#i wish you nothing but comfort and happiness in life

[mononijikayu]

i have love and dreams too — gojo satoru.

Yuji looked down at his hands, feeling a strange sense of guilt. “Do you really think… you can never have that life you want?” Satoru didn’t answer right away. Instead, he closed his eyes, letting the wind ruffle his silver hair. For a moment, he was just Satoru—not the strongest, not the invincible sorcerer, but a man burdened by the life he had to lead. “I don’t know, Yuji……” he said quietly, almost to himself. “But I like to dream that maybe, someday… we could all disappear. And live. Just live.  Just me, my wife, Megumi, Tsumiki, Satoshi… away from everything. Living in peace.”

WARNING/S: spoilers for chapter 271 of jjk (spoilers at your behest), domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

WORDS: 6.8k words.

NOTE: i rush wrote this at uni, at the restaurant i was at and then a car on the way back and forth from uni and home. i just started crying profusely because i hated how jjk ended. and i hated that panel with satoru and yuji because i just kept crying. i cant believe this is the end, but i cant believe even more that this is what satoru had to deal with. this is the most rushed end and the saddest end.

i wish gege had decided to take a break and decided to take his time. but alas this is not my story. still, id like to make more for satoru. ones where he'd be so loved. genmei (you) and satoru will always be happy in whatever life you have, that i write. for bitter or for worse. even in death. smiling is all there will be. even with tears.

anyway, i hope you bear with me, for i am very emotional. thank you for understanding this situation. i love you all, i'll see you soon <3

masterlist

u s and t h e m

if you want to, tip! <3

GOJO SATORU IS EXHAUSTED. But he thinks that there is no use to sleep. He knows he cannot. The room was bathed in the soft glow of a single lamp, the light too dim to chase away the shadows that lingered in every corner, just like the uncertainty that hung between you and Satoru.

He sat across from you on the edge of the bed, his usual carefree demeanor gone, replaced by a solemn stillness that felt out of place on him. His eyes, usually so vibrant and mischievous, were tired tonight, the weight of tomorrow pulling down his every breath.

"You don’t have to do this." Your voice came out in a whisper, the words heavy with a desperation you’d been trying to suppress.

Satoru didn’t answer right away. His gaze was locked on the floor, and for a moment, you wondered if he was even listening. But then he looked up, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours, and there was something in them you rarely saw—fear.

"It’s not like I have a choice," he murmured, his voice strained. "You know that."

You did. And that made it worse. He was the strongest, after all. If anyone had to stand against Sukuna, it was him. But the weight of those expectations had never felt heavier than it did now, with the reality of the fight looming closer with every passing second.

"I hate this, Satoru." you confessed, your voice trembling. "I hate that it always comes down to you, that you’re the one who has to bear this."

Satoru smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He stood and crossed the small space between you, kneeling in front of you, his hands gently resting on your knees. His touch was warm, grounding, but it did nothing to quell the storm raging inside you.

"Hey." he said softly, lifting your chin so you’d look at him. "I know it’s not fair. But it’s what I have to do."

You shook your head, biting back the tears that threatened to spill. "But what if—" The words caught in your throat, the question too painful to finish.

Satoru’s thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a tear you didn’t even realize had fallen. "Don’t think about that," he whispered, his voice as soft as the night air outside. "Not tonight."

"But how can I not?" you shot back, your frustration breaking through. "How can I pretend that everything will be fine when I know you’re going to face him? When I know there’s a chance that—"

He silenced you with a kiss, his lips gentle but firm, grounding you in the present, in this moment. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

"I’ll come back to you," he promised, but even he couldn’t hide the uncertainty in his voice. “To you and Satoshi. And… I’ll bring Megumi and Tsumiki back. We’ll be a family again, like we used to be.”

It was the way he said it—so sure, so certain—that made it all the more unbearable. As if speaking it aloud would somehow make it true, would make the universe bend to his will the same way he bent the forces of space and time. But you knew better now, didn’t you? You’ve always known. Satoru Gojo, the man who was too powerful to fail, too stubborn to admit defeat, could never stop lying—not to you, not to himself. He believed in his own invincibility, as if his strength alone could rewrite the world.

But the world doesn’t work that way.

And you think then, that your husband has always been a liar.

You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve heard those words, promises wrapped in silk and carelessness, the way they tumbled off his tongue so casually. It was as though the act of saying it was enough for him, as though the truth could be commanded with just his voice. And maybe for a long time, it was.

Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer, the man who could bend the world to his whims and yet still—he was human. And humans lie. Sometimes because they have to, sometimes because the lie feels better than the truth.

But tonight, in the quiet hours before dawn, the weight of his words pressed down harder than ever. We’ll be a family again, like we used to be. You wanted to scream at him, to shake him, to make him stop speaking as if the world was something he could fix with his bare hands. Megumi was gone, taken by darkness, by fate, and Tsumiki…Tsumiki was as good as lost to you both. Even if Satoru came back, even if he somehow survived this fight with Sukuna, the cracks in your family couldn’t simply be patched over like they had never existed.

You bit your lip, tasting the bitterness of unshed tears.

"You always say that," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the soft hum of the night. "But you don’t know this time, do you?"

His gaze faltered, the usual gleam in his eyes dimming for a fraction of a second. It was a flicker of something too vulnerable, too raw—something he rarely let anyone see. It was the truth that lingered behind his endless bravado, the truth that no amount of strength could hide: he didn’t know if he could win this time.

And you had known it all along.

Satoru had always come back to you. Bruised, battered, bleeding—but alive. He would stumble through the door with that infuriating grin, wipe the blood off his face with the back of his hand, and act like nothing had ever been in doubt. But this time was different. This wasn’t just another battle against curses or enemies who fell beneath his overwhelming strength. This was Sukuna.

"I’ll bring Megumi and Tsumiki back," he had said, as if they were just lost children in the woods, waiting for him to lead them home. But Megumi had slipped beyond reach, swallowed by the very darkness Satoru had spent his life fighting. How could he promise to bring him back when he could barely keep the pieces of himself together?

"You can’t save everyone, Satoru," you whispered, your heart breaking as you said it aloud, the truth as bitter as the lie was sweet. "Not even with all your power."

His hand tightened around yours, his grip almost too strong, as if holding onto you could somehow anchor him to the world, to the promise he so desperately wanted to believe. "I have to try," he murmured, his voice rough, as if the words themselves were painful to speak. "For you. For Satoshi. For them."

Satoshi. Your son. His name hung in the air like a thread between you, a fragile tether that held what little remained of your family together. You could see it in Satoru’s eyes—the fear of leaving his child without a father, the guilt of not being able to protect him from the storm that loomed over your lives. But you also saw the lie there, the same lie he told every time he went to war. The lie that he would come back unscathed, that he could shield all of you from the world’s cruelty just by being who he was.

But he couldn’t. Not this time.

"Satoru," you whispered, your voice breaking. "You don’t have to be everything for us. You don’t have to be invincible."

His eyes softened, and for a moment, just a moment, the mask slipped. He let you see the man beneath the legend, the man who was just as terrified as you were. "I’m not invincible," he admitted, the words barely audible. "But I can’t give up on them. I can’t give up on us."

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Even in his most vulnerable moments, even when the odds were impossibly stacked against him, Satoru Gojo refused to let go of hope. He clung to it as fiercely as he clung to you, because to do anything less would mean admitting that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t strong enough.

And in that moment, you realized something: it wasn’t that your husband was a liar. It was that he couldn’t afford to tell the truth, because if he did, the weight of it might break him.

So, you let him hold onto his lie, let him believe in a future where you, Satoshi, Megumi, and Tsumiki could all be together again. Maybe it was kinder that way. For both of you.

As the night stretched on and the inevitable dawn crept closer, you pressed your face against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. For now, that was all you had—the warmth of him beside you, the sound of his heart still beating, the fragile hope that somehow, against all odds, he would come back to you.

And maybe, just maybe, the lie would come true.

“I always have, don’t I?” he added, a faint smirk pulling at the corner of his lips, that signature bravado surfacing in an attempt to reassure you. “I’ve always won the day. I’ll come back.”

Your husband’s bright eyes—those crystalline blue eyes that had seen so much, fought through so much—they betrayed him. Beneath that unwavering confidence, there was something else. Fear? Doubt? It was a crack in the façade of the invincible man you married, a truth too terrifying to speak aloud.

Your throat tightened as you met his gaze, the silence between you heavier than any words could be. He had always come back, hadn’t he? Through every impossible battle, every mission that should have left him broken or worse, he had somehow returned to you, grinning as if the world itself were a game only he knew how to win.

But that wasn’t the whole truth. The nights he returned bruised, bleeding, barely standing, those nights played in your mind like a broken record. He made light of it all, brushing off your worries with a laugh, a kiss, a flippant “I’m fine.” But those were lies too, weren’t they? Lies wrapped in love.

“Satoru,” you breathed, your voice unsteady, “you don’t have to say it.”

His smirk faltered, just for a second, and that brief flicker of vulnerability nearly undid you. He pulled you closer, his hand cradling the back of your neck, his touch tender but laced with desperation. "But I will come back," he insisted, his voice soft but firm. "I always do."

You wanted to believe him. You needed to. Because to imagine a world where he didn’t come back, where that promise wasn’t fulfilled, was a world too cruel to fathom. But tonight, as the shadow of Sukuna loomed larger than ever, the weight of that lie pressed down on you both. What if this time, his strength wasn’t enough?

“What if…” you started, but he silenced you with a finger pressed gently against your lips.

“No ‘what ifs,’” he whispered, though you both knew better than that. Satoru had lived his life defying fate, bending it to his will. But not even the strongest sorcerer could escape death forever.

His hand moved from your neck to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your face as if trying to memorize it, as if this moment might be his last chance. You could see the weight of the world in his eyes, the burden of being the one everyone relied on, the one expected to face the impossible—and win.

But for once, he wasn’t invincible to you. He was just a man, your husband, and for the first time, you saw the lie for what it was: his way of protecting you. Of protecting himself from the truth that this might be the one fight he couldn’t walk away from.

You placed your hand over his, feeling the warmth of his skin, and in that moment, you didn’t care about lies or truths, about promises or fears. You just wanted him here, now, with you. "Then stay with me a little longer," you whispered, your voice breaking.

Satoru closed his eyes, exhaling deeply, and nodded. "I’m here," he said, pulling you into his arms, his voice a soft, almost broken promise. "I’m here."

And for tonight, that would have to be enough.

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, neither speaking, just holding onto each other as if by doing so, you could freeze time, stop the inevitable from coming. You memorized the feel of his hands on your skin, the warmth of his body against yours, the sound of his heartbeat under your palm. You clung to the moment as if it were your last.

As the night wore on, you both lay down, tangled in each other’s arms. Sleep didn’t come easily, and when it did, it was fitful, haunted by the looming specter of tomorrow. You held onto him tightly, afraid that if you let go, he would disappear into the darkness, never to return.

In the early hours before dawn, Satoru stirred, his arms tightening around you one last time. The weight of the night clung to both of you, thick and heavy, the silence between his breaths and your heart beats a fragile barrier against the coming storm.

You felt him shift beside you, his warmth pulling you closer, as if holding you tighter could keep the inevitable at bay for just a moment longer. His fingers traced gentle circles on your back, his touch familiar, grounding, but laced with an unspoken tension.

"I’ll be back, hm?" he whispered again, the words soft and lingering in the stillness. His voice, usually so sure, faltered at the edges, as though he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to comfort you.

He said it like a prayer, like repeating it enough times could bend fate, twist reality to make it true. But you knew better. You both did. Those words, though meant to soothe, carried the weight of all the times you’d heard them before, and the growing fear that this time might be different.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The knot in your throat tightened, a lump of unspoken fears and uncried tears. There was too much to say, too much that couldn’t be put into words without breaking whatever fragile hope remained between you. If you spoke now, you might lose whatever composure you had left, and you needed to hold on to it, if only for his sake.

Instead, you pressed your face against his chest, your ear resting just above his heart. The steady, rhythmic beating echoed through your body, its cadence familiar and reassuring, a sound that had become synonymous with home.

It was the same heartbeat you’d fallen asleep to countless nights, the one you’d clung to after long missions, when he’d returned battered but smiling, and you’d held him just like this—like he was your anchor to the world.

But this time, it was different. You weren’t just seeking comfort; you were memorizing it. The sound, the feel of his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek, the warmth of his skin against yours. You were committing it all to memory, engraving it deep into your soul because, somewhere in the back of your mind, a quiet voice whispered that this might be the last time.

Each beat of his heart became a marker, a reminder of the moments you had shared, of all the laughter and love and quiet nights like this one. But now, it also carried the weight of what could be lost. The inevitability of tomorrow pressed against your chest, suffocating, as if time itself was slipping through your fingers.

You tighten your grip around him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, unwilling to let go, even as the sky outside began to lighten with the first traces of dawn. The sun was rising, and with it, the time for him to leave drew nearer.

Satoru’s hand moved to your hair, his fingers threading through it gently, soothingly. He kissed the top of your head, and though his touch was as tender as ever, there was a lingering sadness in it. He held you like he was trying to memorize you, too, like this was as much for him as it was for you. He didn’t say anything more, perhaps because he knew that no words would ease the ache that had settled between you, a chasm neither of you could cross.

As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the window, casting a soft, golden glow over the room, you felt him shift again, his breath hitching slightly as he prepared to rise. You wanted to beg him to stay, to forget about everything else, just for today. But you knew he couldn’t, and you wouldn’t ask that of him. He had a duty, a burden that he had carried for as long as you had known him. And no matter how much you wanted to keep him safe, you couldn’t shield him from what was coming.

When he finally moved to leave, your arms loosened around him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to let go completely. Not yet. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment longer than he needed to, as if he, too, was trying to hold on to this last fragment of peace before it was shattered.

“I’ll be back.” he whispered once more, his breath warm against your skin.

This time, you didn’t respond because you couldn’t. Instead, you closed your eyes, letting the sound of his heartbeat linger in your memory, holding onto it as tightly as you held onto him. The door would close behind him soon, and with it, he would walk into the fight of his life, a battle that you both knew could be his last. But for now, in this fleeting moment before dawn, you let yourself believe in the lie, because the truth was too painful to bear.

And when he finally left, the door closing softly behind him, you were left alone in the silence, the echo of his promise lingering in the air, fragile and fleeting.

HE DOESN’T KNOW WHY, BUT HE JUST FELT LIKE TALKING. Quite unlike him, if he was being honest with himself.  But as Gojo Satoru sat beside Itadori Yuji, all he could think about was peace of mind. And to do that, he thinks he should talk.

Gojo Satoru could feel his usual smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, though today it felt more subdued. They had been talking for a while now, their conversation meandering from one thing to another. But beneath Satoru’s lighthearted tone, Yuji sensed something deeper. Something weighed heavy on his teacher’s mind.

“When something happens, I want you to be there for me, Yuji.” Satoru said suddenly, his eyes staring ahead. His voice was soft, but not weak—it carried the strength of someone who had lived with the knowledge that he had to bear the world on his shoulders. “I have love and dreams too, you know.”

Yuji blinked, surprised by the vulnerability in Satoru’s words. He wasn’t used to hearing his sensei talk like this, with a depth that seemed so different from his usual carefree attitude.

Satoru glanced at Yuji, his smile widening slightly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But you know, one day, everyone will grow up and leave me behind, right?”

Yuji didn’t know how to respond. The idea of leaving Satoru behind felt impossible. But Satoru’s words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his loneliness. It was a rare glimpse into the mind of the man everyone thought was invincible.

“I have high hopes for you.” Satoru continued, his voice becoming more playful, but there was something fragile beneath the surface. “Desire and ambition!”

“I could never forget you.” Yuji said as he smiled nervously, trying to deflect the seriousness with humor, though it didn’t quite land. 

Satoru sighed. “I honestly think it’s better to have someone stronger than me who can truly forget my existence.”

“Isn’t that a bit concerning, Sensei?” Yuji asked after a moment, tilting his head. “Are you okay with that?”

Satoru’s smile softened. “Ah, you’re so young and naïve!” he said fondly, his voice carrying an almost paternal tone. “You’re brimming with confidence, aren’t you?”

The conversation lulled, and for a moment, the two sat in silence, the air between them thick with unsaid things. And then, Satoru spoke again, but this time his voice was lower, as if he were confessing something he hadn’t shared with anyone else.

“You know, Yuji…..” Satoru began, his gaze distant. The most emotional Yuji had seen him to be. “Sometimes I wish I could just… run away. With my beloved. My wife. Megumi, Tsumiki, and little Satoshi too. I dream about it sometimes. Hiding us away somewhere no one could find us. No more battles, no more curses… just peace. We’d be a family again.”

Yuji looked at his sensei Gojo, stunned. He had never heard his teacher speak like this before, as though the weight of being the strongest had finally worn him down. Gojo Satoru’s dream of escaping, of living a quiet life with the people he loved—it was so human. 

So far removed from the man everyone saw as untouchable, undefeatable. But at this moment, Satoru wasn’t the strongest sorcerer in the world. He was just a man who wanted to protect the people he loved. A man who longed for something simple, something real.

“That’s my dream, my love and dreams.” Satoru whispered, his voice barely audible. “But I know it’s impossible. The world needs me too much.”

Yuji’s heart ached for him. He didn’t know what to say, so instead, he simply sat there, hoping that in his silence, his sensei could feel his support.

Satoru sighed, standing up and stretching as if to shake off the heaviness of their conversation. “Anyway, enough of that.” he said, flashing his usual grin. “Let’s focus on what’s in front of us.”

But even as he spoke, Yuji couldn’t shake the feeling that, deep down, Satoru Gojo longed for something far beyond his reach.

Yuji stared at Satoru, processing the weight of his sensei's words. It was hard to imagine Satoru Gojo, the invincible sorcerer who seemed so carefree, harboring such a vulnerable wish. A man who could crush enemies with ease, someone who always had the answers—yet, here he was, confessing a dream that would never come true.

“I never thought… you’d want something like that, Sensei.” Yuji admitted quietly, his voice breaking the silence. “I guess I never really thought about what you’d want outside of all this.”

Satoru glanced at him, a softer smile playing on his lips. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? When you’re as strong as I am, no one really thinks to ask what you want. They think you don’t need anything… or anyone.”

Yuji frowned, guilt washing over him. He hadn’t meant to think that way about Gojo Satoru, but it was true. He had always seen his teacher as larger than life, almost beyond human in his ability to control any situation, to be everywhere and nowhere at once.

"But... you have them, Sensei." Yuji said slowly, searching for the right words. "Your wife, Megumi, Tsumiki, and Satoshi… They need you, don't they? Maybe you can’t run away, but you still have something, sensei. A family. Isn't that enough?”

Satoru chuckled, but the sound was hollow, lacking its usual energy. He sat back down beside Yuji, his gaze once again distant. “You’d think that, right? But the stronger you are, the more people take from you. It’s like… I’m always on borrowed time. I’m always one fight away from leaving them behind too.”

Yuji swallowed hard. He’d never thought about Satoru’s life in that way. It was a sobering realization, that even someone as powerful as Gojo was constantly battling not just external threats but the fear of losing what little he had.

“I wish I could protect them from everything.” Satoru murmured. “Just take them somewhere far away… no more battles, no more cursed energy. Just… quiet. But no matter how strong I am, I can’t do that. I can’t just… leave the world to burn while we live in peace.”

He turned to Yuji then, his icy blue eyes piercing through the air. “You know, sometimes I think I was selfish for bringing them into my world. Megumi, Tsumiki, Satoshi… my wife. They didn’t ask for this. I chose this life for them.”

“Sensei.” Yuji started, unsure of what to say. His heart ached for Satoru. “They love you. And… they wouldn’t want to live without you, either. Even if it’s dangerous.”

Satoru’s lips twitched upward in a bittersweet smile. “Yeah, I know. But love’s a tricky thing, Yuji. It’s not enough to stop the world from trying to tear us apart. It never has been.”

Yuji nodded, not fully understanding, but feeling the gravity of Satoru’s words. There was a silence between them, but it was heavy with the weight of shared thoughts, of unspoken dreams and impossible futures.

Satoru leaned back, his hands resting behind his head. “But hey, that’s just how it goes, right? No point in dwelling on things we can’t change.”

He looked at Yuji with a bright grin, but it felt like a mask—one Yuji was starting to see through more and more. “So, enough about me. What about you? What are your dreams, Yuji?”

Yuji blinked, surprised by the sudden shift. “My dreams?”

Satoru nodded. “Yeah. You must have some. Or did you think I was the only one allowed to have them?”

Yuji scratched the back of his neck, thinking for a moment. “I guess… I don’t know. I never really thought that far ahead. I’ve been so focused on everything happening now, I never gave myself the chance.”

Satoru chuckled softly. “That’s the thing with us, sorcerers. We get so caught up in fighting for today, we forget to dream about tomorrow.”

Yuji looked down at his hands, feeling a strange sense of guilt. “Do you really think… you can never have that life you want?”

Satoru didn’t answer right away. Instead, he closed his eyes, letting the wind ruffle his silver hair. For a moment, he was just Satoru—not the strongest, not the invincible sorcerer, but a man burdened by the life he had to lead.

“I don’t know, Yuji……” he said quietly, almost to himself. “But I like to dream that maybe, someday… we could all disappear. And live. Just live.  Just me, my wife, Megumi, Tsumiki, Satoshi… away from everything. Living in peace.”

His voice trailed off, and Yuji could hear the longing in it. The truth was, Satoru Gojo might be the strongest sorcerer alive, but even he was bound by the same rules as everyone else. He couldn’t run from the world, couldn’t hide from the battles he had to fight.

But it didn’t stop him from dreaming.

Yuji looked at him with a new understanding, realizing that no matter how strong someone was, they still carried their own struggles, their own wishes and dreams. And sometimes, those dreams were just as fragile as anyone else's.

"Maybe one day, sensei." Yuji said softly, with an honest smile. "You won't have to fight anymore."

Satoru chuckled, opening one eye to glance at Yuji. "Maybe. But until then, we keep going."

And with that, the conversation ended, but the weight of it lingered between them—a reminder that even the strongest had dreams they longed to chase, even if those dreams were just out of reach.

YOU THINK YOU WAITED FOR THIS MOMENT FOR A LONG TIME. When you wait for your eyes to close with finality, the weight of the years presses down on you, a quiet fatigue settling into your bones. You’re tired—so tired—and when you open them again, you're met with the familiar sight of Fushiguro Megumi and Gojo Satoshi. Your two sons, waiting for you to go and leave them. 

Megumi stands tall, his arms crossed as usual, but his gaze softens when he sees you. Satoshi, ever his opposite, smiles that wide, carefree grin of his. They both look at you, concern etched into their features.

"I'm exhausted." you tell them softly, the words slipping out like a confession you’ve been holding in for far too long.

“You can’t die yet, Mother......" Satoshi pipes up, his voice steady, but the cracks of fear were unmistakable. His usual bright demeanor falters, his hands trembling ever so slightly as he grips the hem of his shirt. His voice may be steady, but his eyes betray him—glossed with unshed tears, reflecting a grief he’s not ready to face. Not now. Not yet. 

“You’re still too young!” There’s urgency in his words, a childlike plea echoing in his tone, though he’s long since grown past childhood. The way his shoulders hunch forward, the way his gaze darts between you and Megumi—he’s holding on. Clutching to hope as if his words could anchor you to this world a little longer. 

Megumi stands beside him, more composed, but his silence carries a weight just as heavy. He nods, his expression solemn. “He’s right, Gen-san.” Megumi adds quietly.

His voice is low, restrained, as though he’s struggling to hold back everything he truly wants to say. His hands remain tucked in his pockets, his face as unreadable as ever, but his eyes—the eyes you’ve known for so many years—hold a flicker of something deeper. Desperation? Fear? Perhaps both.

"You’re only 48. You still have time left."

His words are careful, deliberate, each one carrying the weight of someone who’s had to shoulder too much responsibility, too much loss. The faint tremor in his voice betrays how much he’s already bracing himself for another wound, another absence he’ll have to carry.

You look at them both—Satoshi, who still clings to hope as though it could somehow rewrite fate, and Megumi, whose quiet strength has always shielded him from the full brunt of the pain—but not this time. They both stand there, torn between urging you to stay and accepting the inevitable.

But you smile at them, a soft, knowing smile that carries the weight of the years, the joy and the sorrow, the love and the loss. It's a smile that’s lived through the ache of life without Satoru, a smile that remembers every laugh, every argument, every stolen glance, and every moment that felt too brief. 

“I know, I know......” you say, your voice gentle, steady. There’s a peace in your tone that they don’t yet understand, a quiet acceptance that fills the space between you. “But I’m ready. I’ve missed Satoru... for so long.”

And in that moment, as you say his name, the air feels lighter, as if the years of separation, the longing, the silent ache in your chest begins to unravel. You missed him—not just in fleeting moments or in passing thoughts, but in the depths of your soul. Every day, every night. The space he left behind has been a constant companion, a reminder of what once was and what could never be again.

The tears in Satoshi’s eyes finally spill over, and Megumi’s lips press into a thin line, his jaw tightening, but neither of them say anything. They understand, even if they don’t want to.

Because love—true, enduring love—is something that even death can’t diminish. And they know you loved Satoru with all that you were, and perhaps, even now, they understand that your heart has been waiting for him all along.

The weight in your chest lightens as you speak his name. Megumi frowns but doesn't say anything more, and Satoshi’s smile falters, understanding settling into their eyes. 

You close your eyes once again, the world fading into a peaceful darkness. There's a brief moment of silence, a quiet passing, before a familiar voice echoes softly, teasingly:

“Did you miss me?”

Tears well up before you even open your eyes. You don’t need to see him to know it’s him. The voice, that unmistakable voice—playful, laced with all the love and mischief you’d missed for too long.

When your eyes flutter open, there he is—Satoru, standing before you, that brilliant smile lighting up his face. The tears fall freely now, but for the first time in years, they're not from

“Satoru......” you breathe, his name barely a whisper on your lips, as though speaking it aloud might break the fragile moment. Your voice catches in your throat, a mix of disbelief, relief, and the sorrow that’s lived inside you for far too long.

It’s a name you’ve spoken to the silence of empty rooms, whispered into the night when no one was there to hear, a name tied to a thousand memories you’ve held onto so tightly for all these years. 

The tears that have welled up in your eyes begin to spill over, blurring the figure before you, but you don’t need to see him to know it’s him. You feel him—his presence, his warmth, the way his energy fills the space around you like it always did. 

He steps closer, closing the distance between you in a way that feels like the erasure of all those agonizing years of separation. His familiar warmth envelops you, wrapping around you like an embrace you’ve longed for, like a homecoming after a journey that has lasted far too long.

The brush of his thumb against your cheek is achingly gentle, tender as he wipes away the tears that won’t stop falling. His touch, so familiar, yet so missed, sends a wave of emotions crashing over you—grief for the years you lost, joy for the moment you never thought you’d have again.

"You came back to me, finally." His voice is quieter now, the usual teasing that you had come to know so well is gone, replaced by something deeper—something raw and vulnerable, a depth of emotion he often hid beneath his bravado.

There’s relief in his words, but also a quiet sorrow, as if he too felt the weight of all the time you’d spent apart. As if he too had been waiting, missing you just as much as you had missed him.

His breath is warm against your skin, and you hear the slight tremor in his voice, that hint of fragility in the man who always seemed invincible to you. There’s a vulnerability in him now, standing before you, as though he’s afraid this moment might not be real. Afraid that if he holds you too tightly, you might slip away again.

His thumb continues to trace gentle patterns along your cheek, the rhythm of it soothing and familiar, grounding you in the reality that he’s truly here. And as he looks at you, his bright blue eyes softer now, there’s a depth to them that speaks to all the words left unsaid, to all the years spent in separation, to the weight of the grief he carried alone.

"I waited and waited, stalling some gods....." he continues, his voice just above a whisper now, the teasing facade stripped away, leaving only the rawness of his feelings. "I waited so long, and every day… I missed you."

There’s a moment of silence that stretches between you, heavy with the unspoken sorrow of time lost, of love interrupted by forces beyond your control. His hand, still cradling your face, trembles just slightly, as if even Satoru, with all his strength, couldn’t bear the thought of losing you again.

The weight of it all—of everything you endured, everything you lost—comes crashing down at once, and you let out a soft, broken sob. You feel his arms wrap around you, pulling you against him, holding you close like he’s afraid to ever let go. 

“I missed you too. So so much.” you whisper into his chest, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt. “I never stopped missing you, Satoru.”

You feel his chest rise and fall with a deep breath, his lips pressing softly against your forehead. And for the first time in what feels like forever, the sorrow that’s been living inside you begins to ease. It doesn’t disappear entirely—grief never really does—but here, in Satoru’s arms, it feels lighter. It feels like, maybe, you can finally rest.

And in that moment, you realize that the exhaustion, the waiting—it was all worth it. You're home.

epilogue

The afterlife wasn’t exactly what you expected. Instead of floating through clouds or endless fields of serenity, you found yourself at what looked like an airport terminal. Before you could process how bizarre this was, you spotted them—Kaiko and Namie, both waving like maniacs from the crowd.

“Finally!” Kaiko shouts, sprinting toward you with the grace of someone who has no concept of personal space. Namie follows, beaming brightly, and within seconds, they’re both squeezing the life out of you.

“Guys, air... I need air!” you gasp, but they only hug you tighter. Kaiko plants a kiss on your cheek, and Namie loops an arm around your waist like they’ve been waiting years for this reunion.

“We missed you so much, you know?” Kaiko pouts, ignoring your protests. “The afterlife just isn’t the same without you.”

“Excuse me.” You look over Kaiko’s shoulder to see Satoru, sunglasses slightly askew, his mouth pulled into a pout that could rival a spoiled child’s. “You’re hogging my wife.”

Kaiko smirks, not even turning to look at Satoru. “Your wife? Funny, because I’m pretty sure I was her first love.” She raises an eyebrow, tilting her head ever so slightly as if daring him to challenge the claim.

Satoru's eyes narrow behind his shades. “That was ages ago, you homewrecker! She married me—” he steps forward, pointing at the both of you— “not you.”

“Oh please,” Kaiko rolls her eyes. “I’ve known her longer. I laid the groundwork. I was and always will be the original concept!”

Satoru steps closer, his height towering over Kaiko but Kaiko isn’t fazed. “She chose me.”

“She settled for you, shitty eyes!” Kaiko quips, her grin widening. “There’s a difference.”

And that’s all it takes. Satoru’s eyebrow twitches, and suddenly they’re in each other’s faces like squabbling children. You can barely get a word in before they start throwing insults—Kaiko jabbing at Satoru’s height, Satoru boasting about his undeniable charm.

“Guys, seriously?” You rub your temples, trying to hold back laughter. “This is ridiculous.”

Geto Suguru, ever the voice of reason (or at least the one who knows when to pick his battles), sidles up beside you with a casual smile. “Looks like some things never change.”

You grin at him, feeling a sense of ease that only Suguru can bring. “Tell me about it. Can’t believe I’m back and they’re already fighting over me.”

“Typical Satoru!” Suguru laughs. “He never could handle competition.” He offers you a knowing look, then gestures to the absurd scene in front of you. “Should we break it up?”

“Nah, let them tire themselves out.” you reply, waving a hand dismissively. “They’ll realize how stupid they’re being soon enough.”

As if on cue, Kaiko flicks Satoru in the forehead. “She loved my kisses first!”

“Oh, for—" Satoru huffs, about to lunge at Kaiko when you step in between them. “She loved mine more!”

“Oh shut up,your kisses are slimy and disgusting!”

“HUH!? You take that back!”

“Ugly frog! Bwah!” 

“Alright, enough.” You shake your head, stifling a laugh. “Satoru, Kaiko, stop acting like children. I’m here for everyone, okay?”

“Everyone except Kaiko.” Satoru mutters under his breath.

Suguru chuckles beside you, giving you a side glance. “Welcome back.”

You smile, patting his shoulder. “Good to be back. I see things haven’t changed much.”

As Kaiko and Satoru continue bickering like they’re back in high school, Suguru leans over, smirking. “Should we take bets on who wins this round?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Nah, I’m putting my money on Namie. She’s going to step in and drag both of them away soon enough.”

And, just like clockwork, Namie swoops in, grabbing Kaiko by the arm and tugging her toward the exit, muttering about “taking this fight outside.”

Satoru watches them go, arms crossed, still pouting. He looks at you, expectant, as if waiting for reassurance.

You chuckle, stepping closer and placing a hand on his chest. “Relax, Satoru. You know you’re the one I chose.”

His pout softens into a grin, and he leans down to kiss your forehead. “Damn right.”

And with that, the chaos of the airport fades into the background, as you bask in the comfort of having your husband by your side—and of course, the endless entertainment of old rivals.

[piichuu]

AFTER LAUGHTER (COMES TEARS) - GOJO SATORU

WARNINGS: hurt to comfort, gn!reader

WORD COUNT: 906

you’re laying on the couch when your boyfriend arrives back home from a long day at work. he was called in early in the morning to exorcise curses before it was time to switch roles into a teacher and help his students at jujutsu high. now it’s late into the evening, and he has most likely not gotten the time to rest at all today.

“i’m home!” he says cheerfully, walking into the living room as you get up from the couch to greet him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “how was your day?” you ask, pulling away a little to look at his face, brushing your fingers through his white messy hair.

he looks at you with a smile on his face, one that you see every single day, almost every single time you look at him. “it was good, yuji is finally getting the hang of it and it’s the same old with the others,” gojo explains as you scan his face, slowly but surely noticing the dark bags under his glassy eyes.

“are you okay? you must be tired, you’ve been working all day,” you lower your voice slightly, trying to sound as soft as possible, hoping he won’t lie about his feelings like he almost always does.

that seems to be his breaking point, his smile quickly faltering and his lower lip starting to quiver while tears begin to form in his eyes. his hands that were resting on your waist are starting to shake and it almost seems like he is about to faint.

sobs fill the room as you once again put your arms around him, pulling him in for a hug. he’s holding onto you as tightly as he can, nuzzling his face into your neck, his tears falling onto your shirt. he’s hanging onto you as if his life depended on it, like he’s afraid to let go.

you sit down on the couch with him, rubbing gojo’s back in an attempt to comfort him. “i’m sorry, i-i’m sorry,” gojo sobs. “i don’t want to be weak, i’m sorry-“

his own tears interrupt him as he sniffles, trying to look away when you cup his face in your palms. “don’t say sorry, satoru. it’s okay to cry,” you say, tears forming in your own eyes at the sight of your boyfriend feeling like this. “you don’t have to hide just because you’re letting your feelings out.”

you rub his cheeks with your thumbs, allowing him to take his time, watching as the sobs slowly die down and he tries to wipe his tears away. “did something bad happen today?” you ask but gojo shakes his head, sighing.

“no, nothing happened. it’s just-i’m so tired. these stupid fucking higher ups keep putting me on all missions they can and then i have to be a teacher to the kids. i love them, they’re amazing, but i keep getting reminded of the old days every single time i see them,” he admits, looking down at his lap while speaking.

“i’m tired of being the strongest, i just wish i could be here at home all day and just sleep, eat, cuddle with you, watch movies. i wish i didn’t have to be the strongest all the time, i’m not even the strongest because if i was, suguru would be alive by now, i would’ve been able to help him,” gojo once again tears up at the thought of his friend who is no longer here.

you brush a hand through his hair gently. “don’t ever blame yourself, satoru. it’s not your fault, okay?” you try your best to reassure him, not knowing what to say.

he sighs and reaches for your hands, intertwining them with his own. “i don’t know what to do,” he whispers and you squeeze his hands. “that’s okay, we’ll just take it minute by minute, we don’t have to think about the past or the future right now if that would make it feel easier. we can just be here right now,” you say while leaning your forehead against his.

gojo closes his eyes for a little while and takes a deep breath with you, trying to calm down. “but maybe it’ll feel a little easier if you keep telling me whenever you feel like this, whenever something that disturbs you crosses your mind. it will all feel much worse if you keep trying to smile when you’re not happy. i’m your partner because i’m here no matter what, okay?”

gojo nods and opens his eyes to look into yours. “okay, thank you…i’m sorry for putting all of this on you-“ “don’t say sorry, i want to know what’s going on in your head,” you say, watching as he begins to place soft kisses to the knuckles of your hands.

“okay, i’ll try my best,” he mumbles, eventually letting go of your hands to pull you in for a hug again. “can we just go to sleep now?”

you smile softly and nod, placing a kiss to his cheek. “yeah we can, you don’t want dinner?” you ask and he chuckles lightly. “maybe i’ll eat some dinner first, i do love your cooking after all.”

gojo begins to get up from the couch, taking your hand. “and i do love you, of course,” he speaks before pulling you up from the couch as well, pressing a kiss to your forehead before walking towards the kitchen.

TAG LIST: @shotovhs

if you want to join the tag list, fill out this form <3

[brotherwtf]

I've a hc for omegaverse Clegan. Gale is an omega but is very smart and manipulative. John being the Alpha naturally should be having dominance over him but is very submissive when it comes to Gale. One of his friends(Curt maybe) they're like "You're an Alpha Bucky! You can't let an Omega toss you around like that" and he makes up his mind to tell Gale that he had enough of his games. Later when he meets Gale in barracks, he tries to say something but is coaxed by his sweet sent and he knows Gale is doing it on purpose. He meets his big blue eyes and look up through his lashes and pouty lips and John is like "Dammit!" And is immediately on his knees before Gale even speaks. Gale just smiles knowing he has complete control over his big bad alpha 😈

anon did you just crawl into my brain and pull these ideas out? because this is EXACTLY WHAT I NEED RIGHT NOW

----

Gale always knew he was irresistible to the alphas around him. He had a sickly sweet scent, one that clogged their brain and made them smile so prettily, bending to his whim with just the smallest smile.

He purposefully wore revealing clothing around other alphas, showing off his waist and his ass so that they couldn't possibly resist scenting and marking him up.

It worked especially well with John. John who seemed like he never had the comfort of an omega in his life, smiled big and bright and was perfectly cocky. His scent immediately made Gale feel loopy, brought a warmth into his room that he hadn't seen from an alpha in a long time.

Gale knew from that moment that he was going to make John his.

It wasn't very hard, John seemed to fold at the attention of any omega, but he still had to work for it a little bit.

After long days on the base, Gale would purposefully make his scent sweeter so John would stay in, would urge him to crawl into the nest of sheets he made just so he could smell the thick and heady scent of an alpha. He would bat his eyelashes just so, bite his lip until it was swollen and plump, all so John would bend to his whim.

And it worked, John was bewitched, mind, body and soul by the sweetness that was Gale.

John was so willing to please his omega, wanted nothing more than for him to be happy and sated, craved that sweet sweet smell that was associated with a Gale that was content. This often meant having his knot or his cock available whenever Gale wanted it, which was often.

John didn't complain, he honestly liked being readily available for Gale whenever he needed him, couldn't complain because he felt good when Gale used him, too. It was only when Curt started asking questions that Gale started to see some doubt in Gale.

It wasn't normal, this dynamic between them. Alphas were supposed to be the ones in control, domineering over their omega and forcing them to do what they wanted, not the other way around.

So when Curt notices how readily John bends to Gale's commands, alarm bells instantly go off in his head. This wasn't normal, omegas weren't supposed to be this controlling.

He tried to bring it up to John a couple of times in passing, would point at omegas and off-handedly mention how good and submissive they were, man how he wished he had an omega like that, and hey? how's your omega doing? And John just says he's good, he treats him well, and Curt's just so confused.

Even after he tries to subtly push that John and Gales relationship wasn't normal, John wasn't catching the bait. So one day, he just goes outright and says it.

"It's not normal! An omega, pushing an alpha around? Bucky, you gotta say something. Put him in his place!" Curt says and it makes John think.

It wasn't normal, what was going on between him and Gale. He didn't see any other alphas get so easily pushed around by their omegas, didn't see them fall so easily to their whim. So he decides he's going to say something to Gale, to try and make their dynamic more normal.

Once John's back in the dorms, he can already smell Gale's scent, something more sickeningly sweet than usual. It makes John's heady, but he holds his ground, goes up to Gale and stands firm.

"Gale, I'm thinking that you're taking too much control for an omega. I am your alpha, your mate, I feel like I should have more control here," John says, and it almost looks like Gale believes him.

Gale's definitely shocked, mouth slightly agape as he looks John up and down. But then his face splits into a coy smile, and the room gets somehow sweeter.

"Really? Am I being too controlling? I'm sorry darling, I swear I'll stop, forgive me?" Gale says, looking up through his lashes and John knows, he just fucking knows that Gales controlling him.

He wants to fight back, wants to tell Gale to fuck off, but Gales sat on the bed, spreading his legs and beckoning for John to crawl between them, and who is Gale to deny his omega?

[angelus-scripturae]

Pls pls write anything for Astarion. Like maybe an imagine, idk. I would much prefer something fluff but literally anything else is fine.

I'm starved :(

Well baby I’m gonna feed you tonight. Can’t have my lovely followers starving now can i?

Astarion Ancunin

Nightmares

Summary: You comfort Astarion after you defeat Cazador (not ascended)

Themes: Hurt/Comfort, fluff, mentions of suicidal thoughts and abuse, gn! reader, no use of y/n, no specified pronouns, (shitty writing because this is my first time writing in 2 years)

Astarion couldn’t sleep. Not that he didn’t want to, but he physically couldn’t. Every time he closed his eyes, phantoms of his past plagued the skin behind his eyelids.

He should feel better. Cazador was dead. The ritual was stopped and his kin were saved. So why did he still feel trapped?

He shifted in his bedroll a few times before letting out a frustrated sigh and sitting up. Running a hand down his face and glancing around the dark tent you shared. The only light being the remaining embers of the fire outside.

Experimentally, Astarion attempted to close his eyes in a futile last attempt to rid himself of the visions. Only to flinch and open them again upon seeing those agonised faces and mutilated bodies.

Sensing the sudden lack of presence beside you, you begin to stir awake and feel the bedroll beside you only to feel it empty. Feeling a jolt of panic, you open your eyes fully only to find your companion sat barely a foot away from you.

Astarion’s head turns as you join him in sitting up. “Sorry if I woke you.” He mutters and runs a hand through his hair. The frown on his face highlighting his fine lines and blemishes.

You shake your head and yawn as you come into a comfortable sitting position. “Don’t apologise…” You shift closer to him but stop once he flinches slightly. “What’s wrong?”

Worry laces your voice as you reach out to touch Astarion’s hand. His hand twitches as if wanting to pull away before he lets it close around your soft skin.

“It’s nothing, darling.” He forces out a chuckle. An obvious attempt to brush the subject off. You’d known him too long to fall for that. You let out a small sigh and move to sit as close to him as you could.

“Star… You can’t lie to me.” You smile sadly at him. “Tell me what’s bothering you. You can trust me.”

Astarion hesitates. Even after months of adventuring with you and getting used to your heroism and kindness, he still struggled with the fact that he could trust you. It’s not that he didn’t want to. He trusted you with his life. But it was still new to him.

“I spent 200 years not trusting anyone…” He speaks quietly. “200 years… suffering at the hands of that maniac.” He swallows as if trying to gulp down a lump in his throat.

“I’m supposed to feel free… happy. I’m finally able to live without the fear of being used as a pawn in some sick plan…” He squeezes your hand ever so slightly, trying to find comfort in the warmth of your skin.

“But I don’t, that bastard is dead and yet I still feel him looming over me. As if gloating that his death was quick.” His voice cracks a bit before he clears his throat. “Do you know how many times I wished for that? Preyed? A quick death to save me from him and my torture?”

His words made your heart break into uncountable pieces. Your eyes softening as you shift to hold his other hand with your free one. “Star…” You start only for him to cut you off.

“You killed him though… I know that…” He clears his throat again. “It’s silly for me to still worry about him. And the people he made me hurt.”

You shake your head and move to get a glance at his face. “Astarion, it’s not silly.” You speak softly, letting go of one of his hands to cup his face and turn his face to yours. “You’ve gone through so much. More than I can even begin to fathom. What you did was not your fault. You were coerced and manipulated by a man who was selfish and ruinous.”

His eyes finally move to meet yours, instantly softening once he sees the kindness in your gaze.

“You’re a different man to who you were under his power. A better man. Even if you don’t believe it. I’ve seen it.” You smile softly and run a thumb along his cheekbone. “It’ll take time to move on from this. This has been your life for centuries. Those habits will be hard to break, but I’ll be right there. By your side. Because I love you.”

Astarion smiles as his eyes gloss over with emotion at your words. “You mean that?”

You nod and press a soft kiss to his nose. “With my whole heart.”

He leans into your touch. Moving closer until he’s able to press soft kisses to your lips. “I love you too.” He whispers against your lips before pulling away and lieing back down on his bedroll.

Your smile widens and you lay down with him. Your head resting on his arm and your body pressed against his in a comfortable silence. No other words needing to be said to explain the bond the both of you share.

Your eyes get heavy again quite quickly as your breathing steadies drifting into a state of rest. Astarion glances down at your sleeping face with a soft smile and moves some of your hair to give you a kiss on the forehead.

He takes a deep breath, readying himself to tackle his demons again. However, for the first time in days, closing his eyes didn’t bring visions of victims and abusers.

But visions of you.

[oimitocat]

BE PRETTY | OS

༘۠ park sunghoon x m!idol!reader

༘۠ fluff + idol life + implied nsfw

༘۠ a/n: watch this flop, it’s been years since i’ve written for kpop jaja….

sunghoon knows your eyes are for him and him only. he could be walking across the stage, 30 feet across from you to receive an award yet still feel (and know) where your eyes are at. he doesn’t have to spot you out to know you’re watching him.

you’re both not public, it’s still hard for both of you. the public is not going to be happy with it, you both know it. yet, he doesn’t think he’s hiding the relationship and neither are you. matter of fact, the more obvious you are, for some reason the public doesn’t even notice or think too deep about it.

“jay said i have to hurry up,” he whispers as he meets you inside the stall in the bathroom.

“i just wanted to congratulate you baby, nothing more,” you smile charmingly and kiss his nose.

he hums softly, smiling at you. “ah… good because the makeup artists already left and can’t retouch my makeup.”

“that’s what you’re worried about?” you chuckle, “i wouldn’t dare.”

he rolls his eyes while you take his hand in yours. your thumb grazes over his knuckles, making him go lax. award shows are always stressful, you have to look perfect, you can’t express much and there are so many rules that his head wants to explode.

“are you free to call tonight?” you ask, kissing his jaw softly.

you have a habit of kissing his face, butterfly kisses are your favorite thing to do to him. he loves them too, feeling you love him.

“yeah, it’ll be pretty late though, like one? i have to shower and you know the drive is a little long.”

“that’s okay, i’ll always wait for you,” you hum, placing a final kiss on his lips. “you should go back now, just call me, okay?”

he nods, accepting the hug you give him. you’re so warm, he really wishes he could be in your arms longer.

“see you later, beautiful,” you say, pushing him away playfully.

“yah…” he glares at you before walking out.

the rest of the award ceremony goes on. the ride to the dorms feels too long, as much as he wants to shower fast and call you he can’t because he wants to feel clean and fresh. so after doing his skin care and finally getting under the sheets, he calls you.

the others are still up, still getting into bed or doing whatever they want before sleeping.

“hey pretty,” you say, groggy, as you had fallen asleep minutes before he calls.

“where’s your pretty face,” he demands softly, looking at the black screen.

“ah, hold on,” you grunt, moving around before your face is illuminated by your night lamp. “better?” you ask as you settle back into a comfortable position.

“mhm,” he nods, watching you.

you stare back at him, smiling. “ah, let me tell you about what happened during the changing rooms,” you say before rambling on about your group’s ruckus.

he listens intently, feeling peaceful at the sound of your voice. he closes his eyes, imagining that your next to him in person, rambling. he misses the rumble in your chest as you laugh, the warmth of your body as he’s under the sheets.

“hey…” you call out eventually.

he opens his eyes, staring back at you again. “hm?”

“you sleepy?”

“no,” he shakes his head, “i just like listening to you.”

“i know you love my voice but if you fall asleep on me i might cry.”

“what?” he laughs.

you grin at the sight of his expression.

“i love your voice so much it wakes me up.”

“hn?” you question, but at the sight of his teasing grin you catch on. “ah,, dangerous game there baby. my groups already asleep.”

“mine too…”

you stare at him before smirking. “sunghoon…” you say cautiously, eyeing him.

his eyes lit up, but he suppresses his smile. “yeah, yeah.”

and he shifts around, getting comfortable for what’s to come.

[jkvjimin]

KIM SEOKJIN + music videos ↳ happy birthday, kayla! @cordiallyfuturedwight 🤍🌼

(beautiful background art made by @kithtaehyung)

[mryqu3sti0nmark]

Will one day adopt kittens.

[seventh-district]

several days and 15 thousand words later, i am relieved to report that the suffocating urge to Write Something has been sated and no longer has me in a chokehold

[skunkes]

Do u ever think abt where al (and talon too neow?) will go when u find ur person irl? Ykwim? like do u think we'd forget them / drop / git bored of our lil oc guys (of al's nature)? it feels sad!!! like a real loss 2 me. is it weird to be attached to them like they r real? HMM.

i hope ur doing well btw wit all da things ur goin thru. wishin u the best, peace and stability to u, bruther <3

dis is so scary i was just talking to a friend about something adjacent to this...

putting under read more solely because it feels weird to have some of the stuff im gonna mention just out in the open loll ^_^ ^_^

so! I kind of already experienced something like this last year, when i found myself um...in a situation like one you described...

I put al up on the shelf for a bit then picked him back up a few months later for much needed comfort among lots of confusion... I look at this Now as maybe being because, well. things started going south at that time and i needed Al again... + that makes sense! but i also have a friend who's in a long term relationship who still has thier own array of characters in their brain to lean on for comfort (though they aren't ocs)

I understand what you mean though... I'm attached to them like they're real. and neither outcome sounds good to me...!

like if the case is just that The Best Fit For Me, My Partner, really will make me forget about them, that makes me sad!!! Al has been in my life for such a long time. in those few short months of my situation where things were nice, I didn't have much to draw...! I don't know what I would draw if it wasn't my little comforts...! My yearning... It felt really weird even if i was happy for a little bit... it felt weird that he was just Gone.

BUT if the case is that i find a partner that's a good fit for me and i DONT forget about Al (and talon)...then that's also kinda sad...! Sad that I still need additional fantasy comfort that can never be real... because the little guys in my brain are like their own people... sad that there's nothing on earth close enough in the same way that everyone you date can have their own qualities you'll miss because theyre their own person, except they'll always just be in my brain and never in my arms etc etc... it is sad.... sometimes i just get emotional over having created em at all because all the outcomes are so sad to me......

[snallavanta]

hi friends. it's only been one day since i finished young royals and life feels so meh already. what even is the meaning of life. seems stupid that i have to work everyday for the rest of my life until i die. where are the joys of life. i need to feel something. let me feel anything

[sschmendrick]

I shouldn't have seen that scheduled post now I'm thinking about them like I haven't been thinking about them for the past week, month

[jslittlebirdie]

My dear, beloved friend... You're seriously making my eyes wet while I'm on the train, gosh, I sighed so hard🥺😭💜💜 Your mission was successful, you made me soft and lovey-dovey for my husband. And I can never thank you enough. Actually, I'm on my way for my nerd self and self-shipping with Eddie (I'm screaming, I'm getting an autograph and photo tomorrow🥹), but because today is our proposal anniversary thingy, it also feels like I'm taking a little trip with J. I think we both complete us in a way, I'm so grateful to have him and I don't want to let go of him, ever. Ich liebe Jack. *sigh* I wish I could babble more. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, my dear friend😭💜💚

[widevibratobitch]

.

[tojisun]

the apple that rolled over to the tree

!! fluff; f!reader; parenthood!!; simon-centric hehe >:3 // divider by @/plutism!

there is a… kid attached to your hip when simon returns home from a mission, his exhausted body stumbling into the kitchen where he finds you and it.

“what—”

he can’t even fathom the emotion coursing through him at the moment, what with shock triumphing over everything. still, you’d probably need to give him credit for not losing his goddamn mind at seeing a whole child — he couldn’t have been more than two years old with how he’s only three apples tall — clinging to you like a baby koala.

“oh my god, you’re back!” you squeal, unfazed at how dumbfounded your fiance has become, before shuffling close to embrace him.

simon reciprocates the hug anyway.

you step back, your lips still wobbling in your tears as you stare up at him, all awed like you couldn’t believe that he was back and simon wishes he can press his promises to your lips because he will always find a way to come back, he swears on his life, but also—

the child.

“sweetheart?” he begins, soft as to not spook you or the kid. “who’s, uh, who’s that?”

the child shifts, turning his little face from where it was burrowed onto your neck at the sound of simon’s voice. he rests his head on your clavicle, smooshing his already chubby cheek, before the biggest brown eyes that simon’s ever seen stare up at him, all doe-eyed and jarringly innocent, and simon, he—

well, not even babysitting tommy’s kids prepared him for this.

“this is yasha,” you murmur, pulling simon’s attention back to you. “or yakov, or james if he would want an english name.”

the boy reacts to you calling his name, and simon watches as those curious eyes tip up at you in question. you swipe your finger over his nose, the little thing scrunching up at the ticklish feeling, and simon becomes breathless at seeing the unadulterated joy in your face.

it is all parts soft and tender, but also anxious and worried, and simon begins to puzzle out the pieces.

“he’s my foster child. or ours, i guess, now that you’re here.” your voice is so fragile as you reply to him, your hand now beginning to rub soothing nothings on the boy’s back. simon wonders if it’s more to calm yourself down than it is to comfort the boy.

your lips purse, hesitating, and simon waits because while he he’s pieced out what you want to ask, he knows that this is something you would want to truly talk to him about. it is something he knows you have mustered up the courage to bring up so he gives it to you, open and ready, and he hopes that his face and his gait show that whatever it is you would want to say, simon will always support you no matter what.

“si?” you begin, looking heart-wrenchingly small in your worry. “i think i wanna adopt him.”

simon hums, stepping close but also being careful not to crowd yasha, before he curls his arms around you two — his family — and nuzzles his face on your other shoulder. “i’d love that.”

he offers you a smile, and squeezes your arm in comfort, then he watches as the tears come, easily springing up from your eyes. yasha startles, whirling to look up at his mother in worry. simon’s throat constricts at the thought of you being a mother and him, a father; how, now, there is someone else for simon to come home to. someone to fight for.

jesus. he’d need to tell the lads and maybe get wasted as a celebration.

“owies?” yasha asks, chubby fist balling your shirt.

“they’re happy tears, sweetie pie,” you reply, crooning. “i’m just so, so happy.”

yasha hums, nodding, probably already distracted, and simon takes that time to straighten back up. he pushes your hair away from your face, before he pitches forward to press a kiss on your forehead.

yeah, he’s happy too.

.

yasha gets spoiled, not that simon’s complaining given that he’s been the one doing all the spoiling.

“really, si? a new toly?” you ask, arms crossed over your chest in your exasperation.

toly or anatoly, or tory because yasha still can’t speak properly, is the name that yasha gave to all of his new stuffed toys. it all started with a dog plush that simon bought from the supermarket on a whim and gave to the boy. it was laughably quick how yasha had abandoned his blocks to make grabby hands to the toy, before squealing out that name.

the next stuffed toy that yasha received, which was just the softest and roundest penguin plush toy that simon’s ever seen, was also named toly. so was that teddy bear you bought for him. or that reindeer he got for christmas. somehow, every single one had been named toly.

the only thing you and simon can find about toly was that anatoly means sunrise. simon was so sure it was the russian word for animal, because why else would yasha repeat it, but who would have thought that their little fish is so imaginative?

like, of course he’s going to name all of his toys toly because they are as warm as sunrises. see? smart kid.

but this one, this new toly, set off world records. it was a camel plush that simon saw at the airport when he was out, pretending to be a civilian.

(garrick had been assigned with him for that mission, and was quick to spot and mention simon’s on-duty purchase.

“it’s for my boy,” he grunted in reply, forgetting the fact that he’s yet to truly break the news to his squad. garrick had never looked as surprised, and next thing simon knew, the news made its way to their group chat.

price was amiable about the whole thing. mactavish? not so much.

he just about begged to see a picture of yasha — “and yer girl again, if you wouldn’t mind.” — or even visit him. then he invited garrick to come and price invited himself too, so now the guys are going to swing by some time soon.)

when simon gave it to yasha, their boy had stared at it for a solid minute — simon counted — before screaming and then running to snatch the toy from simon’s hold. he hugged the camel close to his person, his little head nuzzling against the plush face of the camel, all the while absolutely vibrating in unabashed excitement.

he picked up thundering footsteps and turned around just enough to see you literally slide into the room. yasha continued to hug the camel, ignorant of the distress he caused, while you looked on in your panic, buzzing with worry because you just heard your boy scream, damn it!

“he’s fine, bub,” simon said before you could ask, and he watched as you came down from your frenzy, your breathing slowing down at the rationalization that if simon was not panicked, then everything’s alright.

then, your eyes landed on the new stuff toy.

“really?” you asked.

in his defence, yasha adores camel-toly.

in your defence, yasha’s room is running out of space for his tolys.

…well, simon does have all that military money. gonna have to spend it on something else, right?

.

[charlie foxtrot]

sriley: link

john2: ????

sriley: new address.

garry: oh? congratulations.

sriley: thanks.

johnp: 👍

.

yasha was shy when saying hi to price, then outright cried when he saw mactavish, which made simon bark out loud in laughter. yasha only stopped sniffling when he saw kyle. in no time, yasha absolutely adored garrick to the point that he would not even let him go.

dinner was prepared and while you called them all to eat, simon ambled out of the kitchen, where he had been helping you, and walked towards kyle and yasha to pick up his son and seat him on his high chair. but yasha had only looked at him, his head tilted in question, before ignoring simon and clinging onto kyle.

hell, he had even let go of camel-toly so that he could use two chubby fists to hold onto kyle. surprised, simon didn’t even know how to react and watched as his sergeant offered him an apologetic smile before carrying his son to the dining room. kyle rounded the table and sat yasha on his high chair, only, yasha made a scene when kyle did so, and he released a lungful of screams and cries, breaking everyone’s eardrums and their hearts.

kyle stood there, worried and confused, and hovered because he did not know what to do. hell, none of them did, and then you walked out of the kitchen, rushing to yasha, and hummed songs to comfort your son.

you crooned when he made grabby hands to be picked up and you did so with no hesitation, your touch soothing the boy into quiet sniffles. but even then, yasha wouldn’t settle down as he wriggled in your arms, short limbs reaching for—

simon glowered.

yasha was reaching for kyle. you were quick to giggle, asking kyle if it was alright that yasha would eat with him, and simon had glared at his sergeant, daring him to deny their son of anything, before reluctantly nodding his approval at kyle’s happy trill of, “of course, ma’am!”

yasha had finally calmed down when you sat him on kyle’s lap, and his boy was even polite enough to actually eat his soft veggies every time kyle beckoned him to open his mouth for a new spoonful.

simon did not startle, but it was close, when your hand landed on his thigh.

“you okay, baby?” you asked, eyes furrowed in your worry.

“yeah,” he remembers replying with, his throat all choked-up because he knows yasha must be excited to have new people to play with, but still, there was something that stung when his boy chose garrick over him.

not that it was kyle’s fault because he is a dear for even doing all that he did for yasha, but simon had hoped that he would always be yasha’s favourite.

too lost in his thoughts, simon had almost missed yasha’s call.

“-ddy? daddy?” yasha asked, startling simon.

it was not the first time yasha called him that, but every time he did, it never fails to make simon melt.

“yeah? what’s up, buddy?”

simon pretended that no one was watching the interaction.

yasha giggled, hiding his food-smeared lips behind his little palms, before turning to use garrick’s front to hide from simon. you snorted, murmuring to kyle how you swear you would wash his shirt before they go, but it’s all buzz to simon because his son — his darling boy — wanted to play with him during dinner.

yasha peeked at him again, before giggling once more when he caught simon’s eyes. this continued on until dinner ended, with simon occasionally miming growling monsters to induce more hearty giggles from his son, and being rewarded with the happiest laughter ever.

simon turned to you, with his heart on his throat, and beamed.

“aww,” mactavish sang from somewhere beside him. “ain’t that adorable— argh!”

simon had swung his arm out and thumped his fist on johnny’s stomach. thank god, yasha had chosen that time to hide his face again on kyle’s stomach.

.

“unca’ john?” yasha asks in a stage-whisper because everyone within earshot just heard him even with his attempt to be quiet. it’s only their training that stopped simon from acting like he’s noticed.

“yeah, bubsy?” john replies, sounding so utterly soft that this version of him is so foreign to simon.

“this tory,” yasha says and simon discreetly peeks to see which toly is being introduced to uncle john — it’s the elephant one.

price gasps theatrically like he hadn’t seen yasha drool all over this elephant toy before, and puffs out, “how cute!”

“mhmm,” yasha says, nodding, then smacks the face of the toy on john’s face. the trunk smooshes against john’s nose, and thank god that elephant-tory is soft because that aim would have been lethal if it wasn’t.

“jesus—” price gasps out.

“language!” simon hisses, and ducks his head back down just before yasha could catch him peeking.

.

yasha is now four and he still gets teary eyed when he sees johnny. simon placates his friend and says it’ll pass soon. maybe.

basically, i wanted to write a fic wherein simon’s reaction to being presented with a child is “what— oh okay, sure why not” and (literally in 20 minutes) “i will kill everything for this child” and so here we are

a simon spinoff - it takes a rampage (to be a dad)

[slttygeto]

college student + boyfriend!suguru is more of an actions guy. he does say “i love you” after every kiss, wishes you good luck before your exam and texts you good morning and goodnight but—he was more of an actions guy.

more than often times you find yourself lying on his bed while he did his homework and it was just so quiet between you two with the occasional “look at what I sent you” from you as you scrolled through tiktok and sent him funny videos that you found. he would laugh or coo at them before placing his phone down and going back to doing his homework in silence while you faced away from him, curling into a comfortable ball on one of the mattress’ corners.

so when you get a notification that suguru sent you a tiktok and you open it—your lips part in shock and you’re quickly whipping your head back to stare at him while he rocks back and forth on his dark blue gamer chair, eyes glued to his screen. they flicker up your way and there’s a tiny smile on his face—flustered when you sit up with your hair everywhere and show him your phone as if to make sure he really sent you what he just sent you.

“us?” you read the caption out loud and he chuckles before throwing his head back as if to avoid your eyes. “and it’s an orange and black cat? babyyy,” the speed at which you get off the bed to give him a hug is anything but impressive and it makes your boyfriend chuckle as you struggle with the covers before finally landing near his foot.

you bring his face to your chest and squeeze him tightly before peppering kisses all over his face.

“baby, I’m ticklish—“ “well, you tickled my heart!” the way you hold your phone close to you with a big smile before rolling under the covers. the happiness, the giddiness and excitement.

suguru wishes to bring nothing but this much joy into your life.

note: another extremely self indulgent piece to bring myself some comfort. have a good day<3

—💭 if you like this, leave me a tip!

[javiscigarette]

Teacher's Pet

Joel Miller x virgin f!reader

Summary: 25 years old, anxiety-ridden, and still a virgin, you ask your friend Joel for advice on your upcoming date. But you're more of a...hands-on learner. And he's more than happy to help. 

Warnings: PWP, unbalanced power dynamics, virgin!reader, neighbor/bff/more experienced! Joel, age gap, first kiss, virginity loss, fingering, oral (f receiving), frequent check-ins, soo much banter and Joel is a menace also so soft and sweet :')....(ends on a cliffhanger but there will be a part two I swear).

w/c: 7.7k idk what happened

a/n: I am resurfacing for your monthly reminder that I do in fact still write!! Inspiration for this came out of literally nowhere but I took it and RAN with it and I think I like it?? As always, thank you to my baby love @undrthelights for helping me with this and always listening to my rambling and for being my biggest enabler Ilysm

Part Two

my masterlist

"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever." Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck pound in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed. "A what?" "Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head.  "No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?” 

"Seriously, Joel. Fuck off" you snap but with no bite or heat behind it. You bring the sweating bottle of beer to your lips and finish the rest of the now lukewarm liquid off in one gulp. 

"What? I just find it hard to believe that you've never even had a kiss. Didn't you go to high school? Didn't you ever get invited to a party? Didn't you go to college? College kids do the do like all the time” 

"Clearly not all the time" you mutter, a tad bitterly.

Joel raises his hands defensively and takes a sip of his own beer. "Just seems crazy is all. There's gotta be some chick or dude out there willing to take pity on you and pop your cherry."

You audibly gag at his choice of words. "I don't need a pity fuck, thanks." You stand from the couch and head over to the fridge. The bottles of cold alcohol inside are calling your name and you want something that will help soothe your nerves. You're not a big drinker, but when Joel is prying into your love life like he is now, you wish you were.

"Okay,” he starts from the living room. “Maybe I worded that wrong. What I meant to say was, there's gotta be someone out there who would be more than willing to show you a good time."

You groan and let your forehead fall against the fridge door. "That's the whole point! I came here to get advice for my date, someone who might actually be interested in me, and all you've done is make fun of me for not having fucked anyone yet. So thanks, Joel. You're a real pal."

You push away from the fridge and slam the door shut, a second beer in hand.

"Alright, alright, calm down." He says, hands in the air as if you were holding him at gunpoint as you head back to the couch. "Look, if this guy really likes you then he's not gonna care. Probably won't even be able to tell if you are or aren't."

"You think so?" You ask hopefully.

"Well, I mean, unless you're like... super bad."

Your heart drops into your stomach and you glare at him, "Joel."

"Oh come on, I'm kidding. You're not gonna be bad, okay? Just, go into it with an open mind and just relax. If he tries something you're not comfortable with or makes you feel weird, tell him. And if he gets pissy, dump his ass."

"That simple, huh?" You scoff.

"Well, yeah. You're the one who made it complicated by thinking it was a big deal."

"It is a big deal, Joel! I know nothing!

"Nothing? You ain’t ever watched porn? Jesus, I had no idea you were such a prude."

You can't stop yourself from rolling your eyes and slapping the back of your hand against his arm. He yelps and laughs, rubbing his arm.

"I've watched porn before" you retort. 

"What kind?" he asks with a wiggle of his brows.

"None of your fucking business" you respond, feeling your face heat up.

Joel's lips quirk into a shit-eating grin and you're quick to smack him again.

"Okay okay, sorry!" he says through his laughter. "So what exactly are you afraid of?"

You're not really sure how to answer. It's a combination of so many things, most of which are irrational fears and insecurities. Sure you've seen it all done before, but you're well aware that none of it is realistic. At least, not completely. And just the fact that you're freshly 25 years old without a single notch in your bedpost makes you dizzy with anxiety. It's not like you're saving yourself or anything, it's just that hook up culture has never agreed with you and there's never been an opportunity that made you feel like it was the right one. That is until now, with your cute coworker who you thought was miles out of your league asking you out on a third date. And now, the prospect of being in bed with him is looming over you like a dark cloud and the last thing you want to do is mess it up.

"I guess, I'm just afraid that he's gonna be disappointed, or I'm gonna weird him out, or I'm gonna do something wrong and embarrass myself.” Joel nods along and listens. "And if it is bad then we still have to work with each other and then what if it's awkward and everyone knows about it and then he hates me and--"

"Okay, whoa slow down there, buddy" Joel says, putting a hand on your shoulder. "One, you're overthinking this. You're literally thinking like, five steps ahead of what's actually going on. It's a date. And even if it does end up in the bedroom, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. No one's forcing you, okay? He can't. No one can."

"I know, but I want to," you reply quietly.

"Alright. Then do."

"I don't know howwww!! " you whine, flopping backwards into the couch.

Joel groans and sits up a little straighter, scrubbing a hand down his face. 

"Well, there's no magic trick, I don't have a secret sex manual I'm holding out on ya."

You sigh, shoulders sagging as you look over at him. The idea comes out of nowhere, well, not exactly from nowhere, but it pops in your head so fast that you then have to bite your tongue before the words bubbling up from your throat come tumbling out. 

It's not a bad idea, not necessarily. 

You've been good friends with Joel ever since you moved in next door last year. An unlikely pairing, a 40 year old contractor and an almost 25 year old office worker. But after offering him a six pack as part of introducing yourself to the neighbors, you'd gotten along fabulously. He fixes things around your house and you send him home with hot dinners and warm, gooey cookies and you watch movies together almost every Friday night.

 It's an easy friendship, open and honest and supportive, and Joel has never given you reason not to trust him. He's a good guy, if not a little brash, but you know deep down he means well. And it doesn't hurt that he's objectively attractive, with his tall and sturdy frame, strong, calloused hands, dark messy curls....It's not a bad idea.

It's an absolutely insane idea. 

You continue to stare at him, clenching your teeth together to hold back the question sitting on the tip of your tongue.

"What?" he says, looking back at you.

"Nothing" you mutter, eyes flicking away.

"You've got that face you make when you're about to say something really stupid, so just get it out."

You glare at him again, not enjoying the way he can read you so well.

"I wasn't gonna say anything."

"Well now you're lying."

"I'm not."

"You're doing it again!"

"Doing what?!"

"That face!"

"I'm not making a face!"

"Yes you are! Just spit it out!"

You groan and hide your face in your hands. You blame it on the one beer even though you know you’re not anywhere close to being drunk because how else would you justify what you’re about to say? You wait a moment, thinking about the weight of it but your mouth opens before you can stop yourself. 

"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever."

Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck and hear it in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed.

"A what?"

"Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head. 

"No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?” 

His eyes are wide, and he looks incredulous. You can't blame him, because the more time that passes between your suggestion and now, the more ridiculous the idea seems.

"I’m sorry, that was…It was stupid. Pretend I didn't say anything. Let's just watch a movie." You move to grab the remote, but Joel's hand covers yours, stopping you.

"Is that what you want?"

You look at him, searching his expression for any sign of disgust or apprehension. But all you can see is the same Joel you've known for months, patient, warm, and understanding.

"I know. I know it's stupid. But I can't get this date out of my head, Joel. It's all I can think about and the more I do, the more worried I get and I just don't want to fuck it up. And I know we're friends and this is weird and gross, but I just thought that... maybe, I could have some practice, so to speak."

He doesn't say anything. Just keeps looking at you, the panic rising in your chest the longer the silence stretches. You start to fidget, wringing your hands together in your lap.

"I'm sorry, that was way out of line" you say, moving to stand up, your skin sweaty and hot with embarrassment and your feet ready to run out the door and never come back. 

But Joel catches your wrist, gently pulling you back down to sit next to him.

"Joel" you whine, not wanting him to humiliate you any further.

"It's okay, come here."

His voice is softer than before, and his eyes are kind. You let him pull you closer, the two of you sitting knee to knee. You can't bring yourself to look him in the eyes, not with your cheeks and the tips of your ears burning like they are, but Joel doesn't push. He simply moves his hand from your wrist, sliding it into yours. His palms are rough and warm, and the simple touch alone is comforting.

"You really wanna do this?” he asks softly. You can feel his eyes boring into you. “I mean, I'm not exactly a prize winning catch. And it's not like there's a shortage of willing men out there."

You shrug and chew the inside of your lip.

"Yeah, but you're my friend and I...I trust you."

There's another pause, and you wish that you could just disappear into the couch and erase this moment from your memory.

"How drunk are you?" he asks, glancing at the beer bottle on the coffee table.

"You saw me finish one bottle. And half of another. I’m barely tipsy."

"Not drunk?”

"Nope."

"You're gonna remember this tomorrow."

"Uh huh."

"And you still want to?"

You groan for the millionth time and squeeze his hand.

"Yes I want to! Look, if you don't want to then that's fine. It was just a dumb suggestion and we can just forget this ever happened."

He hums, considering your words. His hand slips out of yours, and you think that's it, you've scared him off and washed the friendship down the drain. That you'll have to hide from him from now on, that you'll have to pack your things up and move because the mortification would be too much, and that he'll hate you, and—

His two fingers sliding under chin surprise you, and he tilts your head up. He's looking down at you with that same even expression, eyes big, soft, and warm as he slides his hand over to cup your jaw in his palm. 

"If you want to stop at any point, just say so, okay? I won't be upset and we can go back to the way things were before. Got it?"

You nod, your throat suddenly too tight to speak. His thumb sweeps over your cheekbone, the tender touch is enough to make your heart skip a beat. There’s no way this is actually happening. That your first kiss is going to be with your 40 year old menace of a neighbor. That you’re going to, how did you put it, get a sex lesson from him. His gaze flicks down to your lips and back up to your eyes and you’re positive you’re no longer able to breathe. 

"Can I kiss you?" he asks softly. You nod. 

You're sure he can hear the thumping of your heart in his own ears as he leans down. His other hand comes to rest on your hip and when his lips touch yours, a soft, tentative pressure, you're not prepared for the electricity that shoots through you.

He's barely done anything and already you feel like you're floating. Your own hands reach out to clutch his shirt, keeping him close, afraid he'll pull away and leave you cold and wanting if you don't. But he stays put, pressing himself against you, his lips working gently against yours. You follow his lead, kissing him back while trying not to overthink it.

It's nothing like the kisses in the movies or the books, where fireworks explode behind your eyelids or where your foot pops up in the air. It's far more subdued, more quiet and subtle. But the warmth that pools low in your belly and the goosebumps that erupt on your skin when his tongue slides against the seam of your lips, light and quick, makes you absolutely melt. 

He pulls back before you can really react, and you're left with a dizzying rush of both blistering desire and excruciating anxiety. You want to pull him back in and never let him go. But your heart is beating so fast you can hardly breathe, your nerves are buzzing, and the urge to run and hide is nearly paralyzing. 

"Was it bad?" you ask tentatively, cheeks heated.

"No" he replies, giving your hip a squeeze as a smirk plays on his lips. "It was fucking awful. Worst kiss of my life"

"Shut up!" you hiss, pushing him away with a hand on his chest. He laughs, the sound easing some of the tension in your body. 

"I'm just teasing" he says, voice dropping lower. "C'mere, we can work on it."

His lips find yours again, and you try not to smile into the kiss but it's hard when you can feel the way his lips are quirked up as well. It doesn’t take much else to get you to relax and let yourself fall into the moment, into the gentle press of his mouth and the warm hands on your hip and your cheek. He swipes his tongue against your lips again, his fingers pressing lightly into the hinge of your jaw to tilt your head back and coax your lips apart.

You let him, sighing as his tongue glides across yours, hot and smooth and sweet. Your hands slide up his chest, finding purchase around his shoulders, and when you move forward, pushing yourself against him, he grunts softly but lets you. He kisses you until the both of you are gasping for air, and when he pulls back, his lips are wet and red and you're certain yours must be as well.

"Better?" you ask, a bit breathless.

"Getting there" he answers with, his breath warm where it fans across your cheek. 

"You're such a liar" you say with a goofy smile.

"Yeah, I know. Now try again, practice makes perfect.” 

You roll your eyes but lean back in nonetheless. It's a bit more heated this time, the feeling of his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip making you squirm. His hand rounds over your hip, palm smoothing to the small of your back to pull you closer, the heat of his body radiating through your clothes and warming your skin. Your hands move on their own accord, no thought behind the action as they slide up to his shoulders and then his neck, your fingers finding home in the curls at the base of his skull. When you give them a slight tug, you're rewarded with a muffled grunt from Joel. Emboldened, you pull back, lips swollen and tingling.

"You’re a good kisser,” you pant. "Is that something people usually say?"

"When it’s true" he says, grinning at you. "And since I know you're gonna ask, I'd say that was a C+, maybe a B-."

You scoff but blush furiously at the smile he flashes, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

"Well then, tell me what to do next. What do I need to know?"

Joel hums as he thinks for a moment. 

"What do you want to do?"

You stare at him for a second, blinking.

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you" you say, shaking your head a bit.

"Well, how far do you want to take this?"

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very shy. You can’t deny that when the idea popped in your head it was accompanied by the mental image of you naked, spread out on his bed, but the actual act of asking him, or better yet, actually doing it is... intimidating to say the least. Are you really about to let him go all the way, to see you bare and vulnerable, let him pop your cherry as he would disgustingly put it? All just to “prepare” for a date with a guy who might not even like you that way?

Yeah, probably.

"All the way" you answer. “I want to go all the way” 

He doesn’t pounce on you like you expected, doesn’t press his lips against yours in a frenzied kiss that you had half hoped for. Instead, he simply looks at you, his brown eyes boring into yours, searching.

"Are you sure? You can always say no and you're not gonna lose me as a friend if this isn’t what you actually want. I don’t want you thinking that."

You can't help the laugh that bubbles up and slips out, because of course Joel, your kind, thoughtful Joel, would say that. He's a good man. A great one, even.

"Yes, I'm sure. But if you don't want to, I get it, I can just leave and-"

Joel laughs, the sound traveling up from deep in his chest, the rumble vibrating against you.

"Sweetheart, I wouldn't be doin’ this if I didn't want to. Just makin’ sure this is what you really want."

"I want it.” 

He squeezes your hip and swipes a thumb over your cheekbone once again. 

“Alright then.” He nods, firm and resolute, and then looks around the room. “ We’re not doing it here, though. If you're getting the full Joel Miller experience, we're gonna do it right.” 

Your eyes roll reflexively, but your heart picks up its pace regardless.

"I’m not gonna do anything if you call it that ever again."

"Fine, fine,” he relents. “Let me show you what a good, thorough fucking feels like. Better?"

Your jaw drops, and he's laughing at you, his body shaking with amusement.

"Fuck you" you grumble, shoving him away while trying to hide your coy smile. 

"Yeah, that's what I'm hoping for," he says with a wide, self-assured grin.

"I'm leaving" you declare with a false sense of offense as you rise to your feet. Joel is quick to do the same and before you can take a single step away, he slips a finger through the belt loop of your jeans and tugs you back into him, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"I’ll stop, I’ll stop. I'm sorry" he says, not sounding it one bit.

You huff, but let him pull you closer until you’re pressed against his chest and you have to tilt your head back to look at him.

"I’ll be good. I promise."

"Liar"

"Well, yeah. But I can promise that I'll make you feel good."

You can't help the giggle that spills out and he kisses it away, his lips warm and plush and sweet against yours. The hand not resting on your lower back comes up, curling around the nape of your neck and keeping you close. You sink into him, and the fog creeps in again, dulling the rest of the world, making it seem fuzzy and distant, like the memory of a dream. All you can focus on is him, the warm solid weight of him against you, the strong arms holding you, the way his mouth moves against yours. And then he’s pulling back all too soon and you have to stifle a whine.

"Come on" he says, tugging at your hand.

His bedroom is dim, the little lamp on his nightstand and the faint glow of the moon through the curtains providing the only light. You swallow and take a deep breath as you step inside, your bare toes digging into the plush carpet, his hand warm and large where it grips yours.

He holds onto you as he sits on the edge of the bed. You step forward, letting him pull you between his knees. His hands settle on your hips, and you can feel their heat through the fabric of your shirt.

He doesn’t ask if you're sure again and you’re grateful because you’re not sure if you could form any kind of response right now. Instead, he slides his hands up and under your shirt, fingers dancing across your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps. Your breath hitches as his hands smooth over your ribs and around to your back, the tips of his fingers mapping out the curve of your spine, skimming over each notch and bump. They climb higher, the fabric of your shirt bunching around his wrists. 

“Can I take this off, baby?”

Your heart jumps to your throat but you nod anyway. He grabs the hem and tugs your shirt up and and you lift your arms so he can slip it off over your head. He tosses it aside, the fabric falling to the floor beside the bed. You’re left exposed, vulnerable and bare, save for the worn out bra you wear, a few too many washes and a few years past its prime.

Your hands itch where they hang by your side with the instinct to cover yourself, hide the imperfections that you know so well, the stretch marks, the softness of your stomach, the way the cups of your bra are just a bit too small and spill over the tops.

But then he’s pressing his lips to the space just above your navel, his scruff tickling your skin and making the muscles in your abdomen jump and twitch. His hands find your waist again, and when his lips continue their path upwards, his palms follow, skimming up your sides, thumbs tracing the outline of your ribs before stopping at the band of your bra.

"This too?" he asks, voice quiet and husky.

"Yeah" you answer with a squeak, and he grins like a kid in a candy store.

His fingers undo the clasp deftness that makes your knees go weak, the straps slipping from your shoulders and the whole thing sliding down your arms, landing somewhere near your shirt. 

"God, baby, look at you" he murmurs, his hands cupping the underside of your breasts, his thumbs sweeping over the tops and then down the slope and around your nipple. Your breath hitches, the gentle touch sending a shiver up your spine. "You're fucking perfect."

The praise is unexpected and it sends a jolt of heat through your core. You whimper quietly and his hands are on you again, the calloused palms rough on the soft skin of your breasts. He kneads the flesh, squeezing gently before rolling your nipples between his fingers, pulling and pinching and teasing. 

He pulls you closer and ducks his head, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes dark and hooded, and his pupils blown wide with desire.

"Can I?" he asks.

"Please."

He leans in and wraps his lips around a peaked nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, the gentle heat of his mouth on your skin making your knees weak.

His mouth works on one breast, tongue flicking and teasing while his free hand continues its work on the other. Pleasure builds and coils deep inside, the sensation unfamiliar but certainly not unwelcome. You whimper and he pulls away, releasing your nipple with a wet pop before giving it a sweet parting kiss.

He turns his attention to the other, his teeth grazing over the stiff peak and drawing a whine from your lips. He sighs when your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling at the strands until he groans softly against you. He sucks your other nipple into his mouth, the flat of his tongue pressing against it and dragging up and around, swirling and flicking. You’re already breathless, panting, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your forehead.

"Feels good, Joel," you whisper shyly. 

"I know, honey" he says, a soft smile pulling at his lips when he pulls away. "Feel good anywhere else?"

He doesn't wait for a response, simply slips a hand between your thighs, cupping you through the denim, the simple action making you squeak.

"Here, huh?" he says, the heel of his palm pressing against you.

You gasp softly and nod, biting your lip, too shy to say anything.

"Get on the bed, baby."

You comply, crawling onto the mattress and scooting backwards towards the pillows, sitting at the head of the bed as you watch him. His eyes never leave you as he pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor. Your heart thumps as you stare at his bare chest, his tanned skin dotted with a light dusting of salt and pepper hair. He's broad, his shoulders thick and chest solid. Your fingers burn with the urge to reach out and touch him, so you do, extending a tentative, slightly shaky hand.

He watches you closely, eyes flitting down to the palm pressed against his chest before meeting yours again, his mouth curling into a smile.

"You can touch" he says, reaching down to curl a hand around your wrist and bringing it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the center of your palm before guiding your hand back down to his chest. "I think most people would enjoy that."

"You're having entirely too much fun with this,” you mumble while your fingers spread out across his pec.  

"It is fun" he counters, his own hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, thumb pressing against the seam of your jeans and rubbing up and down. "But it'll be more fun once these come off"

Your lips part, a puff of air rushing out.

"You gonna take them off?" you ask, the words slipping out, bold and unbidden.

He grins, his brow quirking up.

"Look at you, being all bossy"

"You like it" you say, finally feeling some of the anxiety slipping away, the familiar and comfortable banter between the two of you slipping into place in a new, unfamiliar situation.

His smile takes up nearly his whole face as moves closer. 

“I sure do.” 

He looms over you, bracing himself on an elbow next to your head before ducking down to kiss you, his tongue easily slipping into your mouth, warm and insistent. You sigh into it, your hands finding the warm, bare skin of his back, muscles gliding beneath your palms as you slide them up and around, fingertips digging into his shoulders. He's so warm and solid and you can't help the little noise that slips out, a soft, needy moan. You're about to break the kiss and beg him to touch you, give you something, anything, but he pulls back before you can. 

"Impatient. I like that too" he says, voice barely above a whisper.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin. He continues his path, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across your collarbones and down the valley between your breasts, his beard tickling your sternum.

His palm presses into the top of your thigh, and you instinctively open your legs for him, his hand immediately moving to cup you through the denim, thick fingers pressing against the seam and the bundle of nerves just below. Your hips rock up, seeking more pressure and he grins, entirely too pleased with himself right now.

You huff, and he laughs, the sound rumbling in his chest, but he relents, undoing the button and zipper of your jeans and tugging the fabric down, revealing the pair of pink panties underneath. 

Joel sits up, pulling your jeans down your legs and letting them drop off the side of the bed, the sound of the denim hitting the floor indicating that you've officially crossed a line that neither of you can come back from. But if the hungry, desperate look on his face and the way you're practically vibrating underneath him are any indication, neither of you want to.

"I'll start with just my fingers, yeah?" he says, his hands running up the insides of your thighs, touch light and teasing, the tips of his fingers brushing the edge of your panties. You nod dumbly, at a complete loss for words right now.

He ducks his head, his lips landing on the smooth skin stretched over your hip bone. You squirm, ticklish, and he grins. His mouth is a great distraction from his hand, which has found its way back in between your legs, his fingers now pressing against damp fabric.

"Shit" he curses, his touch firm. "Fuckin' soaked already. Am I just that good?" he quips with a smirk.

"Jesus do you ever shut up" you gripe, but the effect is ruined by the whimper that escapes you when his thumb sweeps up, pressing hard against your clit. 

"Oh, that's a pretty sound" he murmurs, repeating the motion to pull out another one, your hips bucking against his hand.

"Now," he starts, his tone shifting to the same one he uses when he's about to impart some life lesson. "This guy you're gonna see, or any man for that matter, should always take care of you before himself. That's just common fuckin' sense. And if he doesn't, you send him on his way" he continues. "Because a man that don't wanna see a woman get off is no fuckin' man at all"

You're about to interrupt, tell him he's an idiot and ask him to please, please, get on with it, but his fingers sliding under the elastic of your panties, swiftly pulling them down your legs steals the breath from your lungs. Your pulse sky rockets and you shift underneath him, crossing your thighs in instinctual effort to hide yourself from him. 

"M'sorry I didn't shave or anything" you blurt out, your throat tight with anxiety and embarrassment once again 

Joel just shakes his head as he pries your legs apart.

"Baby, I could not give less of a shit about that."

"But-"

"No" he says, the word firm, an edge of command to his tone. "You’re not apologizin’ for that. And if a man gives a shit, he's a fuckin' child who doesn't deserve the honor of bein' between these thighs" he says, pushing your knees further apart.

You nod and bite your lip, the words that are just so very Joel, settling in your chest and easing the tension in your body. You let out a long, slow breath and relax, trying to ease the nervousness.

"There ya go" he says, his fingers dancing along your slit, gathering the slick pooling there. You shudder at the gentle touch, your hips rolling up just a bit before you force them back down into the mattress, trying to keep yourself still.

"Nuh-uh. None of that" he says, immediately noticing the movement. He slides his free hand under you, his palm pushing into the small of your back and encouraging you to move again, to lean into your pleasure. "You take what you want, baby. Show me how good it feels. That's all I wanna see."

You squirm and whimper, the simple, almost lazy touch driving you insane. You've touched yourself before, brought yourself over the edge while imagining what it would be like to have the things you read about and watch in videos happen to you. But you've never managed to make yourself feel this good, never felt pleasure so intense, never felt a burning pressure in your abdomen so demanding that it radiates all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes.

And he's barely touched you.

"How's that feel?"

You can't even form the words, so you just nod and hum, the sound a mix of a whimper and a moan, your hips rolling up against his palm. He chuckles, and then the pressure increases, the friction building, his fingers slipping down, collecting more of your wetness to ease the drag against your skin.

He moves his fingers down, down, down, the tip of one circling your entrance, gathering the wetness pooling there. You whine loudly, any shame and modesty you once had replaced entirely with desperate need and pure desire.

"Please, Joel" you whisper, voice shaky.

"I gotcha" he says, dipping his fingertip in, just barely, and pulling a moan from deep in your chest. "Gonna give you what you need"

You groan, a long, low sound as he slowly sinks his finger into you. It's nothing like your own, so perfectly thick and long/ And you found the spot before, the spot that he curls his finger up into, but never at this angle, never with the perfect amount of pressure that he's applying right now. 

"Mmm, look at that" he coos as you clench tightly around his finger.

"Joel, god, feels so good" you whimper pathetically. 

"I know, honey, I know."

You clench again, the cockiness and self-assured attitude that usually gets under your skin now ignites your whole body in an entirely different way. He keeps his eyes on your face, watching as your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth drops open, your head tipping back as the pleasure builds.

"Another" you beg, the fullness not nearly enough.

"Greedy girl" he chides, but he pulls his finger out, and slides two back in. You swear that you could come from this alone, but he doesn't let you, the hand that was supporting your lower back disappearing, only to reappear between your thighs, his thumb circling your clit with firm, steady strokes.

White hot pleasure wraps around the base of your spine, the dual sensations of his fingers and his thumb sending you spiraling. The sounds falling from your lips are unrecognizable, high and desperate as your mind goes blissfully blank, your entire focus on the heat coiling in your abdomen. Your eyebrows pinch together and you bury your face in the pillow next to your head, trying to hide the ridiculous expression you're surely making, but you inhale the traces of his shampoo and cologne that cling to the fabric, the scent pushing you even closer to the edge. 

You try to hold back. Surely you're not supposed to come this quickly, not just from two fingers and a thumb. Surely that's a sign that you're an easy lay, or too inexperienced, or-

"Just let it happen, baby. I can feel it, Just let go" Joel says, his voice cutting through the thoughts racing through your mind, his fingers crooking inside you and dragging across the spot that makes your hips stutter and a cry fall from your lips.

You can't hold back any longer, the pleasure cresting and crashing down around you. You squeeze his fingers, your back arching, the heels of your feet digging into the mattress as you roll your hips up into his touch, seeking more and more and more. And he gives and gives and gives, working you through it and drawing it out for as long as he can before you melt into the mattress, bones and muscles liquid and warm and satisfied.

He pulls his fingers out, and the sudden emptiness draws a disappointed whine from you, his answering chuckle making you smile.

"That was- fuck" you sigh, not quite capable of coherent thought.

"Absolutely mind-blowing? Yeah I know" he teases. You roll your eyes but don't say anything because it's true, and his cocky grin fades into a soft smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches you return to Earth. 

"Can I- can I return the favor?" you ask, your gaze flicking down to the noticeable bulge in his jeans.

He grunts and shakes his head.

"Not yet. Got somethin' else in mind."

You frown and push yourself up onto your elbows, watching as he shifts from his position. You're about to ask what he's going to do until he's settling himself on his stomach between your thighs. You suck in a sharp breath as you realize exactly what he's got planned and your heart jumps, anxiety clouding your mind once again. 

He rests his cheek on your thigh, his eyes meeting yours.

"Alright?"

You swallow and nod, licking your lips.

"Yeah. Just... no one's ever-"

"Yeah, I got that much, that's why we're here" he says, smiling smugly when you glare at him. 

"But what if it's not good? Or I don't taste good? Or-"

"Stop" he says, the single word halting your runaway train of thought. "You need lessons in relaxing, not sex. You're so fucking tense all the time"

"Sorry" you say, immediately cringing.

He sighs, his breath ghosting over the skin of your inner thigh, making you shiver. "What did I say about apologizin'?" he says, his tone slightly sharp.

"I know. Sorry- shit, sorry! Fuck!"

He barks out a laugh and you huff, bringing up both hands to scrub over your face.

"See what I mean?"

"Yes, yes, you're very smart and know everything"

He hums and nips at your thigh.

"Damn right I do."

You want to snark back, but his mouth is moving, his lips trailing down the inside of your thigh and towards where you're aching for him, slick and wet and throbbing. He takes his time, laying kisses on your thighs, hips, and stomach, his scruff scraping the sensitive skin, huffing out a laugh when you start to squirm, your patience wearing thin.

His hands smooth over the soft flesh of your inner thighs, urging you to spread them wider before spreading you open with his thumbs, exposing you completely. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and the urge to close your legs and hide yourself from his gaze is overwhelming, the embarrassment making your skin burn. But before you can even think about closing them, his tongue is on you, sliding up the length of you and circling your clit. The moan that escapes you is embarrassingly loud and high pitched, but the mortification is easily swallowed up by the pleasure.

He hums against you, the sound and the feeling sending a shudder through your body. Your hands grip the pillow behind your head and you try not to buck up into his mouth, but your attempts are futile. He doesn't seem to mind though, in fact you think it spurs him on, his tongue flattening against you and lapping at you messily, the wetness he's coaxed from you smearing across his mouth and chin.

The sound is lewd and obscene, the sloppy, slick noises and the soft grunts and groans that rumble in his chest as he works you up. He pulls back, his breath coming out in pants, his chest heaving as he looks up at you, his eyes dark and hooded.

"Don't know what you were worried about" he says, his voice low and raspy. "You taste fuckin' divine"

His beard is shiny and damp, his lips glistening, hair messy from where your fingers were tangled in it. The sight of him looking so completely disheveled and filthy has you clenching around nothing, the ache almost too much to bear.

He doesn't say anything else, just ducks his head and gets back to work, his mouth moving with a renewed urgency, his hands gripping your thighs and pushing them further apart, allowing him better access.

Your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open, a constant stream of moans and whines and babbling pleas and praises falling from your lips, but you're not really sure what you're saying, not really sure of anything except the intoxicating pleasure coursing through your veins.

You hear him moan, can feel the vibration against your skin, and you glance down at him, and that's a mistake. The sight of him, his eyes closed and brows drawn together in concentration, his cheeks hollowed out as he sucks and nips and laps at you and– is he fucking grinding his hips into the mattress?

You're fucked.

A throaty moan tumbles past your lips as your hips start to rock, a rhythm forming as you chase your orgasm. His hands leave your thighs and he slides one arm up, the weight of it resting against your abdomen to keep you still while his other hand snakes down, fingers dipping inside again, finding the spot that makes you see stars.

"Fuck, Joel, please, oh my god, I'm so- please"

He groans in response, the hand on your stomach pressing down harder to meet the two fingers curling and stroking inside of you. You cry out at the increased pressure right as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around the bud, his fingers moving faster and faster. Flames lick up your spine and spread throughout your body, threatening to burn you alive. 

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, knocking the wind out of you and turning your limbs to jello. Wave after wave of blinding euphoria crashes over you and all you can do is cling to the pillow and arch your back, your toes curling as he continues to work his fingers and tongue, happily letting you ride his face and grind into his mouth.

He doesn't let up, not until you're a whimpering, trembling mess, physically pushing his head away when it becomes too much. He pulls back reluctantly, a wicked grin plastered to his face, his chin and mouth absolutely soaked. You're panting, struggling to catch your breath as the aftershocks make you shiver despite the content warmth spreading throughout your entire body.You feel sated and sleepy, a bone deep satisfaction making you feel boneless. 

But as you come down from your high, rational thoughts start to filter in and you suddenly remember the reason this all started in the first place.

You're here to learn, he should be teaching you how to please a man.

How to please him. 

You watch as he gets off the bed and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. Your eyes shamelessly rake over him, the dusty pink flush that decorates his neck and chest, the curve of his belly down to the impressive bulge in his jeans. 

You push yourself up, ignoring the way your arms tremble with the effort. He looks at you, his eyes scanning your face no doubt looking for signs of distress.

"You ok?" he asks, eyebrows pinched together in his typical concerned Joel fashion.

"Yeah" you say, a little breathlessly. "But I still want to..."

Your voice trails off and you glance down at his crotch, hoping he gets the message.

"That's alright, baby. It's a lot, we don't-"

"No" you interrupt, a hint of desperation in your voice. "You said you would teach me. Please, Joel. I-I wanna learn" You hope it's a good enough cover to the fact that you really just want him, your original goal forgotten. "I just don't want to embarrass myself" you add, pouting slightly for good measure, praying to god that he can’t detect the underlying want for him and him only.

He watches you for a moment, seemingly contemplating his decision. And then his eyes narrow, because of course he knows. There's never been an instance where you succeeded in lying to this man. He always, always knows when something is off.

"Alright" he says, a slow smile spreading across his face, something mischievous sparkling in his eyes. "Dick sucking class is now in session"

You groan, your face twisting with visible disgust.

"Oh my god, that was terrible."

"What? It's true" he says with a shrug.

"That is- no, no way. Never say those words ever again. Ever." you say, pointing a finger at him accusingly.

"Or what?" he challenges, taking a step towards the bed.

You gulp and lick your lips.

"Or..."

He waits expectantly for a response. You have none, so you just shake your head and look away.

"Yeah, that's what I thought"

You glare at him and then sigh.

"You're a bully"

"Am I?” He asks, taking a step back to give you more room. “ 'Cause you're the one that asked me to teach ya. On your knees, kid. Let's see whatcha got."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress a grin. You don't know how he does it, but his ability to make a joke or a quip out of anything always has a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, even when the jokes are awful and the puns are terrible. Even when the joke is about you getting ready to suck his dick. 

"You're a bully and a pervert" you say, sliding off the bed and sliding to your knees, the plush carpet doing a decent job at protecting your joints.

"And proud of it.”

"Pride is a sin."

"So is premarital sex, so I'll see you in hell, honey"

You snort and look up at him from your place on the floor, grinning widely.

"You're ridiculous"

"You love it"

And that's the thing, isn't it?

Because you do. You love his innate ability to make you laugh, to make you smile even when he's about to take your fucking virginity. He knows how to comfort you, how to put you at ease, when to push you with his teasing and when to pull back and let you take control. You've never met a person who has so effortlessly made their way into your heart.

And here you are, on your knees for him under the false pretense of practicing for a man who's name you can't even remember right now.

You shake your head, the motion clearing the thoughts and the emotions that were swirling in your head, the ones that make you want to stand up and kiss him, kiss him until your lips are numb and you're left gasping for air.

"Joel?" you say his name softly.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Teach me."

Part 2 is already in the works I promise hehehe thank you for reading I hope u all enjoy!!