perfect position for him to stare deeply into your eyes. you moan, feeling his lips ghost against the inner part of your neck. his tongue softly dragged against your neck, and the way he rocked his body amongst you made you bite your lip. “look at me.”

your eyes meet his, and he notices a pretty glint in your eye. embarrassment washes over his face as not even two seconds pass, and your stare gets him flustered immediately. 

“dunno what i’d do without you,” he huffs out, and he genuinely had such neediness in his tone. you felt a strange string at your heart. 

gojo’s always been somewhat protective of you. being so close to him like this, his body weight just barely hovering over you…

his dick reached you deep, you felt the perfectly angled stretch…

the curve as your legs trapped his weight tightly. gojo was gentle, yet a bit rough to make your eyes just about go back. he leans in to sneak kisses near the corners of your lips before murmuring. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum soon.”

he was so warm, you got chills from his body let alone — his rhythm, it was so slow.

simply perfect and precise. for a moment, you drowned everything out, being entrapped into your own thoughts. 

you started to wonder if you got together with gojo, maybe he’d finally be happy.

not having to worry about faking a dumb smile for the industry. perhaps you were a bit delusional, but you genuinely pondered about it. 

the two of you always did have chemistry.

was it love … or just a game?

the moment gojo cums for a second time, then a third time, then a fourth… it made him moan against your neck. his moans were high-pitched, droplets of sweat racing down the edges of his forehead. 

you took his breath away every single time. the way your pussy clung onto him, through and through—each time he’d dump such a thick load into you.

 he’s panting heavily, huffing and puffing while leaving you full of nothing but his cum. 

it stuck against your thighs, and he became so obsessed that he just kept fucking you—you whined, the back of your ankle, the pretty anklet that wrapped around your foot brushing back against his skin. 

gojo never fails to leave kisses all over your body, he nips at the corners of your neck before letting off a low sigh. 

“s-satoru,” you’d mumble after a while, feeling his hips come to a certain slow pause. it’s been various positions…and even for him, his legs were just about to give out.

the tips of his ears heat up before he grunts, feeling you continue to clamp down on him. you were now on his back—facing the opposite way, grinding against him and he was pulling you closer. “gonna cum too, ‘m gonna cum.”

“bet you are,” he whispers against your neck. you’re moving back against him in such a slow way it makes him groan—you’re being held with him having a hand playfully wrapped around your throat. his middle finger tickles the middle part of your neck whilst you squeeze his relaxed knee. “give it to me, pretty.”

your eyes meet the very depths of your head, and then you feel yourself start to dramatically spasm. 

his cock prodded right amongst your g-spot, not once but a few times…and you let off a whimper once he kept hitting there again and again…

such bundles of nerves continue to build up and up.

your breath gets caught in your throat to where it’s almost like whiplash. gojo tugs on the fabric of your dress, sucking the tender skin of your neck. 

“let go for me,” he utters in a soft tone, his tongue deducting trailing up your neck. he knew just how to make you squirm on his lap. “thaaaat’s it, relax.”

his words warmed their way straight down between your legs, he started to guide your hips with his hands, peppering a kiss near the corner of your ear. “make a mess on me ‘n i’ll clean you right up.”

you moaned, feeling that familiar coil in yours snap before you came, by now, you can’t even remember how many orgasms he’s coaxed out of you. “f-fuckkk.” you spat, slumping your head back against him. 

“so good for me,” he pants, bringing a hand towards your tummy. he toys with the string of your panties that was lazily moved to the side before he nervously cheeses, realization washing over his face. “o-oh shit. the awards...”

and yet here you were, currently standing alongside gojo as he was accepting his fifth award. 

the minute he announced to probably millions of people across the words that he was thankful for your pussy, the entire arena went dead silent. 

all you could hear in the background was some lady screeching out, “you need to leave!”

“…satoru, you can’t just say that on live television.” you leaned in, whispering to him with clenched teeth. 

“oh yeahhh…you’re right,” he sheepishly said, turning back towards the mic. he cleared his throat before grinning, holding up his award with the most unserious expression. “uh. i mean, i wanna thank my team, my uh…”

he goes mute for a moment before concluding his speech, finishing with a, “thank you a lot though! i am tooootally grateful. and also, don’t forget to pre-order my new single, ‘it guy.’ only $69.69. if you ask me, that’s not that bad of a deal, hehe. seriously, stream it. please?”

you spot nanami in the distance shaking his head in utter disappointment. he could already predict the current headlines about to roll out. 

gojo brings you towards his limo after the awards, quickly rushing you so the both of you can avoid the paparazzi.

they were probably just itching for a reaction. once the two of you made it inside, he was saying something to you before he leaned in for a kiss. 

you kiss him back, teasingly pulling his tie closer towards you, and he goes up between your legs, eager to finish what he started earlier. prints of your lipstick were all over his collar, and gojo even autographed your ass with his signature. only to smack it, making it smear all over. 

you moaned, squeezing his hand before pulling away, panting—out of breath before you smiled, only to pause. you and him make direct eye contact, and he’s so close to your lips, so close to kiss you again but he waits for you to speak, do something. 

he figured you were gonna kiss him again, but instead without even thinking, you whispered out a, “i- i think i love you.”

“…you what?”

[flightyalrighty]

FIRST | PREVIOUS | NEXT CH 1 PG 36

Infested will return on June 27th. --- Thank you to the following Ascended supporters: @chaogongoozles, @fiiresiidefrfr, @elizard4227, @grogar, Ezzoh, @susivoi, @calculuscacophony, Eros, @ivycorp, @summersdale @borrelia, @mizukiz, @sanicdetails, @combinegrunt-echo-1, Pica, @veeceear, @quackenburt, ItsmeMonarch, @memendoemori, @trans-girl-sonic, & savarsenic

Content Warnings | Store | Ko-Fi (Discord!) | Read On Comic Fury! DISCLAIMER: "Infested" is a horror comic ft. content not suitable for those under the age of 17.

A long-winded looking back on things below the cut:

The first few pages of Infested were uploaded to this blog on March 2nd, 2023 -- Over a whole year ago! I was so busy, too, that I completely missed its birthday (Sorry Infested). Looking even further back than that, the original story was was something I began writing on December 25th, 2022 (Merry Christmas).

It took two years to get to this point.

And hey, not to toot my own horn about it, but completing even one chapter of a webcomic is a big deal. Especially for me. My first webcomic, Fight/Flight, didn't get very far. I completed the prologue, started Chapter 1, and then had to drop it for a number of reasons (I didn't really agree with what baby-me had to say, politically, anymore).

This comic was born from a lot of intense feelings. The story, itself, too. Some good. Some bad.

I had been forced to move away from my hometown, and with that move, I lost the physical connection that I had to all of my friends. I lost the familiarity of a place I'd known for most of my life. I'm now stuck somewhere... Worse. It felt like a cage. Still does. Disconnected from the life I thought I would be living after college. I didn't have health insurance, either -- Got kicked off of it because of the move -- And as a result, I was off my antidepressants.

So there I was, at a pretty low point in my life. I miserable and lonely and every single day dragged on. And on. And on. And I felt so disappointed in myself. That disappointment became self-loathing, and it all kinda spiraled.

Have I mentioned that I'm a huge Sonic fan? I don't think I need to. I'd say it's pretty obvious. But for the sake of this story, I'll say it again: I'm a HUGE Sonic fan. I've been that way since 2003 with Sonic Heroes. The franchise has been in my life for over two decades. I had a monthly mail subscription to Archie's Sonic the Hedgehog. Sonic the Hedgehog was something that I truly loved more than any other piece of media. It brought me endless joy. Until I didn't.

I had dropped Sonic after Lost World was... Itself. I had already felt pretty irritated with the Meta Era, and Lost World was the final straw. The last bit of hope that the series could recover was snuffed out when Forces was released. It was over. I was done. If Sonic was truly that embarrassed by itself, if they had truly lost touch with what made the series so great, then I wouldn't waste my time any longer. I was so sure that I had to just... Grieve and move on. My beloved childhood game series was dead. Long live the king or whatever. I'd just bitterly read IDW Sonic and think about what could've been. I was lucky to have that comic, at least. Archie had been canceled, too, after all. I was lucky to have my scraps.

Then Sonic Frontiers came out. And it changed everything.

And my god, it was everything. It was everything to me. Flaws be damned, it was everything. To. Me. The spectacle. The serious tone. The vastly improved writing. Kellin Fucking Quinn. It was FUN! It was actually FUN to PLAY. He was back. I was back. Sonic pulled me by my hand out of the ocean of misery I'd fallen into, and he looked me in my eye and he said;

"Hey. You're gonna be alright."

Metaphorically speaking. Sonic The Hedgehog didn't actually literally speak to me -- And sure, okay, maybe it's a little dramatic to describe a game as this great Depression Annihilator but I'm dead serious when I say that, for that time, before I was able to get back on my meds, I was self-medicating with Sonic.

Sonic was all I was thinking about. I reread the Unleashed arc in Archie Sonic, which got me sorta realizing something, and which led to my post where I said something along the lines of "Sonic would hide a zombie bite."

Archie Sonic would, at least. Because he basically did do that in the Unleashed arc of that comic. He let that problem fester until it became an even bigger problem because, ironically, he didn't want to be a problem.

So one thing led to another. I thought more about Sonic becoming a zombie. Bada-bing, bada-boom, Infested was born.

I didn't expect it to get the attention that it did. I felt lucky when the first page I drew Rouge on (Page 6 I think?) blew up. The right people saw it at the right time. I'm extremely grateful for that.

I'm extremely grateful for all of you.

So yeah, one chapter. Woo! Here's to many more.