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adancingalien · 2 months

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𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

Benjicot/Davos Blackwood x bracken!reader

summary: after learning of your impending betrothal to another, you and Benji make a plan to stop it

warning: smut 18+ no use of y/n this fic revolves around pregnancy and has some light breeding kinks towards the end. the reader in this is able to get pregnant and is described as a woman.

word count: 3.9k

note: its finally here! i've really enjoyed writing this fic, its been a while since written one and i've never written smut so if its not the best sorry lol. thank you for everyone's support! i hope you guys like it <3 next time I post it will be on this account @dancingaliensfics so if you like this follow that account. also a couple people asked me to tag them so here you go x @alifeinspiredd @gotranting

It's Early in the morning when your father gives you the news. The sun had risen only an hour prior, the days growing short as winter approached, and your mother sat across from you.

Marriage.

You spend some time considering the thought whilst eating your porridge. In any other case, it would have been good news. The list your father had created so far was filled with well-suited men. You recognised some, two Bracken cousins you knew well, a Mallister boy you’d met at a tourney. They were all reasonable ages, only one was older than thirty and he seemed to be an afterthought. Your father assured you that he'd consider your opinion in his choice.

Truthly you were lucky, if it was a year earlier you'd be excited. But the one name you wanted, the only man you would ever consider marrying, wasn't on the list and never would be.

Benjicot Blackwood.

Heir to Raventree Hall, the seat of your enemy house, the man who'd captured your heart 10 moons ago.

And so you sit in silence, eyes distant, as your father speaks to you of balls and meetings and gifts. Your mother watches you quietly, although what goes through her mind you cannot say. Eventually, the conversation fades to noise as you watch the last streaks of pink fade from the sky.

You meet with Benjicot in the same spot you always do. A field of clover and wildflowers, sheltered from the gaze of Stone Hedge by a small patch of woodland. He brings you a bouquet of dandelions, dittander and hedge bindweed he picked himself along the path. Every time you meet he brings you one and each time he hands it to you with that grin before hiding his face in your neck. You love it, and after all this time you still feel your heart flutter at the sight, no matter how torn and pathetic the blooms themselves usually are.

Gods, you love him. And you're certain you'll never love anyone else the same. Still, you hope he hasn't found the bindweed from near your gardens, it's beautiful but so quickly consumes all other plants.

He flops onto the grass and then beckons for you to do the same. Benji wraps his arms around your side and you lean your head on his chest as he begins to tell you about some skirmish at the hedge stones.

“Those Brackens think they can do whatever they please whenever they choose. You’d think they'd have learnt their lesson after the beating we gave them last time.”

As he speaks you pluck at blades of grass beside you, tearing the seeds from the stem. He often forgets your heritage, as you do his, and the reminder makes you anxious.

“Still,” you mutter, “I wish you wouldn't rush so quickly into battle.”

Benji turns his head to look down at you and you feel his breath on your face. He pauses for a few moments, watching you closely before responding.

“You needn't worry, dove, I can hold my own, especially against some Bracken bastards.” His words are harsh and said with a grin but you can feel the sentiment behind them. Still, his answer doesn't satisfy you.

“You're not the only person I stand to lose in a battle.”

The two of you tend to speak little of the different sides you sit on, choosing instead to focus on your shared qualities. But since your father's announcement that morning, you find your heritage is all you can think of.

His hands tighten on your side and he begins to shift in the way he often does when unsettled. “Tell your bracken brethren to stay on their side of the lines then.”

“Yes because it is such a simple thing, to announce our ties to my whole family!” You turn from him with a huff pulling hard on the piece of grass in your grasp. You regret your words immediately but find yourself unwilling to apologise.

Benji pulls his brows tight, running his fingers over the hem of your skirt. He looks like a scolded dog, his face sullen and eyes moving quickly.

“I’m sorry.” He looks at you softly for a moment. “Will you tell me what's bothering you love? You've been down all day.”

You pause for a while, having pulled away all the grass in your little patch, leaving your fingernails stained green.

“My father gave me news.” You lift your head to look at Benji, his eyes watching you closely. “He's finding me a husband.”

“No.” The response comes quickly and with strong conviction.

Baffled by his response, your brows furrow. “What do you mean no?”

“I simply won't let it happen. You're mine and I'm yours and we were destined to be together, I know it. You will not be with anyone else.”

You pull a pained face, turning away from him. How can he say that with such certainty? That he simply won't let your father marry you off as though it's such a simple thing. It's both endearing and irritating.

“It's not so simple you know.” You look out at the setting sun as you speak, “I've been trying to think of ways to avoid it but truthfully, I have nothing to complain about. What can I say to stop it? I've spent so long thinking of options but nothing seems right.”

Benji takes hold of your hands, gazing at you with such intensity it catches you off guard.

“We'll run away together, you and me, right now.”

Your eyes widen and you stumble on your thoughts. What an idea. It's a pleasant thought really and part of you is compelled to accept, to leap up and run away with Benji in that moment. But it is not this part of you that speaks.

“What- Benji- I cannot, we cannot! Where would we even go.”

“Essos, the free cities, the North, gods I'd go to the Iron Islands if it meant I could marry you. Anywhere in the world where the names bracken and blackwood mean nothing.” your heart skips at the thought, that Benjicot Blackwood would abandon his title and land and family to be with you. Travel to an unknown land and begin again. It's a feeling that quickly spreads through your body leaving you warm and filled with a joy so strong it again compels you to accept and leave in that moment.

You run your fingers over his knuckles, feeling the healed cuts and scrapes that cover them. You consider your own family, of your mother, sat at her window, waiting for you to return home. Your father, sending out his men to fruitlessly search across all of Westeros for his beloved daughter.

“I can't Benji.”

“Then we'll go in a few days instead, you can pack your things, and I'll think of a plan of where to go-”

“No Benji.” you look into his eyes. You see in them a future and a path you cannot take at this moment. “I couldn't do that to my family, couldn't leave them forever and you couldn't either. It would break your mother's heart.”

Your words sour his mood and he visibly shrinks. You take his hands fully in your own and reach over to kiss him softly on the cheek. You can feel slight stubble and realise he must have rushed out after receiving your letter. How you love this man.

It isn’t long before you see a new thought arrive in his mind and it's clear he does no further thinking before sharing it.

“I'll just take you then!”

Truthly, your expectations were not high but you still find yourself floored by the stupidity of his ‘plan’.

“What.” You can simply find no other words.

Benji turns to face you fully, squeezing your hands tightly. He has a crazed look on his face and you wonder if this is what your Bracken brethren see on the battlefield.

“Listen, I’ll simply take you with me to Raventree Hall and we will wed there.” He must notice your unimpressed look as he quickly continues. “That way you don't have to go too far and your family will know you're safe. Sure it'll take some time for those Bracken curs to accept it but eventually they'll have to and then you can see them when you please.”

“Safe? Benji, you've come up with some terrible ideas but this is a new level. It would be war! You really believe that my father, that any bracken would simply accept a blackwood taking their daughter in the night?”

“Then war it would be. I'd kill a thousand men to keep you.”

“A thousand of my men, my blood! Yes, what a beautiful honeymoon it would be, setting the funeral piers of my family.”

He falls silent at this and looks down at his hands. You can see him thinking but he has the sense to keep his thoughts to himself. After a few minutes, you sigh and take his hands back in yours, having dropped them at some point during your rant. Leaning over, you capture his lips in your own for just a moment and when you pull away he follows after you.

“Just… leave it to me. I shall think of a plan for us. We can keep yours as a last resort, yes?”

He brightens at this, happy to trust in your judgement. He agrees quickly before closing the small space between you.

It's a week later when you send a raven summoning Benji. As a child, you had discovered passages within Stone Hedge which had long been forgotten and often used them to pass in and out of the castle. Now you and Benji used them to visit each other in secret. It's a few days before he is able to make his way to Stone Hedge, having been corralled by his father into some dull political nonsense you couldn't care less about. By the time he makes it to you, slipping into your chambers using the passage hidden behind large tapestries, you feel truly desperate for him.

It's overwhelming really, how much you love him. Your entire body aches for him, your mind thinks of him at all times. The thought of marrying another leaves you ill and to imagine laying with a man that isn't Benji is truly mad. He knows you in ways no other has, and, if you get your way, never will. So really it's not a surprise that upon seeing you waste no time in pressing yourself to him. As your lips meet you can feel all the stress of the past days leave your mind and you quickly forget what it was you summoned him for. It seems Benji has found himself in a similar position to you as his hands begin to explore your body through your evening gown. His soft touch turns rough as you run your fingers through the coarse strands of his hair.

You pull away, moving toward to settee. He trails after, lounging next to you with his around your shoulders, fingers toying with your hair.

“I’ve had much time to think,” you say hands resting on your lap. “And I believe I've thought of a solution. It’s mad truly, but it is the best chance we have. I am certain I want it but if you do not you must say and that will be final. It is not a decision to take lightly.”

At your serious tone, Benji straightens and looks at you fully. You are nervous, such a proposal is hardly made easily and yet you feel certain in your bones that he will accept. You know he loves you, there is no doubt about it. You only wonder if he is truly ready for a life together.

“I would do anything to be with you, dove. Tell me and it'll be done.”

You sigh at his words, both from frustration and adoration.

“Do not say such things before you hear the proposal.”

“Then tell me it so that I may say them with informed certainty.”

You look him in the eyes then, struggling to find a way to say what you mean.

“I would have your child.”

Benji pauses at this, and you can see confusion in his eyes before he speaks.

“Yes. when we wed we shall have many children, as many as you wish.”

“No Benji,” you squeeze his hands tightly and push yourself to speak. “My father will never choose you as my husband so we must give him no choice. If I was with child, with your child, he would have to accept a marriage or risk shame upon myself and our house. I know my father well and I am sure he would choose my happiness over tradition.”

At this, Benjicot stops and his face falls blank. It's as if his mind is —- and you wait patiently for his response.

“It is…” he stops and then restarts “I would love nothing more than to have a child with you. It is something I have dreamt of and I truly believe myself ready for such responsibility. I do not doubt the longevity of my love for you. So please do not think it is commitment with gives me pause. It is just…” he begins to play with your fingers, nervous energy flowing through him. He stands quickly, releasing your hands though you are used to his restlessness and simply wait for him to return. He paces in a small circle, running his hand through his hair and then returns to his seat.

“I would not do that to you,” he says finally. You look at him in surprise, his answer seeming nonsensical to you.

“You have done it to me many times.”

“No not that,” he says quickly, covering his face in his hands as he thinks again how to phrase what he means.

“I wouldn't put you through such treatment! As an unwed woman to father a child by you. No, I couldn't dishonour you like that.”

“Dishonour me? Benji, you have dishonoured me more times than I could count. By simply being here in this room you dishonour me. We have laid together, many times. If this was a concern of yours, you should have voiced it long ago.” your words are tinged with amusement.

Benjicot stands again, moving his arms wildly.

“And what of how you would be treated? Not just by your parents but every member of the court, the servants, anyone who knew of it. You would be shamed and shunned by others.”

“You think I care what others say of me?”

“I think you will care when it happens.”

“Do not make assumptions on my behalf. I am my own woman, I can make my own choices. And I do not need you, Benjicot Blackwood, to decide such things for me.”

You pause, breathing deeply in an attempt to remove the heat from your voice. It isn’t your intention to force Benji to do this with you and you fear if you continue to argue your meaning will be lost.

“If your reasons to not go forth are your own, because you do not feel ready or because you do not want to, then that is fine and I will accept it.”

Your attempt to calm the situation backfires miserably and your words light a fire inside of Benji.

“Of course not, didn’t say I would marry you in that field? That I would give up everything to be with you. Do not doubt my love.”

“I do not doubt it, Benji. But if you are willing to give up your titles and home, go through battle and fight hundreds to have me, why can't you trust that I would endure the shame of a pregnancy outside of wedlock for you?”

At last, Benji returns to his spot next to you. He looks into the fire but his gaze is distant.

“I can protect you from danger, from enemies. I can kill any man that threatens you. I can stand with you in fire and pain. But I can’t save you from cruel words and shame. This is… it's something you’ll have to bear alone. And I hate the thought of it.”

At last, you understand his meaning. Benjicot Blackwood is not a man who often loses control. He is fierce and strong and can slay any man who comes in his path.

“I am strong. And I can protect myself, just this once. And you will be stood with, at my side, to give me strength when I fail.”

“I know, I just fear you aren’t ready.”

“I am ready.”

A coy smile spreads across your face.

“Let me convince you.”

At that you kiss him, one hand placed on his cheek and the other on his chest. He quickly reciprocates and you move closer until you can throw one leg over his lap. His hands find your hair, attempting to undo your intricate braids before pulling away in frustration and glaring at the strands. You laugh lightly, moving to remove your pins as he reaches for your neck, leaving a firm bite before his tongue lathes over the area. His ministrations pull a soft moan from your mouth and as he lifts your skirts to run his hand up the soft skin of your thigh, your hair is released.

His other hand quickly finds its way into your hair, fingers weaving into the strands before your head is pulled back allowing better access to your neck. As Benji continues trailing kisses across your neck and chest, you begin to move yourself on his lap, grinding against him as you feel his cock harden beneath his breeches. How you long to feel him inside you, and the thought of him staying even as he reached his peak, seed spilling inside you, has you moving with increased vigour. Benji begins to let out his quiet groans and pants to match your soft moaning and it's not long before he has your behind held firmly in his grip.

His mouth reaches the neckline of your dresses and begins to suck marks onto your skin while you fumble with the fastening of your gown. Once the bodice is undone and the stays are loosened, he pulls them down, taking your breasts into his hands. His mouth quickly latches onto one of your peaks and his tongue swirls around them. He shows you no mercy in his actions, hands pressing so tight they are sure to leave bruises. Benji moves his hand to your core, fingers covering themselves in your wetness before pressing against your clit. They move quickly, circling your bud for some time before travelling towards your hole. His thumb moves to take its place, pressing firmly against you as it rubs. His fingers prod gently at your hole, before one slips inside. He stays like this, easing his finger inside of you until you're ready to take another. His fingers move inside of you for a few minutes, your walls clenching around them as they stroke, before they increase in speed, beginning to curl deep inside of you. Benji continues to assault your chest, relishing in the moans and whines he pulls from your lips.

It isn't long, however, before he pulls away from your chest to speak.

“I need you, my love.” he lifts your chin so that your eyes meet. You lean forward and kiss him, giving your answer through your actions. He removes his fingers from you, wiping them on your dress much to your disgust before standing, holding you with his hands beneath your ass and your legs around his waist.

He moves quickly towards the bed and, though he's strong, you can see him focusing on not dropping you. You take the chance to join your lips to his neck, leaving your marks there. Although you know him to be faithful to you, you can’t stand the thought of any Blackwood whore making a pass at him and the hickeys serve to claim him as yours. Gods, you think, you must stop thinking in such ways, you’ll be a Blackwood yourself soon. The thought leaves you giddy and you grin at his neck. Benji drops you rather unceremoniously onto the bed before staring at you with a bemused look on his face.

“What you grinning about him?”

“Just the thought that I will soon be your wife.”

His grin widens at that and he leans down to capture your lips once again.

“Yes, my wife and I'll be your husband.”

You kiss him again, biting his lip and tugging on it slightly.

“All mine.” your words pull a deep moan from him.

It isn’t long before both of you have stripped completely and you find yourself lying back on the sheets, Benji between your legs. He moves quickly above you, rubbing his cock against your folds, the head catching perfectly on your clit with every stroke. You moan wantonly, fingers reaching up to pull Benji towards your lips by the hair. Your firm grip causes him to groan deeply into your mouth and his movements increase in speed. It isn't long though before you pull away.

“Benji, darling, I need you inside of me please.”

You're expecting him to tease you, and make a joke about your begging and neediness but instead, he lets out a long breath, before reaching down and taking himself in hand. He runs the tip of his cock along your wetness once more before pressing inside of you. Your body accepts him eagerly and it isn't long before he fills you. How could you ever marry another when even your body is moulded perfectly to him? The sounds of your pleasure harmonise as Benji begins to move inside of you. His thrusts are fast and deep as always, his hips snapping against yours with every thrust. You feel your mind slipping as your sounds increase in volume. Your hands roam his whole body. Filthy words spill from your lips.

“Benji please my love- ah- I must have you. Please”

“You have me sweet one, you have me.”

You pull roughly on his hair at his words.

“No I must have all of you, please I need your seed. I want you to cum inside me.”

His hips stutter before his thrusts continue with increased fervour.

“Fill me please Benji, it will feel so good.”

Benji lays his head in the crook of your neck moaning without restraint. You feel yourself reaching your peak quickly and want him to cum with you. You lift your legs and wrap them tightly around his waist, moaning, turning to shrieks.

“I love you so much Benji,” you cry out, fingernails leaving scratches down his back. “I love you and I want your baby, please cum inside me.”

At your words, Benji lets out a choked sound, hips pressing firm against you, and feels the warmth of his release spill inside of you, pulling you to your peak alongside him. Your eyes squeeze shut, but if they hadn’t you would have seen the most delightful look on Benji’s face and he finished inside of you. It takes some time for his cock to stop twitching and even longer for the both of you to come back to the world of the living. Benji begins to lift himself off of you, but you tighten your legs.

“Stay.”

A simple command that he follows without question.

#benjicot blackwood #benjicot blackwood x reader #davos blackwood #benjicot x reader #davos blackwood x reader #hotd

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joelscurls · 1 year

Text

feel it in your bones

next part

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 12.5k

summary: Two years ago, you finished your PhD and moved to Vermont. In the time since, you’ve gotten a job as a college professor, had your heart broken, and sworn off relationships entirely. Enter Joel, the father of one of your students, here for Homecoming Weekend – and too attractive to resist.

warnings: 18+, minors dni, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), alcohol consumption, fluff, smut, masturbation (f), mutual pining(?), sexual tension, grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, cumplay / cum eating, some light biting, use of pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby, etc.), reader has an asshole ex, no use of y/n

a/n: my first Joel fic! This is honestly a bit self-indulgent but I love fall and academia and Joel Miller so sue me okay. ty to my bby @caffeinated-validation for reading through this and offering your insight -- get you a partner who will beta your filthy Joel Miller smut for you lmao <3

You’ve gotten used to being alone.

You don’t mind it as much as you had a few months ago, the breakup still fresh, every touch of your own fingers seering into your skin when you’d remembered the way he’d touched you, the sound of your voice almost unrecognizable as you’d convince yourself each day to get out of bed and go to work, where you’d inevitably run into him. It was painful then, having to come home to the quiet, always far too aware of the sound of your own thoughts drumming against the inside of your skull.

Now though, you revel in that quiet. Sip your coffee in silence each morning. You’ve learned how to stay lost in your work, bringing home stacks of papers to grade and eating through texts to support your research while your dinner gets cold on the table in front of you. You’re well aware that this isn’t the healthiest way to cope, to just avoid it all, but it’s better than feeling.

You’ve sworn off relationships entirely. It’s a silent promise to yourself – that you’ll remain married to your work. You will devote all of your energy to making sure your students excel and that your research is strong. That is your life’s purpose, to make use of the PhD you worked so hard to get – not to be someone’s girlfriend or wife. And you’re fine with that, really. You’ve become immune to loneliness – or numb, maybe.

Regardless, you welcome the independence. You don’t have to worry about anyone else’s thoughts or feelings when it comes to the way you spend your own time. You’re free to do whatever you want. You can draw yourself a bath, fill it with bubbles, sit in it while you drain a bottle of wine into your mouth until the water runs cold. You can eat an entire box of dry cereal in one sitting while you re-watch your favorite show for the twentieth time. You can make yourself cum at any hour of the night with your vibrator or your shower head or your hand – and then go to work the next morning without a semblance of guilt.

Really, you like being alone.

Until you don’t.

It’s Homecoming Weekend at Sarah’s school.

She had insisted that Joel didn’t have to come, that it was mostly an opportunity for the college to milk donations out of sentimental alumni. But he’d missed her for the month she’d been gone, the house far too quiet with just him in it. In previous years, Joel had busied himself following Sarah’s departure with home projects. Three years in, though, he’s updated just about every room in the house, re-done the floors, built a brand new back deck.

In other words, he’s fresh out of distractions.

So, he’d made the trek to Vermont, with the excuse that he’d always wanted to experience a New England fall. It’s a lie, one that Sarah can probably read right through, considering he vocalizes his discomfort whenever the temperature drops below 70 degrees in Texas, but she goes along with it.

Besides, he wants to see what his tuition money is paying for.

In truth, Joel had been nervous when Sarah announced what major she’d decided to pursue. She had just finished her freshman year, prerequisite courses all completed. When she’d said the word – anthropology – Joel hadn’t even been sure what it meant. Since then, she’s explained it to him many times and in truth, he’s still none the wiser. Really, he’s just happy that she’s happy. Her passion for it is evident on her face any time she talks to him about the courses she’s taking, how great her professors are.

Especially you – she talks about you all the time – her mentor.

You’re supervising her on her thesis project – a qualitative assessment on students’ views on feminism and gender politics in the classroom. This past summer, Joel swears Sarah had mentioned your name more than her own friends’. She’d told him what courses you teach, what research you’ve conducted, all the countries you’ve traveled to for fieldwork. And she gives the best advice – Sarah had said one night over dinner – she’s like, my lifeline at school.

Joel doesn’t know you, but he’s thankful for you – for the guidance you so clearly provide Sarah.

There’s an Open House today for the Social Sciences college, which Joel tags along with Sarah to. He’s hopeful that he’ll learn something, come to understand the field and why Sarah loves it.

A buffet table stocked with refreshments sits on one side of the lecture hall. Sarah grabs them both cups of water infused with cucumber while Joel saves them seats at the back. There’s a slideshow projected onto the white board at the front, the current slide reading: An Introduction to the Social Sciences College & Our Current Research Efforts. A group of professors gathers at the front, name tags stuck to their button-downs and blazers. Sarah spots you as she sits down, pointing you out as she hands Joel his water.

“There – that one’s my mentor – the one in the plaid pants.”

Joel’s eyes follow her finger to the group at the front, scanning down the line. There’s a man, short and stocky with noticeably small hands hooked by the thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. Next to him, is a woman, taller than him, wearing a bright turquoise silk shirt, gold bangles decorating both of her wrists. And next to her is you, in the plaid pants.

Sarah had told him a lot of things about you, but she’d never mentioned that you’re fucking gorgeous. You’re smiling at something Turquoise Shirt has just said to you, and it’s like your entire face is glowing. Joel has to take a sip of water to collect himself.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you for the entirety of the presentation.

The dean of the college starts by briefly covering each department and what research efforts they have planned for the semester. Joel should be listening, he came here to listen – but he can’t get himself to focus on anything other than you.

You’re mostly focused on the presenter. Every so often, though, you distractedly toy with the buttons on your cardigan or twirl a strand of your hair between delicate fingers. And Joel is suddenly realizing how touch-starved he is after years of refusing to date – because just watching you, your hands – is about to send him into orbit.

You’re well-spoken too, he learns, when you take the microphone to discuss your current research project.

“This semester, I’ll be delving into the presence of food deserts in Vermont, and the effects these are having on the overall health of youth in the state,” you say. “We have received a sizable grant for this research, and I am thrilled to get started in a matter of weeks. This project will span the better part of the academic year as I speak to locals and craft surveys that will provide qualitative data to support my findings from the field.”

You press down on the clicker in your hand. A new slide projects onto the whiteboard. It’s a photo of you against the backdrop of a jungle, lush, green trees stretching past the top of the frame. The wide-brimmed hat you’re wearing covers most of your face – but that damn smile radiates through the makeshift screen.

“This is me last summer, in Peru. My research here was much more self-indulgent – I studied the important role that food plays in the average family there – and ate wayyyy too many sweets.”

The crowd laughs. It’s the first reaction they’ve expressed this entire time.

It’s entrancing, the way you command the room. You have such a calm confidence about you as you speak, words never once faltering as you stride back and forth across the front of the lecture hall. Joel isn’t much of a talker – maybe that’s why he feels like he could listen to you for hours on end. He thinks that you could read the damn phone book and his focus would remain unwavering. That your voice, velvet-soft, could spellbind him without much effort.

When your portion of the presentation ends, he’s more than a bit disappointed.

Students and their families filter out of the lecture hall. You situate yourself in a corner of the room for the actual Open House portion of the event, at the ready to answer any questions or, more likely, offer directions to another part of campus.

You smile as familiar faces and strangers alike pass you, reach for your to-go mug on the table behind you, and take a sip. The coffee is pretty much ice-cold now, but you still gulp it down, only after the caffeine anyway.

You place the mug back down with a light thud against the tabletop. Suddenly, a voice you’ve come to know well rings in your ear.

“Professor!”

When you look up, Sarah Miller is bounding down the aisle, signature smile plastered across her face. And there’s a man behind her, you notice, moving much slower.

He’s tall, broad shoulders pulling taut against the green flannel he’s wearing. He cradles a beige workwear jacket in the crook of his bicep,corded muscle visibly bulging against fabric. His other hand rubs at the scruff along his jaw, pointedly sharp in the patches where hair doesn’t grow.

He has a distinguishable nose, you notice as he gets closer, strong – large and hooked at the center of his tan face. It’s complemented perfectly by his plush, pink lips that seem to be set in a permanent pout.

In other words, he’s handsome – almost distractingly so, as he stands next to Sarah in front of you.

“I’m so happy to see you,” she beams – turns to the man next to her.

“Dad, this is my mentor,” She says your name.

He nods. His eyes meet yours. They’re deep brown, almost black – and undeniably entrancing.

“‘‘ts nice to meet you, Ma’am. I’m Joel.”

Ma’am.

It’s not like the word is foreign to you, given your profession. There’s something about the way he says it, though, that makes your head spin, his southern drawl dripping in honey-butter and bourbon.

Joel outstretches a hand. You shake it – try to ignore the way it dwarfs yours.

“Joel,” you repeat, eyes locked firmly on the space between his eyes. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“That was a great presentation you gave up there. You’re a good, uh – talker.” His expression is unreadable. His hands fidget at his sides.

You offer him a smile. “Thank you – I think? My students probably wish I would shut up sometimes. Right, Sarah?”

“Oh please,” she scoffs, “as if you’ve never seen your rating on Rate My Professor.”

She’s not wrong – you pride yourself on having pretty stellar reviews – but you also try your hardest not to let them get to your head. Sarah isn’t helping that, right now.

“Anyways,” she exaggerates the word, “what are you up to tonight, Professor? They’re holding an exhibition at the art center later, all student work – d’you wanna come with us?”

Your reflex is to say no. After all, he’ll probably be there. Your ex, Quentin, works in the art history department. And even though you’re over him, you’re not exactly looking for an excuse to be in the same room as him. But you technically don’t have plans tonight, and you can’t even think of a good lie right now with Sarah staring you down.

And then there’s Joel, standing in front of you, all broad shoulders and chiseled jaw – and you think, what a great opportunity to get to know him, you know, as the parent of your student. Definitely not as anything else, anything more. It is Homecoming, after all.

So, you say yes.

“Cool!” Sarah smiles, “Meet you there at 7?”

You nod, tell Sarah that sounds perfect, and that you’ll see them tonight.

Sarah starts toward the door. But Joel stands there for a moment longer. His eyes linger on yours, his wordless stare threatening to burn a hole in your head. You can feel the heat of it, beads of sweat beginning to form at the base of your neck. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying your hardest to conceal them.

A beat passes. It looks like he might say something, his mouth opening then closing again.

He gives you a courteous nod, turns on his heels, and follows after Sarah.

Joel hadn’t remembered the food being this bad when he’d visited for orientation. He struggles to keep down a particularly rubbery bite of chicken and reaches for his water bottle, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he focuses on not vomiting.

Sarah laughs next to him. “Hey man, at least you don’t have to eat this shit year-round.”

He grunts in agreement. “Gonna cancel your meal plan next semester and jus’ give you the money to buy groceries.”

She hums. Cocks her head. “That means I’m gonna have to learn how to cook – do you think Student Housing has fire insurance?”

Joel wants to roll his eyes, but it’s definitely his fault – after all, he can barely fry an egg without setting off the fire alarm. Their freezer has always been well-stocked with TV dinners and tater tots. So instead, he just shrugs.

“So what’s this art thing tonight?” He moves on to the salad on his plate, decidedly much safer.

“I don’t really know – my roommate asked me to go, she has some pieces in it, I guess.”

He nods. “And your professor – that was nice ‘a you to invite her.”

Sarah nods, smiles. “Yeah – you like her, right? I mean, you’re sure you’re cool with me asking her to come?” She asks, a mouthful of lettuce.

“‘Course,” he says, attempting to keep his voice level, nonchalant.

“I know you’re not really one for meeting new people,” she teases.

He mock-glares at her. It quickly softens into a smile. “Nah – she seems cool.” It’s an understatement, but Sarah doesn’t need to know that.

She doesn’t need to know that her dad is attracted to her professor.

Joel thinks that he might not have been so great at hiding it, though, when a few hours later, in the middle of watching an unarguably bad student production of Macbeth, Sarah turns to him and whispers that she’s not feeling well.

“Hm, is that right?,” he whispers back, unconvinced.

“Yeah, must’ve been the food.”

“We ate the same thing, Sarah.”

There’s a shout on stage. The actor’s voice cracks.

“Well I dunno,” she continues, “My stomach just doesn’t feel good.”

“Yeah, and what about that thing with your professor?”

He can see her smirk even in the dim lighting.

“Shit, you’re right. And I don’t have her phone number, so it’s not like I can text her...”

She groans. Joel thinks she should be on that stage right now.

“We can’t just ghost her.” Joel has no idea what that means. He doesn’t bother asking.

“Sarah-” he starts.

“Please. She’s such a nice lady, she doesn’t deserve to be stood up.”

He could say no. It’s not like he knows you, owes you anything. But in truth, Joel does want to see you again. And he’s well aware that Sarah might be trying to set the two of you up – ever-perceptive and hell-bent on her dad being happy – but he tries not to think about how embarrassing that feels, his daughter playing matchmaker for him. Because he wants to spend more time with you, get to know more about you, if you’ll let him.

He’s barred himself from forming any kind of real relationship with a woman since Sarah’s mother left. Not because she’d broken his heart, but because he’d needed all of his energy to go to Sarah. As a single father, he had always feared that he wouldn’t be enough for his daughter – wouldn’t give enough – that growing up in a broken home would leave her half of a person. That fear had fueled him to be the best dad possible – to work overtime so that he could provide for them, to never miss one of her soccer games or dance recitals. And so, he had never even considered dating, not seriously, anyway. It would take attention away from Sarah, and he couldn’t risk that.

He’s found it difficult to shake this principle, now that Sarah has grown up. He often grapples with the fact that Sarah doesn’t need him as much anymore – that she’s her own person living her own life. He knows he could date now, could meet someone new, open his heart to them. But he’s so used to fighting that human need for companionship, that it feels almost unnatural to let his guard down.

But now there’s you – your megawatt smile and your impressive intelligence and your care for his daughter – and suddenly he’s forgotten his own rules.

“Okay; I’ll go.” It comes out entirely too enthusiastic.

He can practically feel Sarah’s accomplished, shit-eating grin burning into the side of his head.

You leave campus around four pm, once the last of the Open House participants have gone.

You take a shower when you get home. Then you order sushi – stuff rolls of yellowfin and salmon into your mouth as you sit at the dining table still wrapped up in your towel, trying your best not to spill soy sauce on the half-graded essays that litter the tabletop. When you’re done, you retreat to your closet, treading on damp feet across the waxy hardwood floor.

And you definitely don’t think about Joel – not when you debate what to wear to the art exhibition, not when your fingers accidentally graze one of your nipples as you put your bra on, not when you get distracted while pulling your panties on by the pool of wetness that has formed between your thighs.

You definitely don’t think about him – because he’s Sarah’s dad, and that would be wrong.

So it’s accidental when his name falls from your mouth, fingers pressed against your clit, visions of large, calloused hands flashing behind your closed eyelids.

You cover your mouth with the curve of your palm to prevent it from slipping out again. Sink back into the mattress.

Then you press your fingers down harder.

Joel feels like a first-year student, wandering aimlessly across campus in search of the art center. Sarah’s directions had been, well, brief. She’d insisted he’d be able to find it no problem. Now though, in the limited light of dusk, all the structures look the same, bleeding together like watercolors against the evening sky.

He does find it, eventually, a three-story brick building tucked between the library and what looks to be a dormitory. Bright, artificial light seeps through the windows that line the bottom floor. The double doors at the front are propped open, people slipping in and out of them as he approaches.

He looks for you outside, searching for a familiar head of hair, the brown cardigan you’d been wearing earlier. When he doesn’t see you, he reluctantly makes his way up the stairs and into the building.

He spots you almost immediately affixed in front of a painting, studying it intently.

You’re wearing a different outfit than the one you had on this afternoon – a merlot-colored slip dress and a cropped leather jacket. He struggles to ignore the way the satin clings to you, the curves of your body excruciatingly accentuated. He has to remind himself that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, shouldn't expect you to stick around for long once he lets you know Sarah isn’t coming. You’ll probably make an excuse to leave shortly after, and he’ll be back on Sarah’s couch within the hour.

After all, why would you stick around just to talk to him?

You don’t see him when he sidles up next to you. He clears his throat and you startle.

“Sorry,” he brings a hand to the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to spook ya.”

You take a step back to face him and put a hand to your chest, your breath beginning to even. His eyes wander, for a moment, to where your fingers rest against your collarbone.

“Shit – it’s okay. Where’s Sarah?”

“She wasn’t feeling well, but she said I should still come. Is that – uh – is that okay?” He’s suddenly worried that this was dumb, that he shouldn’t have come, should’ve just let Sarah explain to you on Monday.

But your features soften then, a small smile forming between rosy cheeks.

“Joel, it’s fine; I appreciate you not ditching me.”

“‘Course,” he manages. He’s waiting for you to say something else – that you need to leave. But you don’t, and you both stand enveloped in the pregnant pause that lingers, bright overhead lighting and nerves giving Joel the start of a migraine he’ll have to ignore for the rest of the night.

He clears his throat. Turns to the painting in front of you. “So what’s this one, then?”

The painting in question is a mish-mash of shapes and colors. Joel can’t distinguish any one thing on the canvas. It’s all just a lot of…nothing. He knows it’s not for him when he thinks a preschooler with finger paints could’ve done this.

You bring your hand up to cradle your jaw, brows furrowed in contemplation. It looks like you’ll offer an actual, intellectual interpretation. So Joel isn’t prepared when instead, you say:

“Looks like a bad trip.”

A laugh bubbles out of him, the corners of his eyes creasing.

“Sorry,” you say, between giggles. “That was stupid.”

“No,” he says, swiping a hand over his jaw, trying to physically rub the embarrassing smile off his face. “You’re funny.”

He means it. He’s not sure how it’s possible that you’re funny, when you’re also so smart and interesting and gorgeous. It’s almost unfair. He thinks, fleetingly, that you’re way out of his league – a boring, old man like him.

You continue to the next piece, Joel following closely behind. It looks like it must be by the same artist. The same variation of shapes fill the canvas, just in different colors.

“Alright Cowboy, what’s your take on this one?”

Joel studies it for a moment – tries to find something he can pull out. Something tangible. Something funny, even.

He comes up empty.

“‘ts interesting f’sure. Lots of…colors,” he tries. He realizes how ridiculous he sounds. Laughs. “Shit…art ain’t really my thing,” he admits, arm stretched behind his head.

“So what is your thing?” Your voice is tinged with something – Joel tries his hardest not to let himself believe that it’s flirtation.

Your eyes are still fixed on the canvas in front of you. And Joel is thankful, because he thinks if you looked at him, let those eyes meet his, he’d break – tell you that right now, you’re his thing.

He doesn’t get a chance to answer either way, though, because he’s interrupted by a man’s voice behind the two of you.

“Wow. Didn’t expect to see you here!”

You whip around to face him. Joel turns too. The man is taller than you, but shorter than him. He’s wearing round, wire-frame glasses that sit like a suggestion on his nose, and a full suit, with a tie that has some god-awful, ugly pattern all over it. It looks like the art here, Joel thinks.

Joel’s eyes flit back to you, and he watches as your hackles go up. You back up, bumping into the canvas behind you. You curse under your breath.

“Quentin. Hey.”

“Glad you could make it,” the man, Quentin, says. He swirls a cup of what appears to be red wine in one hand. He leans in closer, brings the other hand up at the side of his mouth to conceal his words. “I know this isn’t really your scene.”

You shift uncomfortably. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m uh, venturing out, I guess. Trying new things.”

He laughs. It’s an asshole laugh, Joel notes. Everything about this guy screams asshole.

“About time!” The asshole puts a hand on your shoulder. You flinch. Joel’s hands instinctively bunch into fists at his side.

“So proud of you,” Quentin says. “Finally letting yourself be a little cultured.”

This guy can’t be serious.

You scoff. Grab his hand and flick it off your shoulder. He looks wounded. Good, Joel thinks.

“Yeah, because traveling the world has left me so very uncultured, Quentin.”

“Hey,” he puts his hands up. “Don’t take offense, baby. I know your little field trips are important, too.”

It’s the last straw.

In one movement, you’re pushing off the wall, shoving past Quentin, and making your way to the exit. Joel doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look at the asshole, just follows after you out the door.

It’s gotten colder in the short time he’d been inside, he notices. A gust of wind nips at the exposed skin on his hands. He stuffs them haphazardly in the pockets of his jacket.

He finds you perched on the front steps, arms wrapped around your body protectively. He takes a few cautious strides forward. When you look up at him, you’re visibly distraught.

You groan as he sits down next to you. “Sorry. That was embarrassing.”

Joel wants to touch you, put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, but he knows he probably shouldn’t – not right now.

“‘ts not embarrassin’,” he says, instead. His warm breath materializes in the cold air. “Not for you, anyway. That guy was clearly an asshole.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That was my ex-boyfriend.” You’re both quiet, then. The two of you sit there, side by side on the stairs, in comfortable silence. A few minutes pass. Joel notices you chewing on your bottom lip, like you’re considering something. When you speak again, your voice wavers.

“Would you want to go for a drink or something? It’s just, I really don’t want to be here anymore.”

For a moment, he can’t believe what he’s hearing – you’re asking him out? He takes a second to respond. You start to backtrack. “It’s okay if you don’t wan-”

“Hey,” he stops you. Makes sure you’re looking at him.

“I thought you’d never ask, darlin’.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Great.” Your hand drops to your side, brushing against his. He expects you to move it. He’s thankful when you don’t.

“I know a place–” you continue – “one that won’t be full of drunk college kids.”

“Great,” Joel parrots you. He stands, extends a hand to help you up. You take it, letting your palm rest against his for a moment longer than necessary when you’re upright.

“Cool,” you say, clearing your throat. You pull up the Uber app on your phone. Joel watches you book a driver. Then you turn back to him with a smile. It’s different from the one he’s seen before. It’s smaller, shyer.

“Larry will be here in 4 minutes,” you say.

The bar is a twenty minutes’ drive from campus – fifteen with Larry’s lead foot.

It’s more of a lounge than a bar, really – leather armchairs accompanied by low cocktail tables arranged throughout the single large, open room. A brick fireplace sits on the back wall, currently roaring with warm orange flames.

On either side of the fireplace are floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with vintage books, their illegible titles etched in gold along weathered spines. You can imagine that their pages are yellowed and dusty, and it’s so tempting to swipe one off the shelf to see, to smell.

The light in here is warm, a stark contrast from the bright white of the art gallery. It’s comforting, and you feel your body immediately relax when you walk through the entrance next to Joel.

The bar at the front is busy (it is Saturday night, after all), so you and Joel stand at the back of the crowd for a few moments, waiting for the people in front of you to get their drinks. When a group of men start forcing their way through right next to you, Joel immediately puts a large hand on your shoulder, turning your body towards his. He’s just being chivalrous, making sure you don’t get shoved, but it still sends a shockwave up your spine.

When a spot clears in front of the bar, Joel steps forward, bringing you with him. He orders a whiskey neat, then turns to you, asking what you want.

It’s difficult to think with his hand still on you, so you go with the first words that come to mind.

“Same as you.”

He stares at you for a moment, amused, like he can see right through you and the fact that you’ve never had whiskey in your life. But you hold his gaze, challenging him with your eyes, and he drops it. “Make that two,” he tells the bartender.

Once you have your drinks, Joel slaps a few bills down on the bar. You can tell he won’t let you do so much as offer to pay him back, so you don’t. You lead him through the lounge to a couple of chairs tucked away in the back corner, partially hidden behind an antique wooden partition – far enough from the main seating area, but still close enough to the fireplace that you can feel its warmth.

This is where you always sit when you come, usually with coworkers, once or twice with him. Quentin had been pretty critical of this place, like he is with everything. He’d complained that the wine selection could be larger – that they could have more French options. When you’d explained that most of their wines come from local vineyards, he’d just rolled his eyes.

You’re still reeling a bit from your interaction with him at the gallery, even as you settle into soft leather and feel a burst of warmth against your cheek. He was such an asshole, you think, taking a cautious sip of whiskey. You’re immediately repulsed by the taste of it, and you do a poor job of hiding the grimace that automatically spreads across your face in the crook of your arm.

Joe laughs across from you. “Not your thing? I can go grab ya somethin’ else,” he offers.

“No,” you insist, “this is fine. Just need to get used to it.” It’s a lie – you both know it – but he doesn’t push it.

Instead he leans back, swirls his own glass – which looks comically tiny in his grip – and lets out an exaggerated sigh.

“So, your ex is a real dick, huh?”

“You can say that again,” you mumble.

He quirks a brow at you. “Why’d you even date him?”

It’s a fair question. Why had you dated him? Loneliness, maybe? You’d like to blame it on that, but it’s not the truth – not entirely. Quentin had been kind, at first. He had seemed so interested in you and where you came from and what you were passionate about. He was a relatively good boyfriend, all things considered – until he’d grown tired of hiding who he really was.

You’d gotten a substantial pay raise at the end of your second year at the university. When you’d told Quentin, he’d gone quiet – practically gave you the silent treatment for days on end. When you’d finally worn him down, gotten him to talk, the most he could utter was that he was happy for you; he just wasn’t sure why he hadn’t gotten a raise like that yet.

It’s not like you were in competition – you worked for two entirely different departments, in different colleges. But it had been a constant losing battle nevertheless, to get him to stop comparing your successes. And when he’d found out you actually made more money than him – that had pretty much been the nail in the coffin.

You tell Joel all of this. You’re not sure why you do – it’s not like you can blame the alcohol after one half-sip of whiskey. You feel comfortable with him though, here, like this. He’s a good listener, too, attentively nodding every so often as you ramble.

When you’re done, he’s quiet. He stares at his drink, pursing his lips.

After a beat, he looks up at you.

“You deserve better than that, darlin’.”

You almost crumble under his gaze. His eyes are at least two shades darker than they had been a moment ago – and there’s something lingering behind them that you can’t quite place. Whatever it is has you feeling weak.

“You barely know me,” you joke.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I know enough, though. Could do much better than him, I reckon.”

You want to ask him if he has anyone in mind, if he would be better for you, but you can’t – not yet – not this sober. You take another sip of your drink, breathing through your nose as it burns its way down your throat.

You talk for hours. He asks about your family; you tell him how you moved out here two years ago on your own after you finished your doctorate program. He’s impressed by that, says you’re brave. You tell him you’ve never felt very brave.

It’s all so easy, talking to Joel in the dimly-lit bar you’ve been to so many times before. Sipping on whiskey as if you actually enjoy it. It’s never felt so much like home — not the bar, not this town. The thought is dizzying.

He asks about Sarah, too, how she’s doing in school. He insists that she doesn’t tell him much, and if she does, it’s about you and how great your classes are.

“I had never even heard of anthropology before she decided to study it,” he admits. “But I’m glad she did. It’s her thing, f’sure.”

You smile, knowingly. “Yeah, it is. She’s a great kid, Joel. You raised her well.”

He shakes his head humbly, but you don’t relent. You want him to hear this, really hear this. Because you get the feeling he hasn’t been told enough.

“She’s not just smart, Joel. She’s good. She’s a good person. That’s kind of rare nowadays — especially among her generation.”

Joel chuckles, his head hanging between his shoulders.

“I mean, shit,” you continue, “she brings me pancakes from the diner just off campus whenever she knows I’m stuck in my office working late. My other students barely even ask how I’m doing most days.”

Joel hums in amusement. His eyes are locked on a wrinkle in the leather of the arm of his chair.

“Joel,” you say, pointedly. You wait for him to look at you. When he does, his gaze is uncertain. “She’s a good person —“ you repeat — “and that’s because you raised her to be.”

“‘ts just southern hospitality, is all,” he mumbles.

“No Joel – it’s you.”

He stares for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing. His jaw twitches. And then he breaks, finally, a smile pulling at his lips.

“Thank you.”

His voice is so soft suddenly. It throws you off. It also turns you on – like, a lot, the gravellyness of it scratching your brain and your loins. You dig your nails into leather in an attempt to steady your quickening heart rate.

“No problem,” you mutter sheepishly.

Suddenly, there’s a buzz on the table – Joel’s phone. He picks it up, squinting at the bright screen.

“Sarah?,” you ask.

“Nah, ‘ts just my brother, Tommy.”

He types out a quick response and re-locks the phone, placing it back down on the table.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, jus’ asking if I think hookin’ up with a client is a bad idea,” he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.

You don’t know Tommy, but you like him already – seems like a fun guy. And clearly values his brother’s opinions. It’s telling, you think.

“That’s right – you’re a contractor. You and your brother work together?”

“Yeah, we got our own business back home.”

“And you like it?,” you ask.

“Used to,” he laughs, “when I was more limber.”

You laugh too. You can feel the heat of slight intoxication, and something else, in your chest, your inhibitions dissolving in your bloodstream. And suddenly that horrible idea you’d had earlier to flirt with Joel doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

“Still look plenty limber to me, Mr. Miller.” The words leave you before you have the chance to stop them.

Joel’s hands tense on either arm of his chair. Despite your buzz, you still have half a mind to worry that you’ve fucked up, that there’s a chance you’ve misread this whole thing.

But then he sinks back in the chair, the leather groaning under him. He rakes his dark eyes over you. And the way he’s looking at you is unmistakable. He looks hungry. You feel like your entire body has been set ablaze.

Without thinking, you stand up, take a couple of steps toward him. Scan the lounge. Most of the remaining patrons are huddled by the bar, talking boisterously among themselves. Tucked in your little corner, the two of you might as well be in a different zip code.

“Whatcha doin’, darlin’?” Joel smirks up at you as you stand unmoving in front of him. He takes one of your hands in his and traces gentle, reassuring shapes along the back of it with his index finger.

Without a word, you hike your dress up to your thighs and straddle him, knees digging into the leather on either side of his legs. He hums approvingly as you sink onto his lap and cup his face in your hands. He places his own on your lower back, just above your ass. “This okay?,” you ask. It comes out breathy and wrecked.

“C’mere,” he says in that syrupy drawl, and then one of his hands is on the back of your head, pushing you gently against him, your lips slotting to his.

It’s messy and all-encompassing. He kisses you with a fervency that confirms this hasn’t all been in your head –that he’s been wanting this too.

The voices of bar-goers and the clinking of glassware are suddenly muted. All you can focus on is Joel — the way he tastes like whiskey and cinnamon gum, the way one of his large hands comes to rest at the nape of your neck, fingers tangled in the hair there while the other remains on your back, steadying you. The way he licks into your mouth after a few seconds with a groan, causing you to reflexively bare down on his lap.

You feel his cock swell underneath you and you grind against it, laughing low and quiet against his lips when his entire body tenses. He pulls back, blinking up at you with glazed-over eyes. Joel, all six feet of him, looks wrecked.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he pants. He looks down at where you’re hovering over his now fully-hard cock. “Gotta stop. Otherwise you’re gonna make me cum in my pants like a damn teenager.”

You pout at him, lifting your lower half off of his. You don’t stand up, though – not immediately, anyway. Instead, you take his head back in both of your hands. He lets you, blinking up at you wordlessly.

You’d known when you’d first seen him earlier today that he was handsome, but right now, his face so close to yours – you’re seeing all of the little details – the scar indented in his forehead, just above his right eyebrow; the flush that stains his cheeks, which you can guess is partly from the alcohol, but maybe also from you. He’s biblically gorgeous, which makes it difficult to pry yourself off of him.

You do though, after a minute, smoothing down your dress once you’re back on two feet. You feel a bit breathless, suddenly. And exhausted.

What time is it?

You retrieve your phone from where it’s been lodged in the cushion of your chair.

You tap on the screen, waking it up.

12:47?! When had it gotten so late?

Joel stands, adjusting himself in his pants. You can’t help but giggle at him — big, tough man looking positively ruined after just a few minutes of being under you. You feel pretty accomplished. He rolls his eyes at you.

“Shut up — just get us an Uber.” You don’t miss the smile that sprouts between his cheeks when he thinks you aren’t looking.

You wait outside for your driver — John M.

The cold Vermont air is sobering. You feel almost normal by the time the car pulls up, save for the dull, throbbing ache between your legs. You will it away as you crouch into the back of the silver Nissan behind Joel. The sound of the radio playing soft rock hits is a poor distraction on the drive home.

“Wanna come in?,” you ask Joel when the car comes to a halt in front of your building. You watch him ponder it, eyes glued to the roof of the sedan. But ultimately, he shakes his head. “Can’t,” he says. “Gotta check on Sarah.”

You nod, try to hide your disappointment. “Right.”

You open the door. Just as you’re about to get out, Joel stops you.

“Wait,” he says. “Can I see your phone?” You’re confused, but you hand it over. You watch as he pulls up your contacts and clicks the ‘plus’ button in the corner, an understanding smile pulling at your lips.

When he hands the phone back, his contact now in it, you grab his from off the seat next to him and do the same.

“I’ll text you,” he promises as you step out.

You turn back to him. “You better.”

He’s smiling when you shut the door.

You’re smiling when the car pulls away.

It’s only when you’re tucked into bed, phone charging securely on the nightstand that the thought crosses your mind: you’re catching feelings for someone again.

And then you feel sick.

Joel wakes up the next morning feeling giddy. It’s like he’s a teenager all over again – waiting by the phone for a pretty girl to call him back. Only this time, he’s waiting for a text.

He had messaged you almost as soon as he’d gotten back to Sarah’s apartment last night, asking if he could see you again before he goes back to Texas. He has no shame about it, he can’t – not when his entire mind and body are consumed by his overwhelming attraction to you.

He’d found it difficult to sleep last night, and not because the springs in Sarah’s cheap couch were digging into his already-damaged back. It was thoughts of you, and the borderline-painful erection they caused, that had kept him up.

Now, with the sun seeping through the living room windows directly into his eyes, he doesn’t have much of a choice but to be awake. He checks his phone immediately, and tries to ignore the way his heart sinks when he sees you haven’t responded yet. You’re probably still asleep, he tells himself.

He tosses his phone aimlessly back onto the couch and stands with a groan. His legs feel worse than his back, if that’s even possible.

Sarah still isn’t awake, so Joel meanders into her kitchen, in search of something to eat for breakfast. It’s pretty much what you would expect from a college student’s kitchen – bare bones. There are a few suspicious containers of leftovers in the fridge along with a Brita water pitcher and a package of cookie dough. In the freezer, several cartons of ice cream (all chocolate) and half a loaf of bread. And finally, in the cabinets, a few boxes of mac & cheese and an unopened jar of peanut butter.

Toast it is, then.

Sarah appears just as he’s raiding her drawers for a butter knife. “Morning,” she announces sleepily behind him.

“Hey, Kiddo,” he says, turning to face her. “Hungry?”

“Yeah. There’s a diner down the street. Thought we could get pancakes.” She yawns.

Joel grins. That must be the place you’d told him about – the one Sarah brings you leftovers from when you’re working late.

“You buyin’?,” he jokes.

“Only in exchange for the juicy deets from last night.” She pauses. “Okay, maybe not all the deets. There’s some things I don’t need to know – like why you got home so late.”

“Sarah,” Joel warns, but she’s undeterred, smiling like a Cheshire Cat with every one of her unbrushed teeth on display.

“Just get changed,” she says, and skips out of the room.

You’ve been staring at the text for twenty minutes now.

Had a lot of fun tonight. Can I see you again before I leave? Let me know if you’re free tomorrow (today I guess). - Joel

You should say yes – you want to say yes – so why can’t you get your fingers to move?

It’s a stupid question. You know why – it’s Quentin and your inability to shake the fear that someone else will hurt you like he did. If you keep Joel at arm’s length – continue to ignore his message – he can’t do that. You can just take last night for what it was – a fun time, a hookup – and stop this before it goes too far, before feelings get involved.

Because it never ends well, once they do.

You get out of bed without responding, but you leave the text open on your phone. You attempt to busy yourself with housework and grading. Again and again though, you find your fingers hovering over the screen, your mind wandering to the way Joel’s lips had felt on yours, the way the bulge in his jeans had felt against your clothed heat, the sound of his southern drawl when he’d called you darlin’.

Then you snap yourself out of it and place the phone face-down on the table.

This goes on for hours, a vicious cycle. You feel your resolve slipping more and more each time you pick the phone up.

The sun is high in the sky by the time you break, light bathing your kitchen and revealing all of the spots you’d missed when you’d dusted earlier. Your phone is heavy in the palm of your hand like a bomb – like if you don’t hit send right now, you’ll lose the motivation and it’ll detonate, taking any chance of you seeing Joel tonight and not self-sabotaging with it.

You close your eyes when you press the button and toss your phone somewhere across the room.

Well – you think – no going back now.

Joel is sitting on cold, hard bleachers at the Homecoming football game when he sees you’ve responded, the shouts of people in the stands around him not enough to avert his attention.

Hey, yeah, that would be great! Do you want to come to my apartment later? I have a bottle of wine we can crack into if you’d like. And I can order pizza.

The announcer is saying something about player #72 over the loudspeaker. He doesn’t tune in.

Joel types his reply and sends it:

Sounds perfect. I’ll come over around 7?

Sarah groans next to him. “You wanted to come to this game, dad. If you’re bored already, can we leave?”

His eyes shoot up. “No, uh – sorry. Just had to answer one text.”

Sarah narrows her eyes at him. They dart to the phone just as another message rolls in, your name flashing across the screen before Joel can hide it.

“Is that my professor?”

Joel doesn’t answer. His silence confirms enough.

“I knew you guys hit it off last night! See, dad, even though you didn’t wanna tell me at breakfast, I still found out. I always find out. Because Sarah knows all.” She attempts a maniacal, Disney villain-esque laugh.

Joel raises an eyebrow at her.

“You done?”

“So you going out again later? Do I need to make your bed on the couch, or should I just not bother?”

He ignores her. Someone gets a touchdown and half the crowd goes wild. He doesn’t bother to check what team scored.

He opens your latest message, instead.

Perfect. See you then, Cowboy ;)

His breath hitches at the nickname, at the thought of you calling him that again in person. The thought of kissing you again, if you’ll let him.

He doesn’t catch who wins the game.

Joel arrives at your apartment at seven o’clock on the dot.

Punctual, you note.

He’s holding a bottle of wine, gripping the neck with long, calloused fingers.

“Know you said you had some already,” he says as he steps over the threshold. “Just didn’t wanna come empty handed.”

The sentiment takes you aback. You’re not exactly used to dates bringing you gifts, especially ones this expensive, if the minimalist yet fancy label is any indicator.

“Thanks,” you say awkwardly, taking the bottle from him. You can’t quite make out the name – something foreign, etched in cursive.

“‘ts Italian, I think,” he mumbles, as if he can read your mind.

Your eyes shift from the bottle to Joel, standing in front of you in his Carhartt jacket, brows furrowed, gaze trained on the floor at his feet.

“Thank you,” you say more genuinely this time.

Joel smiles appreciatively. You motion to the space behind you.

“Come in.”

You lead Joel to the kitchen, just off the entranceway, and place the bottle down on the counter, gently. You tuck yourself in the corner, leaning back to rest your arms on cool granite. Joel mirrors you against the adjacent island.

“How’s Sarah?” you ask. “Feeling any better?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing at his scruff. “She was askin’ about you. Saw me textin’ you.”

“Yeah – guess you couldn’t exactly hide this from her, staying at her apartment and all.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Guess not.”

You pop open the bottle of wine. Pour glasses for both of you. Then you order pizza: one cheese, one sausage and pepper. The person on the other end of the line tells you it’ll be thirty to forty minutes.

“Gonna be a bit of a wait,” you tell Joel when you hang up. “Busy night, I guess.”

He nods, takes a sip of wine, and then places the glass down, his eyes unmoving from yours.

You realize then that he’d been staring at you the entire time you were on the phone. The way he’s looking at you – gaze the same as the one from the bar last night when you’d straddled him – has you feeling suddenly nervous.

“What?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks.

Oh.

You breathe out a laugh. It’s not funny – really, the opposite – but you hadn’t been expecting him to ask that. “Joel-” you’re going to say yes – fuck yes – but he interrupts you.

“Been dyin’ to since last night.” He’s so open, so earnest. It’s fucking hot.

“Joel,” you say again, louder this time. He freezes. His eyes widen, like he’s anticipating your answer.

“Please.”

It’s all he needs to hear. In an instant, he crosses the distance between you. He places his hands on the counter behind you, framing your body with his. You peer up at him and, fuck – he looks ravenous.

He kisses you – hard. His teeth crash against yours. It’s messy and hurried, but you don’t care – you want him closer, need him closer.

Your head swims with memories of the feeling of his bulge against your clothed core. The need to feel it again is all-consuming. You’re greedy for it. And with the time constraint, you don’t want to wait another second.

You pull back abruptly. Joel furrows his eyebrows where he looms over you, concerned.

“Joel,” you pant, “I need you.”

It takes him a second to compute what you’re asking. And then he’s nodding furiously.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Okay, darlin’.”

You pull him back in with a hand at the back of his neck, digging your nails into the skin there. His tongue slips into your mouth with a groan. You’re minutely aware of him shrugging his jacket off, hearing the light thump it makes when it hits the linoleum. And then his hands are on you, wandering up and down your body like he needs to feel every inch of you. He tugs at the base of your t-shirt impatiently.

“Off,” he mumbles against your lips. You pull back only to do as he’s asked, and then you’re right back on him, sucking a bruise into the skin below his ear, your body claiming him subconsciously. His head falls back momentarily, revealing his bobbing throat. You scrape your teeth lightly along the skin there, eliciting a groan from Joel.

Your mouth continues exploring his neck as his fingers find the clasps of your bra, unhooking them quickly and tossing it aside. You don’t see where. You don’t really care – you’ll find it later.

He grabs your now-naked sides and steps back, pulling you with him. Then he turns you and pushes you back against the island.

He slaps the countertop behind you. “Up,” he breathes against your neck. You don’t argue. You don’t want to argue. You’re so used to being the one in charge, the one in control — right now you’re happy to bend to Joel’s will.

You grip the edge of the island with both hands and hoist yourself up so that you’re perched there, legs dangling.

Joel’s fingers immediately go to the button of your jeans, popping it open before moving to tug the zipper down. And then he’s helping you lift your hips so that he can pull them down and off. He adds them to the pile at his feet.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear splayed out on your kitchen counter in front of him. You feel like you should be self conscious, maybe even embarrassed by your depravity. But you can’t find it in you to be either, not when Joel is slotted between your legs, his dark eyes scanning over you hungrily. Showing you he needs you just as bad as you need him.

He rubs his hands over your thighs and up the sides of your body, mapping your curves with great concentration. “God damn,” he whispers, what seems to be, mostly to himself. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

You whine pathetically. Your patience is growing thin.

He smirks up at you, likely seeing in your face how desperate you are for him right now.

“‘ts okay baby, I got you,” he coos, suddenly sinking to his knees in front of you. His hands move closer to your clothed pussy, but not quite there, tracing light circles along your inner thighs. Then he replaces his fingers with his mouth, sending your hips bucking off the counter, chasing him.

The coarse hair of his mustache scratches the skin surrounding where he sucks and bites. You don’t care. You just want to feel it lower, against your dripping folds.

“Please,” you breathe, shakily. Through hooded eyes, you catch Joel’s satisfied grin. You realize then that he loves this — making you beg for it, for him. It’s a dizzying contradiction to the way he was practically begging to kiss you just moments ago.

He presses a chaste kiss against your skin, his lips infuriatingly close to where you need them most.

“Whatcha need, darlin’?” he purrs. The vibration of his voice just next to your core has you spiraling.

“Need your mouth,” you cry. “Please.”

“Where?” He nips at you, half an inch closer to your swollen clit. You can feel his breath. Your cunt reactively clenches around nothing.

“On my pussy, Joel” you plead.

He pulls away from you completely, looks up at you with devilish eyes.

“Good girl.”

He dips one finger into the side of your underwear, pulling them aside to reveal your glistening core. “Damn baby, you’re soaked,” he drawls. You catch the hint of pride that tinges his voice.

“Please,” you beg again, your voice wanton and broken.

Joel gently pets your throbbing clit with the pad of his thumb. The pressure he applies is feather-light, barely there. But still, after all the teasing, you can’t help the embarrassingly loud moan that escapes you.

He chuckles darkly. “Alright sweetheart, I know – enough teasin’.”

He hooks both index fingers in the top of your panties, pulling them down and off in one swift movement. And then his tongue is on you, exactly where you need it.

He holds you open with fingers digging deliciously into the meat of your thighs as he licks long, languid stripes from your leaking cunt up to your clit, over and over again until you’re a whimpering mess underneath him. You struggle to hold your weight up on your elbows, watching him as he works you with his mouth.

He’s so good at this – too good at this. You tell him as much, between broken moans.

“Sofuckinggood Joel – holy shit.”

You swear you can feel him smirk against your heat.

He buries his face into your cunt then, nose pressed against your clit, and swivels his head back and forth, coating his mustache and beard in your arousal. He groans against you, like this is getting him off just as much as you. It’s all so obscene, so filthy.

You’ve never had a man go down on you like this – like they actually enjoy it. But then again, it doesn’t come as much of a surprise, not when it’s Joel. You’ve quickly come to learn that he’s attentive in every sense of the word. Knows just what you want, what you need – evident by the way his lips latch back onto your clit when you keen for him.

He keeps his attention there, switching between suckling on it – which is enough to make you see stars on its own – and lapping at it with short, shallow flicks of his tongue. He experiments with different angles, licking at different spots on the bundle of nerves until he finds the one that makes you cry out, your babbles of there Joel, yes, right fucking there, don’t stop, letting him know exactly where to focus.

You feel yourself quickly hurtling toward the edge. You just need a little bit more to get you there.

“Fingers,” you pant. “Need your fingers in me.”

Two of his fingers are at your entrance before you can even blink. You’re so wet that he slides them in easily, curling them against your walls. He expertly finds your G-spot, massaging it as his tongue continues to lap at your clit.

You gasp at the combination. It’s so good – so much. “Oh my god Joel, I’m so close,” you cry.

He doesn’t let up, doesn’t even look at you. His eyes are closed in concentration, fingers and tongue unrelenting. He’s lost in your pussy. You can tell he’s not going to come up for air until he’s given you an orgasm.

And it doesn’t take much longer – one, two, three more strokes of his fingers and you’re cumming hard.

Your vision blurs and your ears ring in your head. You’re vaguely aware that Joel is pinning one of your thighs down with his free hand to hold you in place as you thrash against the countertop.

He fucks you through it, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he continues to curl them against that spot, your clit throbbing against his tongue.

It is – without a doubt – the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had.

He doesn’t stop when you’ve come down, eager to milk every last drop from your weeping cunt. The overstimulation is too much. Your grip tightens in his hair, weakly attempting to pull him off of you as you whimper nonsense above him. You manage to exhale his name, or something close to it, and he finally lifts his face.

His eyes meet yours, dark and hooded. He looks absolutely pussydrunk.

The entire lower half of his face is soaked with your slick. His shiny, pink lips pepper kisses along your inner thighs, smoothing over the spots he’d marked with his teeth just minutes ago. You feel so sensitive – you shiver under his touch.

His smile curves into your skin. He leaves one last light peck and stands up, grunting at the ache in his knees. You laugh, but you can tell by the darkness still looming in his gaze that he’s not done with you yet.

He helps you off the counter, steadying you with hands gripping your sides as you find your footing. Your legs feel like Jell-O, a welcomed side-effect of the earth-shattering orgasm you’ve just had. You lead Joel to your bedroom, leaving your clothes scattered across the kitchen floor.

He backs you toward the bed as soon as you’re in your room, lips latched to the side of your neck. The backs of your legs hit the mattress, and then he’s lowering both of your bodies onto it, cradling your head in his hand as you settle underneath him.

He sits back on his knees, pulling his t-shirt over his head to reveal his broad, tan torso. You’re pretty sure you’re salivating, lost in the slope of his shoulders and the wide expanse of his chest. Your eyes trail lower as he undoes his belt, followed by the button of his jeans. He shimmies them off along with his boxers, his large cock springing free, tip shiny with pre-cum, and hovers back over your eager body.

He dips down and presses his lips to yours, prying your mouth open with his tongue. He’s remarkably patient for how hard he is, his erection pressing into your thigh as he kisses you, slow and wet.

One of his hands grips your jaw, the other pressed firmly against the mattress next to you. Minutes pass like that, you and Joel losing yourselves in each other. Then you remember that you don’t have all the time in the world – that your delivery driver could get here any minute. In truth, you’re not even fucking hungry anymore – not for pizza, anyway.

You snake your hand up to the back of Joel’s head, pulling at his roots lightly. “Joel,” you breathe when he lifts off of you, “please fuck me.”

He doesn’t have to be asked twice.

“How do you want it, baby?” he purrs in your ear, his warm breath skating over your skin. “How do you like it?”

You breathe out a moan. No man has ever asked you how you like it. They usually just give you a few sloppy, ill-timed thrusts, whatever they can muster before cumming and leaving you unsatisfied.

But Joel isn’t just any man.

“Hard,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me hard.”

He growls, low and dark. “‘ts right, sweetheart.”

He lines himself up with your entrance, rutting against your folds a few times to gather some of your wetness with the tip of his cock.

Then he sinks into you, slowly, stretching your walls as he notches further and further in. There’s a sweet, stinging pain, one you hope, fleetingly, that you’ll be able to feel tomorrow – like a keepsake from him.

You sigh when he reaches the hilt, his tip nudging your cervix. He stills, letting you get used to his girth and you have to dig your nails into his back to keep from writhing under him. You don’t mind if it hurts – you just need him to move.

“Please,” you whine, unable to stop your hips from bucking any longer. “I can take it, Joel.”

“Know you can, baby,” he coos, beginning to rock slowly inside of you. The pleasure is immediate, washing over your body like a warm wave.

He picks up the pace when he’s sure it feels good for you, dragging his cock halfway out of you and thrusting back in, over and over again.

He grabs both of your legs, bending them so that you’re spread wide open for him, and grips the backs of your knees tightly as he slams into you. He can get so much deeper like this, his cock hitting a spot you didn’t even know you had. You let out a labored moan, fingers anchored into his delts.

“Talk to me darlin — tell me how it feels,” he pants.

“So – fuck, Joel – so fucking good.”

Joel drops his mouth to your shoulder, nips at the skin there.

His voice is in your ear, a low snarl.

“‘Better than that fuckin ex, I bet.”

You’d be annoyed by his cockiness – if he wasn’t so right.

But he is, and so you parrot, “So much better.” And then, because it’s the truth, you add, “the best.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hips stuttering at your words. “Can’t say that angel, you’ll make me cum.”

He pulls out and slams back into you again, setting a new, devastating pace. He fills you up just to leave you empty, over and over again. You’re a babbling mess underneath him, couldn’t string two more words together if you tried. Luckily, Joel is happy to take over and do the talking.

“So fuckin’ pretty, babygirl. Make the most gorgeous noises, too.”

You’re so fucking close, you can only whimper in response. You feel your walls tighten around him.

He presses your foreheads together, his sweaty curls sticking to your skin. His eyes bore into yours.

“C’mon baby, show me – show me how pretty ya are when ya cum on this cock.”

He brings one hand down to your clit, rubbing sloppy circles over it as he continues spearing into you. You hike your newly-freed leg up over his lower back. A white heat licks at your spine. You barely have time to tell Joel you’re about to cum, your warning coming out a single cry of his name. He gets it, though, bringing you over the edge with his words.

“I got you, baby, I got you; you can let go.”

Your orgasm barrels through you, from the tips of your toes all the way up to your ears. Joel doesn’t let up his ministrations, talking you through it as you writhe under him.

“Thaaaats it. Good – ahh – good fuckin’ girl.”

The only word you can think of in your state of euphoria is his name, chants of Joel, Joel, Joel spilling from the back of your throat as you cum.

You’re squeezing his cock through your aftershocks, and you can tell he’s close by the way his thrusts become more and more uneven.

“Fuck – where do you want it?” he braces both palms against the mattress on either side of you.

“Inside – please, Joel,” you beg. “I’m on the pill.”

He curses in ecstasy, cumming seconds later with a series of low grunts. His hips stall as he spills inside of you. There’s so much of it – he’s nearly drowning your cervix, coating your walls with rope after rope of his spend.

He softens inside you, staying there for a long moment as you both come down from your highs. You’re sweaty, panting messes, and you can’t help but giggle at how spent you both sound.

“Good?” he asks, nosing at the space just below your jaw. It’s so soft, so gentle. Your stomach does a backflip.

“Yeah,” you say. “Really fucking good.”

He pulls out of you with a low, guttural noise. You sigh at the loss of him, your hand coming down reflexively to feel where he’s leaking out of you. His fingers graze yours, and he bumps them aside to scoop up some of your combined fluids.

He brings his wet, sticky fingers to your lips, humming when you immediately take them into your mouth and suck them clean, eyes unmoving from his the entire time. You bat your eyelashes at him, innocently as he pulls them out with a wet pop.

“Fuck,” he curses, “gonna get me hard again, angel.”

He lays down next to you, letting his head thump against the pillow, and flexes his biceps behind his head. You kind of hope he does get hard again, despite the fact that your whole body feels like liquid. Like if you were to try and stand, your legs would most definitely give out on you. They’re trembling right now, where you have them half-bent, heels dug into the mattress.

Your phone rings, then, snapping you out of your post-coital bliss. Fuck – the pizza.

You answer, trying your best to hide the undeniably fucked-out lilt of your voice as you tell the delivery person that someone will be right down.

Joel laughs next to you when you hang up. “I’ll get it – hold on.”

He jumps out of bed and dresses quickly. You’re gawking at him as he does. You can’t help it. This man – probably the hottest man you’ve ever seen – was just inside of you. You want to pat yourself on the back. He notices you staring as he’s zipping up his jeans and shoots you a wink.

Joel deadbolts your front door and disappears into the hallway. He returns moments later, shutting and re-locking the door, and strides back into your bedroom with both boxes. You can see the steam coming off of them through the cardboard.

He sets them down by your feet.

“In bed?” you ask, sitting up against the headboard.

“Well I’m not sure you can walk to the kitchen, darlin’.”

Your face heats. He has a point. But he doesn’t have to be so smug about it. You roll your eyes at him and mumble something nonsensical under your breath as you tuck yourself in under your duvet.

“What was that?” He quirks an eyebrow.

Long gone is the shy Joel from earlier this evening. He knows your body now, knows how hard he makes you cum. He’s a whole different man post-coitus – bolder. It makes you damn near melt.

And maybe you’re different now too. Because you’re pretty sure you’d give up your vow of solitude for him, if he asked.

It’s crazy, probably. You’ve only known Joel for two days, after all. But you can’t help the way that he ( and his dick) makes you feel. Like maybe there’s a promise of something down the line, however serious that something may be. You just know you want to give yourself the opportunity to experience it, no matter how it ends.

“Nothing.” You break, grin pulling tight at the corners of your mouth. “Just get me a slice of cheese.”

He lets his gaze linger for a second longer, the faux-threat of it heating you from the inside out. And then he’s vanishing into the kitchen, returning with two plates and a stack of paper towels.

He dishes up slices for the both of you, climbing into bed next to you and handing over yours.

He settles in with a content sigh.

You both eat in happy silence for a few minutes, Joel giving you a satisfied nod when he finishes up his first slice. “‘ts good,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Right?” you retort. “It’s my favorite pizza around here.”

He hums in agreement. Pulls the box of sausage and pepper onto his lap to grab another slice.

“So,” you start, “you’re heading home tomorrow?” It’s more of a statement than a question. You know he is. But still, part of you wants Joel to say no, tell you that he’s canceled his flight, that he’s decided to stick around for a bit longer.

“Yeah,” he says. You feel your heart sink. You silently curse yourself for being delusional.

“Are you excited?” you try. “To be home?”

He doesn’t respond right away – his forehead wrinkling and his lips falling into a small frown. You watch as he thinks on it.

“Not really,” he admits after a few seconds.

“I know you’ll miss Sarah,” you say, letting your head fall onto his shoulder.

He peers down at you with a heavy sigh. “So much…” His voice trails off, like there’s something else he wants to add, but can’t.

The air feels thick, suddenly – heavy. You try your best to lighten it.

“Can’t stay a bit longer? Let Tommy run things for a while?”

“No,” he laughs. “Pretty sure he’ll just end up screwin’ every client we got.”

“And you’d end up screwing every one of Sarah’s professors,” you tease.

His mouth falls open in mock-offense. He grabs at both your sides, suddenly, letting the open box of pizza slide off of his lap and onto the bed. He tickles relentlessly just under your ribs, causing you to squeal and squirm under his grip.

“Joel,” you cry in between fits of laughter. “Stop!”

“I don’t think so, darlin’,” he tuts. He removes one of hands momentarily, to toss your plate aside, and then he’s hooking one of his legs over your body, straddling you. He looks so big like this, his body hanging over yours. You feel content – safe. His hands release you, finally, coming to settle on either side of your head on your pillow. You blink up at him. He’s staring down at you with narrowed eyes.

“What?”

“Nothin,” he mumbles. “‘ts just, I wouldn’t, ya know. Sleep with anyone else, I mean. If you didn’t want me to.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You know that if you respond, it’ll come out way too eager. So you just blink at him again.

“Would you want to keep talkin’ after I get home?”

Yes, you want to say. Please. I don’t think I could go on without knowing if I’ll get to see you again – fuck you again.

You swallow. Collect yourself.

“Yeah. I would.”

You shimmy under Joel so that you can sit up. He straightens out, shifting his weight onto his knees. Takes both of your hands in his and pulls you up.

His eyes are still locked on yours. “I know we just met this weekend,” he says. “But I had a lot’a fun with you. I like you.”

Your cheeks warm. “I like you too, Joel.”

He smiles. “‘m glad.”

“Doesn’t have to be anythin’ serious,” he continues. Lets his fingers trace aimlessly along the inside of your arm. “We can jus’ see where it goes.”

“Yeah,” you nod, your heart squeezing in your chest. “See where it goes. I like that.”

And it’s the truth. You do. In the stillness, your legs tucked under the covers, Joel caressing you, you feel, for the first time in a long time, happy to not be alone. And you know you will be again, very soon, when Joel leaves to go back home. But then again, you won’t – not really. His voice will be there, a phone call away, and his body will be there, in the divot he’s left in your mattress. And you’ll have the promise of taking this slow, seeing where it goes.

You’ve never been so excited for the future.

end notes: tysm for reading! I may turn this into a series if people want more of these two <3 lmk hehe

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel x reader #pedro pascal as joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #fiiyb

2K notes · View notes

naomihatake · 1 year

Text

In search of freedom (Ch. 1)

1. They're bad news

Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2

⠀⠀⠀⠀She's been searching for freedom her entire life and everytime she thought it was laying right in front of her eyes, she was mistaken. She was running around the East Blue, seeking herself and her dreams, meeting people she never forgot. No matter how much she traveled, she could only catch a glimpse of peace before realizing everything would crumble at her feet.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Maybe it was destiny that brought her on that ship with three strangers — foolishly, that's what she tried to believe when the moon shined beautifully and hope settled in her chest, squeezed by the same ribcage where feelings were blooming.

Pairing: female!reader x OPLA Zoro Roronoa. This chapter follows the events of the first episode.

Warnings for this chapter: physical violence (fights), mentions of deaths, fluff, some cursing, mentions of tarot and palm readings

Word count: 3,6k

Theme song: “Loreley” by Blackmore's Night (click on the link)

A/N: This is the first part of a fanfiction I was thinking of since first watching One Piece Live Action. I started the anime too and I'm around episode 64 already. I'm using the OPLA course of action for now and I have no idea for an ending, but enough scenarios to write and share. I don't know how far this will go, but I'll have fun writing it and considering how much I like Zoro (born anime and LA), I'm using both of them as inspiration. Sorry for the lack of interaction between reader and Zoro, but I promise things will change.

The reader will be referred to as "Witch" especially in the next chapter, because I have no intentions of using "Y/N". There will be more information revealed about her past and abilities in the next chapter.

I'm open for comments and opinions <3

"Excuse me," she smiled sweetly while swaying away from someone who was standing right in front of her and a table she had to serve for. "Here," she carefully let the plates down.

She received a large smile coming from the young man with dark curls and a straw hat hanging around his neck. His pink haired companion seemed very shy, barely glancing at her before looking back at his plate, thanking in a small voice.

The tavern buzzed with a peaceful energy in the late hours of morning, the big windows letting the warm rays of sun in, lighting up the place. There were men sitting at a few tables, no sign of any other woman except for her and the very owner of that place, who just finished cooking something — were those cookies? It smelled divine.

Her dress fluttered around her knees as she moved away from their table to take other orders, a strand of her hair falling against her cheek after running around for so long. When she finally stopped in her tracks by the bar, intense eyes searched for anyone else who might've needed something. Lucky for her, she could finally breathe for a few seconds, resting her hips against the bar.

However, her eyes fell on the tall figure who just chugged down his throat a shot of alcohol. His green hair made her frown to herself, looking away before she could get caught ogling some stranger. After a few seconds, she looked at him again, this time at the three swords resting against his hip.

Three swords? What can someone do with three swords?

Everyone probably had the same question whenever they saw him for the first time. However, he felt somehow familiar, as if she's heard of someone like that before. A pirate? No, wait, a pirate hunter? The owner told her of so many things and so many people it was impossible to remember each one of them, but she was pretty sure she mentioned some pirate hunter only a few days ago.

Her thought process was interrupted when a man with blonde hair and suit walked by in front of her. Considering the men dressed in white uniforms who entered with him, they must be marines and he was probably their superior — he was walking like he owned the entire port.

She held back from rolling her eyes in annoyance. Her thoughts ran back to what her friend said about pirates last time, the way they argued back and forth about how pirates aren't good. However, she had her own reasons for claiming that not all pirates were ruthless monsters, without elaborating.

She flinched lightly when she heard the thud of a metal plate falling on the floor, snapping her head towards a little girl who was stuttering apologies to the blonde man. Her eyebrows were pulled together at his angry and loud voice mocking the child who had tears in her eyes, fear seeping through her very bones at the exaggerated reaction.

Apparently, they knocked into each other. Oh, there were two cookies on the floor. One of them got crushed under the man's foot.

She smoothly made her way by the side of the little girl, smiling at her as she crouched down to her level.

"Is everything alright, little one? Did you apologize?" the woman's hand squeezed the girl's shoulder warmly.

Rika's only response was a nod.

"Good job. It's alright, I'll help you clean up. Why don't you bring me a broom, hm?" she coaxed the girl with a gentle voice.

Once the girl walked away, she stood up straight again, arching her eyebrow questionably at the arrogant man by her side.

"Is there anything else I could help you with?"

"What, are you working here? If the answer's positive, then you better teach those stupid kids some manners," he huffed.

"You should teach yourself how to behave," she commented right back, her sharp gaze sizing him up and down.

"Take that back. Next time I won't be so nice," the blonde marine grinned.

Oh, and what an ugly grin it was on that fucker's face.

"You dropped my food," a low voice from behind interrupted.

The young woman turned her head towards the voice, confusion written on her face as she made a few steps back, out of his way. It was the green haired man she noticed earlier, now sitting on one of his knees on the cold floor.

Rika came back with a broom almost twice her size, the object quickly taken from her hold by the woman who smiled at her again. While they exchanged glances, the pirate hunter let himself down on one of his knees, taking some of the crushed cookie into his palm.

A sly smile tugged at the woman's lips. A pirate hunter or not, he had more dignity than a marine even in that kneeling position. She was more satisfied to see the little one smiling.

"Your turn," the green-haired man lowered his voice, a dark glare thrown at the astonished marine.

The pirate hunter raised back up and placed the metal plate on the bat, his intimidating height against the arrogant blonde monkey in front of him telling enough.

"Apologize to the girl," he demanded in a relaxed tone.

"Me? It was her fault for bumping into me. The lady should apologize for disrespecting me."

Apologize, my ass, she thought to herself, one step away from bursting out laughing. What did he take her for?

"Do you want a fight or what?" he drew his sword out, a knowing grin curled on his face. "I don't need three swords to fight."

The woman looked down at the little girl who was still by her side, ruffling her hair.

"Why don't you go to your mother, hm? And stay there until I call you back."

Her stern voice didn't give space for arguing; Rika complied, going to the kitchen.

She heard some muttering and next thing she knew, both of the men in front of her had drawn their swords out. Apparently, the green-haired one decided to advance closer to the marine, in an attempt to keep the fight away from the lady.

Hmph. Swordsmen and their unusual gentlemanly behavior.

Squeezing the broom in between her fingers, she moved away, furrowing her eyebrows in a scowl.

"No fights in here, you jerks!" she scoffed.

Expertly, while the other marines attacked one man — how unethical of them — and swords clashed against each other after sharp whistling noises, the woman swept away the cookies on the floor. She faked doing her own duties, like the good employee that she was, throwing careful glances at the fight happening right next to her. If she wasn't careful enough, she could get sliced in two.

"I advise you to get out of the way," she heard the swordsman's voice growling right after he threw a chair into three men, making them fall to the floor.

"You'll destroy the entire place if I do."

Right after saying those words, without anyone noticing in that damned agitation, with a quick movement of the broom, she made one of the marines trip.

Just like the idiots that they were.

"Oh my god, you should be more careful!" she placed a hand over her lips, fake surprise and fear coloring her features.

Who would believe such an innocent being was capable of such malicious actions?

With a strong creak followed by a thud, one marine was thrown into a table that turned the both of them upside down, groans filled with pain vibrating through the tavern.

She was right about them destroying the place.

However, the commotion didn't cause too much distress to the woman still moving the broom around, acting as if she had business with that newly found weapon. It might not be lethal, but she couldn't be spotted while she was intentionally making the marines' jobs harder. In the month she's been working there, she saw more than just one fight and used everything that she saw fit to stop it — be it a broom or a kitchen knife.

Now that she analyzed the fight better, it seemed like the pirate hunter barely even had to draw his sword out of its scabbard, at some point knocking someone's head into the bar. He used his raw strength and the objects surrounding him, thankfully without destroying any of them. The can he threw into another man's stomach seemed so effortless.

That must've hurt, though.

The blonde marine was quickly pulled by the back of his collar, back colliding with the bar, and an angry swordsman towering over him. She didn't hear anything nor paid attention anymore, eyes focused on the tavern that was ruined only half way through.

She sighed after watching both of the men walking out of there, biting her lower lip to hold back a fit of laughter at the marine who stumbled while being dragged by the bounty hunter.

"Why do men always fight in this tavern?" she talked to herself, raising one of the chairs and putting it back in place. "One day of peace is all I want in this port, only one day, and I can't get even that."

She sighed again, only for that long exhale to get stuck in her throat once her eyes fell on the table that was almost sitting in the opposite way rather than how it should be. Once she approached it, stepping by the marine who was trying to get up.

She would never help someone who had less dignity than a dog following some orders from a brainless monkey. Heck, even those animals were smarter.

Instead, she tried to move the table back in its place. Her fingers were so close to gripping at one side of the table before someone appeared at the opposite side. The young man with a straw hat and a square smile she served only a few minutes ago raised the table by himself, carefully arranging it until he was satisfied with its position.

"Thank you so much for the help," she smiled at him. "Be careful where you step, I think a glass also broke."

There were some shreds on the floor somewhere close to the table the young man sat at earlier.

"Thank you for your concern," he smiled just like the first time.

Gosh, has she ever seen such a beautiful soul? His eyes sparkled and the happiness suited him like it did to a little child who has no clue of the harsh world. However, he didn't seem phased or scared by what happened earlier — his hands weren't shaking at all and there was no fear lingering in his stare.

She turned to take the broom and came closer to his companion, who was sitting under the table. She bent her torso to give him a hand, helping him get back to his feet.

"Careful with the glass, check your hands," she warned again.

"I saw what you did there."

She turned towards the straw hat guy, blinking owlishly at him.

"I don't really get what you mean."

She started sweeping the shred of broken glass, not paying attention to the curious and insistent gaze she was receiving.

"You surely do. I'm Monkey D. Luffy and I'm gonna be King of the Pirates!"

Her eyes widened at the second part of his speech, snapping her head back at him. Without even realizing, her fingers were squeezing the broom quite harshly, fingertips going white.

"That's—" she started in a small voice, blinking like an idiot and staring at him.

She's heard that before. She's heard the same dream before and it brought so much suffering.

"That's dangerous," she finally got the courage to continue, still hesitant.

"You're brave for interfering with their fight."

Luffy looked into her eyes as if he could guess the thoughts running through her head, as if he could read her very soul, drinking in her features and reaction.

"You must've seen wrong," she let out a light chuckle, getting a grip on herself. "I'm just clumsy sometimes."

She was thankful she stopped herself from cussing out the Marines, because in less than a second after she finished her sentence, a few other men dressed in white uniforms appeared to help their comrades back to the base. She casted a skeptical eye at each one of them, like silent warnings.

They were pathetic, some of them still stumbling while trying to get up, their swords thrown around carelessly. After they all disappeared from her sight, her shoulders obviously relaxed again.

"I have to admit I hated each second of staying so much with these idiots around," she huffed quietly. "That spoiled child who takes advantage of his father's status was getting on my nerves."

"That's why you helped that swordsman, right?"

Luffy continued with his supposition, not letting go of what he thought he saw — it was the truth, but it would be dangerous to admit.

"I didn't help anyone, really. That was unintentional."

"Don't press it too much, Luffy," his companion's voice trembled.

"Koby, I know what I saw," Luffy pulled his lips into a straight line.

She resumed what she was doing, sweeping at the pieces of glass, seeing almost each one of them in the light seeping through the window.

"If you want to become King of the Pirates, I suppose you also want to get the One Piece, right?"

She was foolish. She was stupid for asking, for getting herself in such business that somehow always ended with too many deaths, with broken dreams. However, something was nagging in her gut. Deep down, it felt so right to ask.

"Yes! I need the Grand Line map for that and I intend on getting from the Marine Base here."

"You're insane, kid," her shoulders shook with her light laughter.

It was a sour sound.

She stopped, leaning her weight into the broom, looking down at the glass in front of her. She shouldn't help them. She should stay in her place if she wanted those young men to survive. What they were trying to do was basically suicide, they just didn't know. Koby seemed to be more fearful, hesitant and so, so shy. Luffy didn't say "us"; he said "I" — the pink-haired guy was not really part of the plan.

Against better judgment, she raised her head at him, promises sparkling in her eyes just like the shreds of glass.

"You can't just ask for that map and I hope you know that. What you want to get yourself into isn't just dangerous, it's like jumping into a suicide mission," her voice strained, pouring all of her hope in her next words: "However, I can help you get inside. Be careful, you have to make sure no one catches you."

"So I was right about you!" Luffy beamed.

"Right about what?"

"That you're brave."

Her lips opened, but no sound came from between them. It was pointless to deny it when he seemed so stubborn about what he saw and believed.

"I think this is a lot to say about someone who's helping you steal secret maps," the side of her mouth curled upwards.

Koby was left astonished. Stealing from the Marines was suicide.

"Listen here, kid," she lowered her voice, stepping closer to whisper. She set her gaze on Luffy's. "You have to get out of there alive, no matter what. Lie if you have to, but I have a feeling you're very bad at that, so be careful. That isn't a place to fool around in. You could get yourself killed in a blink. The Marines are very sneaky."

"There are good Marines and bad Marines," he shrugged. "Maybe I'll meet someone who's willing to help."

"I like your enthusiasm, but that unit base doesn't fit," she shook her head. "Both Captain Morgan and his son aren't the good kind of people."

She squeezed the broom in between her fingers again, an ugly feeling clawing at her throat. She didn't want a kid to die for following his dreams, but freedom was something she always craved.

"I'll tell you a way to get inside the base from underneath. You have to keep your lips sealed — I don't worry about myself, but about the owner and her daughter. I don't want word spreading around."

"You can count on me!" he placed his hand on his heart, as if he sealed the promise there. "Who are you? I want to know who's helping me."

Damned be his sincerity.

"I'll give you my name after you get out of there alive."

She smiled, eyes sparkling with delicious mischief.

"That is a promise. I'll be around the Marine Base and I'll tell you my name after I see you get out of there alive."

That seemed to stir something in Luffy's soul, inhaling with pride. A man of his word, indeed, just like she thought.

"Deal.

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈

Her name left the lips of a scolding mother, even if it wasn't her mom.

"I saw you." The second time she heard tthat same phrase in one day.

Annie patted the tip of her shoe against the floor repeatedly.

"I was just lucky enough not to get myself in trouble," she shrugged.

However, her eyes fell on the floor, guilty about getting caught like a deer in the light.

"You could've gotten yourself in big trouble!" the owner of the tavern raised her voice.

Rika pouted up at her mother, trying to sweeten her reaction.

"She just wanted to help, just like—"

"Rika," this time, the scolded one firmly spoke her name. "Don't take me as an idol. It's true that something could have happened."

The little girl shouldn't worry about such a bloody world just yet and she wanted to help it for as long as possible. Being stubborn was a death sentence, even if she would always get herself into trouble if it meant to stick to her principles.

She'd rather die on her feet than live on her knees.

"Just because this time everything was fine, it doesn't mean next time will be the same," Annie exhaled loudly, frowning.

"There won't be a next time," the young woman sank her chin in her chest. "I should leave these days. Soon enough, word will spread out about my tarot and palm readings. I don't want to cause you any more trouble."

"You little witch," the usual scolding was replaced with a warm nickname.

She raised her head again, struggling to smile. Leaving after she got attached always hurt.

"That man was Roronoa Zoro, wasn't it?" Annie asked, her body suddenly tensing.

"Most probably," she shrugged. "Three swords, three earrings. He put on quite a show, to be honest," the words were followed by a chuckle.

"I see the way your eyes are sparkling. Don't even think about getting into some conversation with such a troublesome person."

"What could do some adventure to a poor soul like me?" she teased.

"It could bring you six feet under."

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈

"I'm no witch, you idiots!" she struggled against the harsh grip the two men had on her arms.

She hissed when one of them sank his fingertips in her upper arms, glaring at him.

Shithead marines.

She continued writhing and struggling, stomping her feet into the ground in an awful attempt to stop them. She intended on keeping her promise after she helped the straw hat sneak into their base. She waited for as long as it was necessary after she gathered her things in a bag that hung around her shoulders. She was supposed to leave that place after she made sure the kid was alright and alive.

"God dammit!" she shouted. "How many times do I have to explain I'm not doing anything wrong?!"

"You're lying to people and receiving money, filthy witch. You're a thief," one of the men commented as they continued walking her away from the port.

"I didn't steal shit!" she snapped.

"Watch out!" she heard a familiar voice.

Instantly, she bent her torso down. The man on her right was punched in the face with so much force he released her grip on her and stumbled into the marine on her left, both of them now on the ground.

She didn't even get enough time to process what was happening, something curling around her waist carefully, but so fast. A yelp left her lips when she realized she was being lifted off the ground, turning her head towards the source.

It was the straw hat's arm. He ate a devil fruit, didn't he?

He was on a boat that was sailing a few meters away in the sea and she was being pulled towards him. She also recognized the pirate hunter from earlier and a woman with orange hair, both of them far too relaxed for what was happening.

That guy was made of rubber!

She recognized Koby who just got to his feet after she got past him, her feet finally touching something solid again. She blinked confused at the straw hat.

"You can't bring everyone that you like on this ship," the swordsman let out a hopeless sigh.

She busted out laughing like a maniac, the colorful and rich sound filling the air. Her shoulders shook and she had to place her hand over her stomach, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. Obviously, her reaction was met with an especially questionable look coming from the swordsman, who most probably thought he got on a ship with another insane human.

"You're insane, kid," she wiped the tears in her eyes with her fingers, still smiling widely.

She hasn't felt such relief in years.

"I guess I gotta fulfill a promise, right?"

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈

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lordprettyflackotara · 3 months

Text

dollhouse || jeff the killer || bonus part

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+ tw: spanking, jeff has a daddy kink, slapping, jeff’s just a sadistic asshole in this one, blood, brief description of gore

a/n: what’s this?! a double feature in one day?! yeah fuckers yall got the bonus part! i apologize for the delay my mind stayed lagging. i hope you all enjoyed the mini series <3

“This is our last chance. Dont fuck it up!” You hissed.

Jeff rolled his eyes. “Oh yes because taking out the target is sooo hard. I think I may cry,” He barked sarcastically. Slender had given you both one final chance to right your wrongs. Your last mission had ended with one too many news channels showing the camera footage of you and Jeff escaping the hospital. Nothing too identifying could be found of course, detectives puzzled on how Jeff was able to paint the walls and leave no fingerprints behind.

Little did they know the culprit had burned off his fingerprints ages ago. You crossed your arms, frowning. “The motorcycle was the best thing Ben could find on such short notice?” You asked. Jeff shoved his motorcycle helmet on, reving up the engine. “You are always welcome to walk doll,” He snickered. You stomped over to the motorcycle, shoving your own helmet over your head. You mocked him under your breath, throwing your legs over the seat. You couldn’t decide which was worse, dying at the hands of Jeff driving a motorcycle or being tortured to death by Slender.

As the motorcycle roared to life, you began to wonder just how bad Slender torturing you to death would be.

It was no secret you and Jeff were an item. The two of you were the obnoxious married couple of the mansion, terrorizing not only everyone around you but each other. There was a guarantee if you both were in the same room that you’d bicker until you’d go upstairs and fuck the anger out. It made the other residents sick. Sometimes they’d place bets on who would win the fight. Other times they’d high tail out of the room if you both entered. You’d argue with Jeff until your very last breath and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Slenderman was not happy with either of you. His alternative was having you both dress up as scarecrows to defend his garden in a hundred degree heat. You both agreed to this mission without hesitation. It should’ve been simple enough, killing the newspaper chief who insisted on covering the story. As you wrapped your arms around Jeff from behind, you realized you never really knew how easy a mission was going to be with Jeff coming along. To you, Jeff was an anger filled imbecile who thought with his rage and not his mind. And to Jeff, you were a smart mouthed bitch who talked too much. The two of you together versus anyone else was a lethal combo.

It was around two in the morning when you both arrived to the house, parking the motorcycle blocks away as to not draw attention from the loud sounds. You grabbed your knife, following Jeff’s lead as he picked the lock to the back door. It was moments like these, when Jeff had shut the fuck up, that you were attracted to him the most. Once he picked the lock you both crept inside, watching each others backs. It was always unpredictable, home murders. There was always the chance the owner had a dog or some kind of pet to try to protect its person. Then there was always the possibility of an alarm system, an investment the chief of this newspaper company should’ve seriously considered.

You both scanned the kitchen and living room. Due to the time you guessed he was asleep, like most humans were. It was quiet enough to hear a pin drop, the ticking of the old grandfather clock the only audible sound. That was, until you reached the main hallway. Thankfully for you and Jeff the chief lived alone, providing them with zero additional witnesses to send to hell. His soft snores alerted you of where he was located. Jeff slid in first, crouching down to the floor on the left side of the bed. You went to take the right, a loud creaking floorboard alerting the newspaper editor awake. He shot up out of bed, grabbing the baseball bat that was laying by his nightstand.

“I knew you’d come for me! You witch!” He hissed. You were caught off guard, his sudden alertness causing you to take a step back. He jumped off of the bed, attempting to swing his bat at you. You barely managed to dodge the attack, Jeff’s arm wrapping around the editors chest. “Surprise bitch. Bet you thought i’d let you kill my girl huh? Fucking stupid asshole,” Jeff snarled. He brought his knife to the editors neck, slicing his throat open in a quick and fluid motion. The crimson paint sprayed out of him, washing over you like a rainfall. It splattered onto your face and body, the editors body slumping to the floor. You frowned as you looked down at your jacket. “Are you deadass Jeffrey? I just got this!” You barked. Jeff raised his eyebrows.

“Are you kidding me? I just saved your life!” He argued. You glared at the dead editor, a pool of his blood forming at both of your shoes. “Oh great. Now it’s on my new heels too. You’re going to have to replace these!” You spat. Jeff threw his hands in the air dramatically. “Oh cmon it’s just a little bit of blood. You’re telling me you can’t handle blood?” Jeff questioned. You crossed your arms, clenching your jaw. “I can handle blood Jeffrey but my tory burch heels cannot,” You gritted through your teeth. Jeff twirled his knife around in his fingers lazily, clearly unamused. “Maybe get better shoes then. Not my fault you made this mission a fashion show,” He replied dryly. You grabbed him by his hoodie, shoving him back onto the bed.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve, you know that? You’re such a fucking dick! I can’t stand you,” You snarled. You crawled on top of you, straddling him as he relaxed against the mattress. “You look pretty hot covered in blood babe, remind me to soak you in it more often,” Jeff grinned. You rose your hand, delivering a sharp slap to his cheek. Jeff’s cocky expression fell, his gaze hardening. “Oh that’s how you wanna play? Fine,” He huffed. He flipped the two of you over, his fingers wrapping around your throat. His grip restricted your airway, a smile spreading across your lips. “You pain addicted bitch. I’ll show you pain,” Jeff growled. He flipped up your skirt, before throwing you over his knees. He delivered a sharp slap to your ass, a painful whine escaping your lips.

“Fucking count them or i’ll leave you to get off on the dead guys dick,” Jeff spat. He delivered another smack, a shock of pain electrical as it went down your spine. “One,” You let out lowly. He slapped your other cheek as hard as he could. He grinned sadistically as your skin turned a dark red. He wondered if he could get it to bruise. “Two,” You whimpered. Jeff’s hand strayed from the mounds of your ass, exploring your drenched panties. “This wet from me abusing you? You really are a pain slut,” He snickered. He delivered three more spanks, your body shuddering in pain as you counted them all. Tears had welt up in your eyes, your body tense as he yanked your panties down your legs.

“Awe don’t cry doll. I’m no where done with you yet,” He purred. Roughly he shoved two fingers inside of you, keeping you bent over his lap. He refused to curl his fingers, his slender digits just barely brushing against your g spot. “J-Jeff I need more,” You whined. With his spare hand Jeff delivered another smack to your ass, causing your waterline to finally flood with tears. “Well you’re not calling the shots, are you babe? Now shut the fuck up and take what I give you,” He snarled. You were a whimpering mess, the slightest touch of your abused skin making you cringe in pain. But Jeff’s fingers. His long and thick fingers. They filled up your cunt so nicely, so good. “What do we say when I make you feel good?” Jeff asked. Your mouth was running dry, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Thank you,” You mewled. He grabbed a handful of your hair, roughly yanking you towards him. “Call me daddy bitch,” He growled. Your gaze met his dark obsidian eyes, that were determined to see you squirm. “Thank you daddy,” You whined. Jeff released your hair, shoving you back to your original position. You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your body hanging on to every little thrust Jeff made inside of you with his fingers. “S-s-so close,” You stuttered. Jeff delivered more harsh smacks to your ass, sadistically chuckling as you whimpered. “Go on then! Be my little painslut and cum,” He huffed. With one final slap you came around his fingers, humiliated as goosebumps spread across your skin from the cold air.

He flipped you around as he pleased, treating you like you were his fuckable ragdoll. “Go on doll, do that thing I like,” He instructed. You grabbed your ankles, placing both of them almost completely behind your head. As Jeff undid his belt he delivered a sharp slap to your clit, causing you to audibly whine. “You sure are a noisy little bitch, aren’t ya?” He asked tauntingly. He wiped away some of your tears, the splattered blood staining his thumb. Lazily he slapped the head of his cock against your folds, before slamming himself into you. You gasped as he quickly began to snap his lips into yours. “I know you can handle it. Your cunt is begging me for more, so fucking tight,” Jeff grunted. He rutted into you like he was in heat.

He pressed down against your thighs, sinking your body into the mattress. His grip was tight you knew bruises were forming, the unholy noises vibrating off of the victims walls. He pounded into your cunt like he despised you and the ground you walked on. You were so addicting, so mesmerizing. He muttered your name as he slammed into you. You held onto your legs, Jeff’s cock so deep inside of you that you were seeing stars. He delivered a sharp slap to your cheek, before roughly grabbing your face. He forced your lips to pucker out like a fish, an evil grin spread across his lips. “Such a stupid fucking whore,” He panted. You hardly had time to process the pain, his cock abusing your g spot perfectly.

You gripped onto his hoodie, your eyes rolling in the back of your head. “Fucking shit, Jeff!” You moaned. You came undone on his cock, squirting profusely over his bottom half. Jeff groaned your name as he came inside of you, his seed painting your inner walls. You both were panting messes, the sound of car doors shutting catching your attention. “Fucking hell,” Jeff grunted. He slid off of the bed, fixing his pants as he looked outside. “The neighbors called the cops on us. Goddammit. Let’s go,” Jeff growled. You shoved your panties on, the two of you running out of the back door of the house. You ran like your life depended on it, ready to go home.

“What’d they do again?” Ben asked. He munched on some kettle popcorn as he floated beside Slenderman. The two were in his office, watching you and Jeff pretend to be scarecrows to defend his garden. “Besides terrorizing my existence they left semen at the scene of the crime. Both of their identities are going to be traced,” Slenderman sighed. He ignored the irritating sound of Ben munching loudly. The blonde had decided to be in ghost form today, allowing him to float carelessly.

“Gross. Hey boss, is there a particular reason you partnered them together in the first place?” Ben asked. They watched as you and Jeff tried to fight with pitchforks, both of you sweating in the relentless heat. “They’re the only individuals in this mansion that’ll love one another. If not for my pairing Jeff would have gotten his fan girl pregnant by now,” He replied. The supernatural creature straightened his back, pausing for a moment. “If Jeff unfortunately reproduces I cannot handle a carbon copy,” Slenderman elaborated. Ben fell upwards, flying around his head. “Oh I see boss! You played matchmaker. Good for you! I always wondered what you did for fun,” Ben chuckled. If Slenderman had eyebrows, he would’ve raised them.

The two watched you launch yourself at Jeff, both of you dressed in ridiculous farm clothes.

“Hey boss you wanna set me up with somebody next?”

“Watch yourself Ben.”

“Yes sir.”

#creepypasta #creepypasta smut #creepypasta lemon #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x female reader #creepypasta x y/n #creepypasta x you #jeff the killer x y/n #jeff the killer x you #jeff the killer x ticci toby #jeff the killer x reader #jeff the killer x eyeless jack #eyeless jack x jeff the killer #jeff the killer smut #jeffrey woods #jeff the killer #jeff the killer x oc

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sgojoenthusiast · 11 months

Text

ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ KINKTOBER 2023 ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

➸ DAY SEVEN: PSYCHO KILLER.

ﾟ.*･｡ﾟﾟ.*･｡ﾟﾟ.*･｡ﾟﾟ.*･｡ﾟﾟ.*･｡ﾟﾟ.*･｡ﾟﾟ.*･｡ﾟﾟ.*

summary: Inspired by the 'Scream' movies - After recieving a threatening phonecall one night and being attacked by a killer wearing a ghostface mask, you realise he'll stop at nothing to have you - sorry, they.

CW: fem reader, murder and violent descriptions, ghostface! gojo, ghostface! geto, consensual sex, p in v, mentions of bullying, crying, trauma, 'slut', 'sweetheart', 'princess', oral - both m&f recieving, fingering, mouth fucking, threesome, dom! geto, gojo & reader are both switches.

word count: 8.3k

likes, comments and reposts are deeply appreciated! <3 enjoy.

masterlist.

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A few days ago, you were alone in what used to be the comfort of your own home, but what was now a building you couldn’t step foot in without the ever present feeling of dread washing over you.

Simply, you had been watching TV, enjoying your own company, when suddenly, your telephone erupted to life as the noise of its ringing echoed off the walls and alerted you incessantly.

Groaning, you reluctantly got up from your comfortable position on the sofa and shuffled over to where you kept the telephone.

Picking it up, you hit the answer button, despite not recognising the number.

“Hello?” you voiced, curious to who was ringing you during the dark hours of the night.

“Hello.” A dark voice returned. It wasn’t one you recognised, causing your curiosity to be peaked as you prodded for further information.

“Who is this?”

The voice on the other end was quick to reply, though it wasn’t the answer you were hoping for. “Who are you?”

Rolling your eyes, you smirked at his teasing tone, although you couldn’t really tell whether that was just how his voice was. It was low yet incredibly attractive.

“I asked you first.” You replied, returning his mischievous tone and making him laugh.”

“I apologise, I must have gotten the wrong number.”

“Don’t worry about it, it happens all the time. Bye now.” You said before hanging up the call and laughing slightly to yourself as you thought you heard a quiet ‘wait’ from the other end, though you weren’t positive considering the phone had been away from your ear at that point.

Before you could walk off and back to the comfort of your sofa, the phone began to ring again. Rolling your eyes, you once again reached over to answer, letting out an annoyed greeting to the person on the receiving end.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I just wanna get to know you a bit better. You gotta boyfriend?”

The same voice from the previous call. You were surprised by his forwardness and slightly hesitant to reply considering you had no clue who he was. However, you saw no other reason not to play along with his games.

Laughing gently, you replied. “No, I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t really like the guys at my college.”

He let out a hum of understanding. “What, you don’t like your college?”

“Just the people. I have my two best friends, but other than that, everyone else kinda sucks. They treat me like shit but I don’t have it in myself to care anymore.” You scolded yourself mentally for admitting that to a stranger and making yourself seem so vulnerable, yet there was something so familiar about the voice on the other end that made you feel like you could open up.

It was true, however. The people that surrounded you at your college were consistently filling your ears with remarks that were laced with an unjustifiable hatred and yet said like you had all been nothing but friends for the past year. Their rude comments disguised as jokes.

Nevertheless, you had no issue brushing it off. You knew the reason they hated you was because they either wanted to be friends with Suguru and Satoru, your best friends, or be with them, all while they had found themselves attached to you - and only you. Completely uninterested in anyone else’s advances.

Of course, they were friends with everyone. Yet they were never hesitant to cancel plans and ditch others to hang out with you - which only furthered everyone else’s hatred.

You didn’t think that they knew of everyone else’s torment, considering everyone was so nice to you whenever you found yourself in the company of Gojo and Geto. You preferred to keep it that way, not wanting to bother them with something so small.

Unbeknownst to you, however, they knew. They knew about every insult thrown in your direction and it annoyed them endlessly - both just as desperate to do something about it yet they knew if they insulted people back, those same people would only blame you and hate you even more.

You met both Gojo and Geto in high school.

At first, you paid no attention to either of them. Truthfully, you would have preferred it if they had left you alone. However, as determined as they both are, they only latched onto you more. Overtime, you became more used to their company and your curt responses became wholehearted laughs and endless conversations.

The pair would do anything for you - and you could sincerely say that feeling was mutual.

“I could make it all go away sweetheart.” He replied. His words were ominous, confusing and left a sudden striking feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach, like you could feel the blood-thirsty, malicious intent behind his words impaling you like a knife through your stomach.

“What do you mean?” You whispered, taken aback and suddenly apprehensive and cautious.

“Let me ask you a question… What do you think,” he paused, and for a moment, you could have sworn you heard the sound of steel against steel on the other end of the call, which caused your heart to speed up and images of knives impaling your skin to flash into your mind. It irritated you that he’d ask questions but never answer them. “… about scary movies?”

He wasn’t serious, was he? Was this an attempt to scare you and trick you into believing that he was about to murder you? Well, he had certainly picked the wrong victim. Even despite your previous slip-up, you were a lot stronger than he must have thought.

You scoffed, muttering a quick yet dismissive ‘very funny’ before hanging up and walking back over to the sofa. Though you wouldn’t deny the fear that coursed through your veins and the prominent tremble in your hands.

His words were replaying in your mind like a broken record as your head spinned with all the meanings behind his gruesome statement.

Before you could sit back down again, the phone began to ring once more. Your fear only increased with each loud ring of the phone and you were stuck on what to do about the situation.

You could call your best friends, yet at this hour, they’d most likely be asleep. Besides, if you were to tell Geto Suguru and Gojo Satoru that you thought a serial killer was stalking you and tormenting you over the phone, they’d have laughed in your face. At least Suguru would have given you a sympathetic smile with an almost mocking ‘good luck’.

No, you were fine. To tell the truth, you wouldn’t have been surprised if the so-called serial killer was Gojo or Geto pulling a prank on you. And if it was, you’d undoubtedly scold them for it later and ignore them until they made it up for you in the form of all your favourite foods.

You let the phone ring until it automatically ended. Yet, whoever was on the other side of the call, was incredibly persistent and committed to talk to you.

Growing more and more frustrated you picked the phone back up, bringing it to your ear before threatening whoever it was.

“If you don’t stop calling me, I swear to god i will-“

“Shut the fuck up and listen.” He responded, cutting you off and silencing you immediately. Swallowing deeply, you were far too scared to continue your threat and instead opted for listening to whatever demands they had. “Good girl. Now, I want you to come and unlock your front door. You wouldn’t want to displease me, would you?”

Your eyes widened. He was outside of your house, waiting for you to open your door, most likely so that he could slice you open. Yet, a wave of realisation washed over you followed by one of relief.

So he couldn’t get in? This was perfect, he had unknowingly given you an opportunity for you to escape.

You ran over to the window and peeked through the blinds to check if he was by your door, letting out a sigh of relief when seeing that he wasn’t before sucking in a shaky one when it registered that you had no idea where he actually was which would make escape far more difficult.

“If you try to escape, I will gut you. I can see your every movement from right here, so just open the fucking door.”

You wanted to call his bluff, but decided it was a waste of breath.

Hand hovering over the lock, you contemplated opening it as you had no idea of what his motive was and whether or not you had greater odds at surviving if you attempted to sneak out now.

Before you could make your mind up, your feet had decided for you, running towards the back door and unlocking it in order to allow you to force it open.

To your dismay, you couldn't get one foot outside the door before you were yanked back forcefully by your arm and thrown to the floor.

All you could see was a figure dressed in all black with his back to you as he shut the door and locked it once again before throwing the key into your bin. Watching him turn around felt like the longest wait of your life, and when he did, the sickening feeling in your stomach increased at the sight of his terrifying mask. Its eyes were sunken and its mouth was hung open as though it was screaming.

Suddenly coming back to your senses, you scrambled back and quickly got up, running to the kitchen to grab a knife in defence as the masked killer stalked behind you.

From behind the kitchen counter, you aimed your knife at him in an attempt to get him to stay away from you. “How come you needed the door open if you were already inside?” You asked, not really expecting a response but needing one nevertheless.

You were met with a simple shrug before he began walking towards you again, pace quicker than before as he completely ignored the weapon you possessed.

You swung at him but he dodged, grabbing your wrist and gripping so tightly that you let out a scream in agony before dropping the blade to the floor - the sound echoing throughout the kitchen as the steel met the cool tiles.

Taking your knee, you aimed for his stomach and put all your force into making the two meet, causing him to stumble back and grip onto his stomach in pain. Forgetting your weapon, you aimed for the front door.

Fiddling with the lock, you struggled to get it to open because of your trembling hands.

Looking back you saw him gripping onto the doorframe, staring at you with nothing but what you perceived as murderous intent deep within the black holes of his mask.

You cursed, giving up on the door when you remembered that you had left your bedroom window open earlier. You were screaming for help, hoping that whatever small chance there was that someone was outside at this time of night, it would be someone brave enough to help you.

Stumbling up the stairs, you felt a hand on your ankle pulling you down. There was a loud thump followed by a pained groan from your lips when you hit your head on the stairs.

His gloved hand was on your arm and he turned you over. You stared up at him for a few moments as he hovered above you in thought, seemingly conflicted on what to do next. Taking the opportunity, you used your leg to kick him off you and continued to run up the stairs. He followed you up and through the hallway with more frustration in his heavy steps.

Running, you attempted to slow the masked killer by pushing random objects from their place and into his path but your efforts were futile. He was able to dodge them all and continue to follow you undisrupted.

He finally grabs you before putting the knife to your throat. You struggled in his grip, screaming for help and thrashing about as though being irrational would save your life. The knife began to trail down the side of your face and down your body. He cut one of the straps from your top, causing you to whimper in fear of what else he might do.

His gloved hand ran up the side of your arm in a prolonged, teasing manner before wrapping his hand around your throat resulting in your mouth widening as you gasped. It was strange how his grip wasn’t nearly as strong as it would have had to be in order to kill you when he was clearly here to take your life.

Your entire life was flashing before your eyes.

Suddenly, the sounds of sirens rang prominent through your street and pulled up outside your house.

You let out a choked sob in gratitude for whatever god had brought the police to your house and saved your life whilst tears streamed down your face.

The ghostface killer, on the other hand, looked less than pleased, evident by the grip that he had on you beginning to tighten.

You could hear his breathing through his mask as he leaned down to whisper in your ear, whilst simultaneously bringing a voice changer to the mouth of his mask. “Until next time, princess.”

There was something so strangely familiar about his teasing tone and flirtatious nickname, yet you couldn’t quite place your finger on how you recognised the way he spoke.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you realised that you were no longer in the arms of a murderer, but being shaken out of your daze by a police officer.

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Now, a few days later, you couldn’t shake off the feeling of death looming over your shoulder.

You constantly felt like you were in danger and you were having a hard time trying to leave behind that night's incidents, especially when you closed your eyes and saw that ghostly face and were woken up after feeling a hand wrapped around your throat.

It turns out, one of your neighbours had heard your screams and had decided to phone the police - to which you were extremely thankful for. Nevertheless, you wouldn’t be able to sleep until the killer was caught.

Currently, you were at a party you had been dragged to reluctantly by your best friends.

They were far more lively and sociable than you and had somehow convinced you that coming out was beneficial for your gradual deteriorating mental health after the attack you had suffered. You had tried to argue, stating that ‘just because they hide all their feelings behind stupid parties and alcohol doesn’t mean you have to as well.’

However, they, especially Gojo, were very persistent and wouldn’t leave you alone until you had begrudgingly accepted.

Lights flashed throughout the house and bodies pressed against each other tightly. All you were trying to do was make it to the less cramped kitchen in order to free yourself from feeling like you were suffocating.

The entire night, the same people who mocked and ridiculed you everyday of your life were giving you false sympathy and support which only made you feel worse. They were only doing it to look good as they had never cared about your feelings beforehand.

Still, it enabled you to be able to come to this party which whilst you weren’t entirely thrilled to be there, you were curious to see what it was like without the boundless whispers.

Finally, you made it to the kitchen and when you saw a flurry of white hair accompanied by the tied back, black hair, you let a smile creep onto your face as you approached them.

Gojo noticed you first, a wide grin appearing on his face when you locked eyes. He took you into a tight hug, squeezing you with such sincere comfort that you could have broken down in his arms right then and there. “How’s my favourite girl doing, huh?”

“I’m fine.” You said, laughing gently at his affection.

You turned to look at Suguru, who had a plain annoyed look on his face as he shook his head at you. “Yeah because you look fine, princess.”

Rolling your eyes at his nickname, you suddenly felt a pang in your chest. You felt as though you were missing something - like there was something so obvious right in front of you that you were just too blind to see.

The two boys glanced at you, then to each other and then back at you once more when they noticed your unexpected stupor.

Feeling a flick on your forehead, you looked up and saw Gojo looking at you over his glasses with a concerned look on his face.

“Seriously, I’m fine.”

Once again, they looked at each other, not convinced at all by your statement.

A silence hung over the three of you for a moment, and during that moment, everything was oddly quiet.

The music had faded yet the people around you were still dancing and drinking like they weren’t feeling the fear that was engraved into your skin. Not even Suguru or Satoru had noticed the shift in the air that was consuming you and strangling you, and they went through every emotion you experienced right there with you.

The pair simply nodded each other before excusing themselves and giving you one final hug before exiting, leaving you to drown in your emotions without a lifeguard to help you come out of the water.

You stood in the kitchen with a drink in your hand and alone with the toxic company of your own thoughts for what felt like centuries when the power seemingly went out without warning.

The music stopped flowing through the room and bouncing obnoxiously off the walls, and everyone’s enthusiastic cheers and shouts became confused murmurs and quiet chatter.

You assumed it was some asshole trying to scare everyone and simply scoffed at their attempt. It was either that, or someone had drunkenly managed to cut the power out. Nevertheless, you shrugged it off as not a big deal and waited for it to come back on.

However, when it did, your heart dropped at the sight - and even more so at the sound of laughter as everyone turned around to look at you, so much for fake sympathy.

Stood on a table in the middle of the room was some guy with a similar mask to the one you had described to everyone. The same lifeless, black eyes that melted down the mask’s face and the warped scream sketched onto it.

Their attempt was pathetic really, especially when they hadn’t even gone for the full look and donned their regular clothes in place of the outfit the killer was wearing.

Still, you were pissed off.

Whoever it was was staring right at you, pointing a knife in your direction and shouting dramatically some shit about killing you. You weren’t entirely paying attention, moreso figuring out how you were going to leave when so many people were blocking your path.

“Fucking attention whore just dying for everyone to shower her with sympathy. I’ll fucking kill you–” He was cut off suddenly, everyone’s laughter dying down as they turned their heads in his direction.

There was a red colour spreading through the material of his shirt, yet no one had truly registered what had happened before he collapsed on the table and revealed an actual ghostface mask - wearing a void of black.

His eyes scanned the room before they met yours. Tilting his head, he waved at you before lunging for his next victim.

Everyone was sent into a state of panic as they all rushed for the door before someone called out claiming that it was locked. Sounds of screaming could have been heard from miles away.

You searched everywhere for Gojo and Geto but couldn’t see them anywhere, instantly, your mind went to the worst possible scenario. However, realistically, you knew it would take a lot to kill just one of the two, let alone both of them. They had probably gone out for more alcohol, the thought of them being alive made you relax slightly, before tensing back up again after realising the situation you were in.

You ran through the house and pushed through the cluster of bodies in an attempt to find somewhere you could hide.

There was a part of you that understood the masked killer was after you and that maybe, the rest of these people would have a chance at survival if you turned yourself into his possession. There was a deeper part, however, that didn’t want to save their lives. You never wanted to hear their mocking laughter ever again. You wouldn’t admit it though, not even internally.

You had no idea how one person was managing to kill so many people so incredibly fast, yet it had only been half an hour of dodging bodies and swapping between hiding places before most people were either dead, or had managed to escape. It was tricky, yet as the party was held at Gojo and Geto’s shared home, you knew your way around the first floor pretty well.

Admittedly, you had no idea how people were managing to escape. Especially now that the murderer was blocking it.

You had already checked all the first floor windows only to find them locked.

There were bodies everywhere, blood staining the floor and lifeless eyes watching your every quiet move.

At first, watching people get killed off one by one was horrifying and you had to place a shaking hand over your mouth to prevent your choked sobs and gasps from making any noise that may draw attention to you.

Each body was so brutally violated, not only from the vile acts committed by the killer and his knife, but also from the scrambling bodies treading mercilessly over bodies in order to escape, leaving them mangled and unrecognisable by most.

The entire scene was truly horrifying.

Currently, you were panting heavily against the wall, the ghostface killer just around the corner from you, evident by the stomping of his boots and the sound of his breathing through his mask.

Taking a peek around the corner, you saw that same mask of death that haunted you since the moment he broke into your house and you were consumed with insurmountable hatred and rage.

However, when you quickly turned back around so that he wouldn’t see you, you looked to the right of you down the corridor and saw another one staring at you with a knife in his hand.

There had been two all along. That must have explained how he was both in your house and calling you from outside at the same time - and why he asked you to open the door.

His finger ran over the blade as he tilted his head at you before he gradually started to inch closer and closer to you.

The sound of his boots hitting the blood-soaked floor screamed at you to run, yet for a few moments, you struggled to understand how there were two and how you were going to get yourself out of this situation.

The ghost-faced figure dragged the sharp edge of his knife along the wall as he began to make his way towards you.

You snapped out of your petrified daze and made a quick turn towards the staircase behind you, without thinking about the second ghostface that stood right around the corner. Although, after the realisation when you heard the second pair of footsteps trail after you, you couldn’t find it within you to care as your mind was set only on escape.

You had been to Gojo and Geto’s house before, but you didn’t have the entire blueprint plastered onto the back of your eyelids and it’s not as if you had any reason to go upstairs so really, you had no idea where you were going.

Struggling to breathe, you grabbed onto the side of the wall for support as you looked back to see where they were.

Both of them were practically strolling as they made their way past the stairs and through the long corridor. It pissed you off to no extent to see them sauntering behind you as if catching you would require minimum effort and like they had all the time in the world.

“Cocky assholes.” You muttered, before beginning to run again.

Reaching the end of the hallway, you panicked and turned to enter the room to your left in order to check if there was a window that you could have escaped from. With every passing moment, your heart began to race faster as your options thinned.

Barging down the door, your eyes widened at the sight of a window in the room in front of the bed and you were overcome with the feeling of future safety.

There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in your rushed steps towards the window as you reached out to it in order to pull it open.

Your heart sank at the feeling of resistance from the window. No matter how hard you pulled, it wouldn’t budge. Was it locked?

Looking around the room, you took note of how it was most likely Gojo’s due to Geto’s more simplistic taste. You darted towards his drawer, rummaging through his things in a desperate attempt to find a key to unlock his window with. You slammed your fist on his desk and kicked it aggressively as tears fell down your cheeks at the disappointment and fear you were filled with after realising you had no hope of escaping.

The sound of the door creaking open sent shivers down your spine and you were convinced you could have thrown-up at the looming feeling of death peering over your shoulder in anticipation.

You whimpered in fear as you scrambled to get as far away from the pair as possible, backing yourself into a corner in the process which only allowed them to get closer and closer to your trembling body.

You were fucked.

They had you cornered. They were going to kill you. Right after you were convinced you had managed to escape, you were about to be slaughtered mercilessly by two psychos in ghostface costumes, just like the poor victims you had watched get killed brutally before yourself.

You slid down the wall in the corner, accepting your fate. Still, you refused to completely give up.

Mustering up whatever was left in your lungs due to your breathless state, you screamed for help as loudly as you could. It had worked a few nights before, so it wasn’t completely futile, you had managed to convince yourself.

Although you were losing hope, you didn’t want to stop fighting. You didn’t stop when he had you pinned against your stairs or was holding a knife to your throat, so you wouldn’t stop now.

Gojo and Geto had to still be alive. Amongst the mass of dead bodies, not a single one looked like either of theirs. They were around, probably looking for you, you just knew it.

So, you shouted their names at the top of your lungs as you sobbed. “I swear to fucking god, my friends are gonna get here and kick your asses.” You managed to choke out.

One of them laughed involuntarily, forgetting to use the voice changer. You refused to believe how recognisable that laugh was until he slowly reached up to remove his mask - strands of snowed hair falling into place.

“You hear that, Suguru? She’s gonna get her best friends on us. How cute!” Satoru exclaimed, that same smile that would, under any other circumstance, force a smile out of you as well.

Your head snapped in the direction of the ghostface next to him, refusing to believe Suguru would take any part of this as well.

Nothing but sorrow and grief filled your heart when he too removed his mask to reveal your other best friend underneath it, as though the two men you cherished and loved with your entire heart had died and in their place were two psychos simply borrowing their bodies to torment you or punish you for whatever you had done to deserve such grief.

“What the fuck have you two done?” was all you could let out. “You killed all those people. You- you’re fucking psychopaths!”

Suguru looked genuinely surprised at your anger, as though he wasn’t expecting it. Truthfully, he wasn’t. He knew you’d be angry for the whole attempting to kill you thing, but everyone else? They hated you, so why did it matter? Afterall, everything they had done was for you. It was all according to their plan.

Your anger irritated them a bit, how could you be so ungrateful? How couldn’t you see that everything they had done was for your benefit? It was clear what their motive was now, wasn’t it?

“So fucking ungrateful. You hated most of these people and so we killed them for you.” He defended, vexation laced into each syllable.

“For me?” You muttered, eyes wide with disbelief, your breathing out of control. “You can’t use me as an excuse, I didn't ask for any of this!”

Suguru simply leaned back slightly, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he shook his head at you before letting out a low chuckle. Gojo looked equally as amused.

“Really? Not after that fucker humiliated you? Not after everyone sat and laughed at your trauma after pretending to be so supportive of you?”

Quickly, you added on: “Trauma you gave me.” Gojo and Geto simply ignored that part as if your mental health was simply collateral damage and that what they have given you is bigger than what they took from you.

“I saw relief in your eyes today. Relief that now they’re all dead, you can live happily. You’re pushing down how you really feel because you're ashamed but, sweetheart, you don’t have to hide it from us.” Suguru continued, kneeling down to get on your level the same as Gojo as he smiled at you and took your cheek in his hand - you hated how you didn’t even flinch and you were disgusted at how you leaned into his warm touch. He laughed. “I mean, you think we’re gonna judge you after being the ones to kill them?”

You hated this. You hated how they killed all those people and used you to justify what they had done. You hated how that meant your hands were stained with their blood. You hated the feeling inside of you that lurked beneath the hatred - the one of freedom and ease.

You hated how right Suguru was.

Tears trickled down your cheeks. You were filled to the brim with revulsion and self-loathing.

“Fuck she’s crying, Suguru. Aint she so hot when she cries?” Gojo said, his eyes swarming with adoration and excitement. One of his hands went to wipe the tears of your cheeks as he tutted sympathetically. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’ve got you now, yeah?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from nodding whilst you bit your lip to try and stop more tears from slipping.

Once again, Suguru was the one to speak up, Satoru too entranced with how you looked when you cried. “Here’s what's gonna happen, sweet thing,” His voice was soothing and you couldn’t help but close your eyes and rest your head on Gojo’s calming hand which was running his thumb over your cheek. “The reason we attacked you first was so that the police would feel more inclined to believe you. You’re gonna tell them the killers got away and that you didn’t see their face, okay? We might have to hurt you a bit, but we’ll do the same to ourselves, is that okay, sweetheart?”

Letting out a shaky breath, you nodded. You couldn’t believe what you were doing but you refused to lose Gojo and Geto and despite all evidence pointing against them being amicable and not just feeding you lies so that they could kill you later, you wanted so desperately to trust them and have them by your side forever.

And when you noticed the way Gojo’s eyes were lingering too often on the tear of your shirt which revealed more of your chest than before, your mind began to race with thoughts of being theirs.

But, that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? So what if Gojo’s eyes were lingering, it was to be expected of him, really. He’d always tease you flirtatiously and stare at you shamelessly, but you took that as Gojo being Gojo. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the teasing and staring though.

However, this was the first time your mind had run with the possibility of being with either of them, and you had never noticed the tingling sensation within you when either of them so much as grazed your skin until this moment.

The night's events had brought around something dark and untouched within you - something that forced your eyes to wander to whatever part of their skin was exposed and your mind to ponder what was underneath the rest of it.

Both of them stood up and offered their hands to help you stand as well - to which you took both.

Gojo, however, thought it would be funny to tug you into him far too hard, causing you to stumble into his chest. Luckily for him, that was the final string that needed to be snapped in order for you to make your own move and prove to them how devoted you were to the pair. Prove that no matter what crimes they committed - you’d be on their side.

“If the two of you wanted to fuck me, you could have asked without making me think you were gonna kill me in the process.” You stated bluntly. The pair both looked at you with an equal amount of disbelief - Gojo being the first to respond to your offer rather eagerly as he pulled you further into his chest

“Oh yeah? My girl would have said yes, hm? Such a slut, wanting her best friends to fuck her.” His voice was darker and lower than before, yet it was much more different (in a way better way) to the voice he would use when he put on his mask. “Plus, where’s the fun in just asking to fuck you?”

Geto came up behind you after snapping out of his daze of doubt, pressing himself up against your back. He immediately noticed the way your body reacted, nudging yourself into him, wanting to get as close to the pair as you could. “Well, why don’t we then?”

Your hand went to Gojo’s chest for stability as he looked down at you with that same cocky smirk and those bright blue, lust-filled eyes. “We- We can’t here! Some people got out, they've probably told the police, and I think having sex in a house where there are dead bodies rotting downstairs is kinda suspicious.”

Geto tutted disapprovingly. “What, after all we’ve done for you tonight? You don’t wanna make it up to us?” His hands roamed your hips before moving to your thighs. In a way that sent shivers throughout your entire body, one of his hands slowly went to creep in between your thighs and under your skirt before it brushed briefly over your clothed pussy.

You whined so quietly that they could only hear because of how close they were to you.

Suguru started to kiss down your exposed neck - making it harder and harder for you to stick to reason and wait until you had left.

Satoru, on the other hand, had his hands wherever he could touch you. They skimmed across your breasts over your shirt and down your hips. His face got closer to your own, his breath fanning your face as he nudged you with his nose before connecting your lips.

They were so painfully persuasive it killed you.

“O-okay-”

You could barely get out the last syllable before they had you thrown onto Satoru’s bed.

Whilst Geto was closer to the headboard, Gojo was on the end of the bed and had you crawling over his lap and his tongue shoved deep in your throat as Geto’s hands roamed your body and began to peel off your clothes.

At some point, you found yourself helplessly making out with Gojo, completely bare as they were. You were so lost in the intoxication that was Satoru’s lips you hadn’t even been able to comprehend either of them removing their clothes or your own.

Your hand trailed across Gojo’s lap and slowly to the base of his dick before taking it in your hold, causing him to groan into your lips and for you to rub your thighs against each other in anticipation.

Breaking the kiss, you bring your hand up to your mouth and spit before bringing it back down to slowly start pumping Gojo’s dick. Your thumb swirled around the tip, teasing it slightly before you reconnected your lips with his - not before examining the dumbfounded yet amazed look on his face.

His hand went to your face and cupped it gently, deepening the kiss whilst moaning and cursing shamelessly into your mouth as he praised you for how good you were making him feel.

Suguru had moved to the side of the two of you, watching peacefully as he took his own dick into his hand and moved it slowly - content with just watching the scene unfold.

Your pussy was dripping so heavily it began to drip down the side of your thighs. Geto couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight as he wanted nothing more to bury his head in between your thighs. However, for now, he was happy to examine every move you made and analyse every sigh from your lips.

You and Gojo were all over each other, placing your lips wherever they’d reach, leaving marks and bruises on each other and jerking him off so teasingly slow it had him cursing at you and filling your head with threats of everything he’d do to you once his dick was inside of you. You simply shrugged off every word that left his glossed lips.

It didn’t take long for Suguru to become impatient, along with yourself who was becoming particularly frustrated with the lack of stimulation and attention on your pussy - or that's what you thought anyway. If you had so much as looked in the direction of Suguru, you would have noticed the way his hooded eyes were stuck on the way your pussy looked from behind. Unfortunately, your attention was strictly on making Gojo regret every teasing remark he had made in the past.

“Don’t be so greedy, Satoru. I’m here too, you know.” He said, before sitting back against the headboard and pulling you onto his lap instead of over Gojo’s - the latter who pouted slightly but showed no sign of retaliation.

Instead, he opted for going over to you with the most devilish grin on his face which caused you to swallow nervously and in regret at teasing him for so long.

Suguru radiated with dominance and control whilst you and Gojo fought each other for whatever Geto had left of it.

Suguru’s large, veiny hands trailed up the bare skin of your body, his fingertips were cool against your warm flesh.

You could feel the way he was desperately holding back, so taking things into your own hands, you pushed back on him slightly, earning a deep ‘fuck’ spilling from his lips as his hands squeezed your hips in a warning.

Satoru was now kissing your thighs, leaving marks littered across the flesh as a sign of proving who you belong to - who you’ve always belonged to even before you realised it.

His soft lips hovered over your soaked pussy, but before he could tease, Suguru gave him a warning glare, to which Satoru simply huffed at the blatant ‘favouritism’ as he would call it (However, Suguru doesn’t think he could ever choose between either of you).

Geto’s rough hands went to part your thighs in order to give Gojo some room.

Gojo’s tongue glided through your folds and grazed over your clit, causing you to attempt to buck your hips up to meet his tongue, however the grip Geto had on you was firm, making your attempt seem pathetic.

Then, Geto took his hand and forced you to look to the side of you in order for him to capture your lips. You gasped and whined into his mouth when Gojo shoved two of his fingers into your gaping hole whilst his tongue circled your clit.

“Tell me,” Geto started, his lips now barely an inch away from your own. “Who else has fucked this cute pussy, hm?”

His hand on your hip intensified its hold at the thought of someone else having you.

Your face felt warm, not liking where this conversation was going. “U-uh… Well there was Tom but that was it.” You admitted, feeling hot all over.

Suguru hummed in understanding, before turning his attention to Gojo whose tongue was lapping at your dripping pussy like he’d been starved. “Satoru, did we kill him or not?” He asked in a similar tone to which you would ask someone the time.

Reluctantly Gojo removed his tongue from your messy cunt, although his fingers were still pumping viciously inside of you making you squirm and whine. He looked up at the ceiling, face scrunching as though he was lost in thought. “I think so… yeah. Yeah we did. I remember ‘cause he started begging for his life and shit.” Satoru laughed like it was an inside joke or a past memory of something lighthearted and funny. “Was he that pathetic when you fucked him?”

You couldn’t even concentrate enough to answer him. All you could do was writhe and moan in pleasure as he fucked you dumb with just his tongue and fingers. So instead, Suguru answered for you.

“Shit, bet he couldn’t handle a pussy like this, hm? You seriously let that guy fuck you when we were right there, sweetheart? Shit, I’m not happy about that, princess. What do you think, Satoru?” His eyes never left yours, his lips never moved further away.

“Think she’s a slut for fucking such a loser. I also think that I should have saved his death for last, just so he could watch us fuck her brains out like she deserves - like a slut deserves.” He replied before diving straight back into your pussy as though he could get drunk off the taste.

Geto simply chuckled at his words in agreement.

With every passing second and every flick of Gojo’s tongue, you became closer and closer to your release. Your hands went to thread themselves in his hair and tugged slightly at his snowy stands before whimpering chants of ‘I’m so close.’

Yet, you really shouldn’t have teased Gojo earlier. After all your years of friendship, you should have understood that whatever you give to him, he’ll get you back ten times harder. And he did, with an approving nod from Suguru - you swore they could read each other’s minds.

Seconds before you reached your high and succumbed to the euphoric feeling of Gojo’s tongue and fingers playing with you so nicely, he pulled away - ruining your orgasm and leaving you confused and crying.

Geto simply shushed you, running his thumb along your thigh in a somewhat soothing manner as you squirmed around and pressed your thighs together, aching for some semblance of friction or pleasure.

You sobbed and begged the pair but they both ignored you remorselessly, in fact, Geto seemed more disappointed in you for not seeing that coming.

You could feel the satisfied grin plastered onto Gojo’s face as he pressed his lips against your thighs and muttered faux apologies against your skin.

“I’m so sorry, baby. You’ll forgive me won't you? Couldn’t help myself, I mean, really. Did you expect to get away with teasing me like that earlier? Now you’ve learned your lesson, haven’t you, princess?”

However, no amount of apologies was making the frown on your face disappear. So, in order to change that, Gojo once again had you in his hold, flipping you around so that you were now on your hands and knees in front of him whilst he rubbed his dick between the fat of your ass cheeks.

Suguru’s dick was right in front of you, and you looked up at him with pleading eyes, so desperate to take him into your mouth and make him feel good. His eyes always seemed to soften around you as they did now whilst he nodded at you gently - as if he hadn’t just taken part in killing half your classmates.

Your hands went to grip his thighs before you started to lick and suck on the tip of his cock.

Satoru was spreading the fat of your ass, gawking at how beautiful you were before taking one of his hands and slapping your ass roughly.

You jumped, whining around the tip of Geto’s dick causing him to groan before pulling your head back to look at him with annoyed eyes and pouty lips. Gojo simply shrugged and said: “We did say we’d have to hurt you a bit, right? How else would they ever believe us?”

Before you could counter his dumb remark, Geto’s hand guided your head back to his cock before shoving it past your lips - unwilling to wait any longer. He shifted, getting onto his knees so he could begin to fuck your mouth ruthlessly.

On the other hand, Gojo was still teasing his dick through the folds of your pussy. However, he could only last so long before needing to feel the tightness of your cunt around his dick, so steadily, he pushed the tip of his dick inside of you causing you to moan around Geto’s cock.

Suguru couldn’t get enough of the feeling of your mouth around him. He was desperate to see you gagging and bawling around his dick because you were struggling to take him - yet he knew you’d take him without complaint.

Soon, the sounds of skin slapping against skin echoed throughout the room. You couldn’t speak, all you could do was whine and slobber around Geto’s dick as both of them bullied their thick cocks into you mercilessly.

The way the veins on Gojo’s dick dragged along your walls had your eyes rolling back into your head and his hand began to slip down to your pussy and play with your clit - willing to see you through your impending orgasm this time.

Your thighs and the sheets are drenched, everything they did was simply making you wetter and wetter.

Geto’s hand rested lazily on the top of your head, not pushing you down but keeping it there as a reminder of where he needed you the most. “Fuck, sweetheart. Doing so well for both of us. We gotta switch later, Gojo. You have to feel her mouth.”

Gojo nodded instantly in agreement. “She’s so fuckin’ perfect. Made to be our little slut, weren’t you, princess?”

Again, you couldn’t respond. All you could offer was a garbled whine in agreement and hope they understood the message.

“Who would’ve thought our sweet little best friend was such a slut for our dicks.” Satoru commented, lost in the feeling of your walls hugging his dick which only clenched further at his degrading words.

You were just a dumb, choking mess. Only able to gag and slobber all over Geto’s dick whilst your mind could only think about the way Gojo’s was hitting your sweet spot so effortlessly.

It was like a domino effect, the way Geto’s orgasm sent you spiralling into your own at the feeling of his hot cum filling your mouth and dripping down your chin as he fucked himself into your face desperately.

And then, due to the feeling of your pussy clenching so tightly around his dick, Gojo was followed right behind you, spilling himself within you as he moaned and cursed whilst fucking both you and himself right through your orgasms.

You collapsed onto Suguru, who took you into his comforting embrace so naturally. And, as needy as he ever was, Gojo fell right onto the two of you.

The three of you lay there for a moment, ignoring the inevitable consequences you’d soon have to slither your way out of. You could have laid there in Suguru’s arms with Satoru’s breath hitting your face and his stare burning holes into your skin for years to come, however, halfway to drifting off, the sounds of sirens started to ring in the air.

Disappointment flooded your body, but you knew that soon, it’d be just the three of you living a completely unbothered life.

It was strange how you seemed more panicked than the other two, but at the end of the day, you couldn’t lose them. Everything they had done was for you, every life taken tonight was to secure your own happiness. It filled you up with adoration to know they’d do all that for you.

So after concocting a plan to dispose off the mask and costume behind the backs of the police, and nailing your cover story to the ground all before they had barged into Satoru’s room, only to find the three of you in the same corner they had previously trapped you in, you lay in bed with the pair later as you discussed the three of you leaving this town permanently once it was fully established you weren’t suspects.

Eventually, you had come to terms with the fact that you were just as psychotic as your best friends for falling for them so hard.

note: so happy because i have 500 followers just in time for my birthday!! thank you all so much for the love and support each of you have shown me, it means the world to me and is my only motivation to write. you guys are why i do this <333

#fanfic #smut #jjk smut #jjk fanfic #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo fanfic #gojo satoru x reader #geto smut #getou suguru x reader #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto x you #getou suguru x you #gojo satoru smut #gojou satoru x you #🌙 jujutsu kaisen

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cieloclercs · 1 year

Note

grace , send me a trope + a character and i’ll write a short drabble from it

hii, can i please request best friends to lovers with ollie?

congrats on 1k btwww 🫶🫶

call me cupid — ollie bearman

pairing. ollie bearman x best friend!reader

word count. 2.7k (i swear i tried to make it short lmao)

warnings. kind of a weird fusion of fluff and angst ??? unrequited love vibes (that’s not actually unrequited but u get what i mean), pining ollie, pining reader, arthur lowkey is the mastermind, and is also sick of said pining, abrupt ending i’m sorry 😭

author’s note. hello anon! thank you so much for your request ☺️ i hope this is ok ! i know it cuts off quite abruptly, but i’d be open to writing a part 2 with the confession if you want one <3

read below the cut

He’s staring again.

It’s becoming a problem, but can anyone really blame him? You look nothing short of angelic under the strobe lights, your shimmering dress catching his eye every time you move. You’re dancing with a girl he doesn’t recognise, that beautiful smile he adores stretched across your crimson-painted lips. It makes him wonder what she’s saying to you to make you seem so content.

Best friends shouldn’t look at each other the way he’s looking at you now. Ollie knows that. Yet on days like today, he really can’t help it. This is your party, celebrating your third Formula 2 victory in a row. He’d watched from way back in P5 as you stormed through the field, fighting off every challenge your opponents tried to throw your way. There’s a reason the fans call you the Queen of Formula 2, after all. You’re practically untouchable. All it does is heighten his awareness of his own pounding heart whenever you’re around; turn his insides to velvet when you so much as smile his way. Yes, it’s becoming a problem — and Ollie isn’t sure there’s anything he can do to stop it.

“You know, I’ve just thought of something you should try.” A voice speaks up to his left, breaking him out of whatever trance you’ve unwittingly put him under. He turns. Arthur Leclerc stands like the devil on his shoulder, arms folded, expression unimpressed. When Ollie says nothing, he goes on, “It’s called talking to her. Works wonders, really, I’d highly recommend. It’s how I met Carla.”

The younger of the two rolls his eyes. Arthur is the only other living soul on earth who knows about his infatuation with you — officially, at least. In reality, almost everyone in the Ferrari Academy has long since figured it out. Everyone except you, ironically. But Ollie supposes it makes sense; why would someone like you ever even consider him as something more than just a friend?

“Can we not do this tonight?” Ollie sighs, exasperated, “I’m just trying to forget about…all of that for a moment.”

This time it’s Arthur who rolls his eyes. Ever since he first caught on to his friend’s crush on you a little over eight months ago, he’s been trying every method under the sun to try and make him see that maybe, just maybe, he shouldn’t be so pessimistic about his chances. But the answer is always the same. Ollie remains convinced, like some poor, naïve, completely oblivious child, that you’d never so much as give him a second glance if he told you how he felt. It’s complete bullshit, of course. Arthur has seen the way your eyes search immediately for his after a race, be it a good result or even a bad one. He’s watched you brush off close friends (including him, many a time) even family members, to get to Ollie. But of course, Ollie himself doesn’t notice. No fool in love ever does.

“You’re not going to forget though, are you?” Arthur muses, glancing at his friend out of the corner of his eye, “I know you, and I know you can’t stay away from her for that long. You’ll cave eventually.” he smirks. At the sight of Ollie’s pink cheeks, he knows he’s caught him out.

“Why don’t you go annoy someone else for a change?” the Brit grumbles. There’s the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. Arthur could pick it out even in the pitch dark.

“Don’t pretend you don’t love me.” he teases.

Within moments he’s cowered behind Carla on the other side of the room, chased away by Ollie’s (half joking) threats to crash him out of the next race on purpose if he doesn’t shut his mouth. But Arthur’s words stick with him throughout the entire night. Somehow, they always do.

In truth, Ollie's been grappling with the idea of telling you for quite a while; to put him out of his own misery more than anything else. He's sick and tired of the 'best friends' label. It seems so trivial, so reductive to say that it hurts him, when in fact, every time you refer to him as such, he’s sure you must be ripping his heart out of his chest. But then he can’t help but feel melodramatic — at least he has you, even if only as a friend. Even if you don’t love him in the way he loves you, you’re still there. Close, though perhaps not quite close enough. Ollie has decided not to take that for granted. He knows how easily it can be snatched away from him.

In the end (just as he always seems to be) Arthur is right — it’s not even an hour before he finds himself gravitating towards you; unwittingly being pulled into your orbit from which he fears, if he’s not careful, he’ll never be able to escape. You’re hovering on the edge of a group of engineers now, sipping on a glass of sparkling water out of a straw. How you can appear drop dead gorgeous yet so damn adorable at the same time, he has no idea. Ollie feels he’ll be spending the rest of his life trying to figure you and your many layers out.

“Hi, Ol.” you greet him with a smile like the sun when he finally plucks up the courage to approach. He mutters something in reply, though as soon as the words have left his mouth he’s already forgotten them — he could have said something completely unintelligible for all he knows. That’s the effect you have on him.

“Having fun?” you prompt again, your soft smile spreading into a full-blown grin. Ollie glances briefly around the room. It’s absolutely packed full of Ferrari Academy members, both drivers and personnel. Normally, this kind of event would be his worst nightmare. Even if he’s known these people for years, the idea of having to socialise and look like he’s having fun makes him feel sick. But then he remembers all this is for you. It’s to celebrate your achievements in a male dominated field, which no woman has ever managed to do before. When he reminds himself of that, all his anxiety suddenly seems to melt away.

“Of course.” Ollie grins back. His heart soars to see you light up at his words, to see you giggle behind the rim of your glass and look at him as if he’s the only person in the world. At times like this he can truly believe that maybe Arthur is right — maybe, if he confesses, his world won’t come crashing down. Maybe you’ll light it up for the better.

“What happened to you at turn one? Nic told me you dropped out of the points." you go on, eyebrows furrowing with the remnants of confusion. Ollie had begun the feature race in P2 behind you, yet you'd find that the competition you'd so anticipated disappeared not even before the first lap had ended. The Brit sighs, shaking his head.

"I collided with Jack trying to defend." he tells you with a wince, "Damaged my sidepods."

Your expression twists into one of sympathy. There's almost no coming back from that, even for a driver as talented as Ollie. Still, you think, to climb back up to P5 after sustaining damage like that is no mean feat. You don't miss the way he flushes bashfully when you tell him as such.

"It was my own fault." he mumbles, trying desperately to cool the flames in his cheeks as you watch him, eyebrows raised. He always feels like he's been put under a microscope when you look at him like this. There's no escaping the calculation in your stare, the curious scrutiny. "I took too much of a risk."

You shake your head. There's the tiniest of knowing smiles on your lips. Ollie is always so hard on himself. It's something you both admire him for, and find yourself exasperated with; he never seems to be able to see how brilliant he really is -- or at least, how brilliant he is in your eyes.

"Well, whoever was at fault, it's a real shame." you dismiss with a wave of your hand, "I miss sharing the podium with you."

Ollie is sure he must be melting. He can't figure out if it's from your words alone, or from the tiny pout that's fallen on your lips, or even the soft glint in your eyes as you gaze up at him. Suddenly the proximity between the two of you seems to have all but diminished. He chuckles nervously.

"Next race will be ours." the Brit murmurs. Little by little you inch closer to him, your hand resting on the ledge you're leaning on, just ghosting over where his own lays flat. He breathes in sharply.

"Promise?" you whisper. The point of your heel bumps against his foot. Ollie glances down at it in a panic, before his head snaps up to meet your piercing gaze. He fears that if he rocks forwards only the slightest bit on the balls of his feet, he'll be close enough for his nose to bump yours. He's never felt so consumed, so intoxicated by another person in all his life. He can smell the honey scent of your hair, feel your warm breath tickling his cheek. His gaze flickers down for the briefest of moments to your lips - soft and pink, parted as if there's something else you want to say, but the words have gotten trapped in your throat.

"I promise." Ollie croaks.

Just one more step, you think. One more step, and he'll kiss you. He's so close, closer than he's ever been before, and suddenly you can see everything falling into place: all the nights spent crying on Arthur's shoulder, wondering whether Ollie is truly just scared as your friend says he is, or whether he simply doesn't feel the same. It will all fade into a distant, long-abandoned memory. Finally, you'll be able to call him something more than just your best friend.

But then he steps away.

You flinch, taken aback at his sudden movement. Ollie stares at you, wide-eyed, breathing heavily as if he's just run a marathon. He can't believe what's just happened — can't believe he was about to kiss you. How could he be so stupid?

"I —" he stammers. The look on your face is hard to decipher: shocked, confused, hurt. If Ollie looked a bit closer, he'd be able to see the last of those emotions, or the way your shock is mixed with a horrible sinking feeling of disappointment. But, of course, he doesn't see it that way. He's stuck on the same, poisonous idea that's been plaguing his mind ever since he first figured out his feelings — you don't feel the same way.

"I'm sorry." Ollie gasps. Then, without another word, he turns on his heel and runs, leaving you stood alone, arms half outstretched as if to try and stop him. You're too late, of course. Within moments he's out of sight. Gone, just like your hope.

"Well that was a train wreck." a familiar voice speaks up from somewhere on your left. You spin around, groaning as you spot Arthur, arms folded, eyebrows furrowed in what you can only imagine is frustration.

"You don't say." you drawl bitterly, glaring down into your empty glass. Wordlessly, your friend passes you his own half-full one. You lean down to sniff at its contents, and pull away, nose scrunched in distaste — definitely not water. But you think, at this point, you're owed some kind of distraction.

"Why does he keep running away from me?" you grumble. It's been months of this cat and mouse game now. Tonight is the closest you've ever got; the first time you've seen with your own eyes that Ollie does reciprocate your feelings. Yet it feels like for that step forward, all you've gone and done is taken another two back.

"Because he's an idiot." Arthur answers plainly. The Monégasque watches as you take a gulp of his drink, pulling a face at the burn in your throat, and wordlessly reaches forwards to take the glass back from your hands. He's grateful that you don't complain.

"Well I wish he'd stop." you mutter. As much as you're willing to wait for Ollie for as long as he needs, it's painful, having to go on loving him from a distance like this. Every time you lock eyes, the longing grows more intense. You're not sure how much longer you can take it.

"You know, you're just as bad as he is." Arthur speaks up. Once again, your head snaps towards him, eyes narrowing.

"What?"

"You heard me." the Monégasque says with a sigh, "Look, I want to help you, I really do, but you could make all of this so much easier for yourself if you just tell him how you feel."

And there it is. You can’t help but let out a bitter chuckle. It sounds so simple coming from Arthur’s mouth — so easy. God knows you’ve tried, time and time again, to be honest with Ollie about your feelings, to rip off the plaster in the hopes the pain of it won’t be too great; that he might just tell you he’s been trying to say the same thing all this time. But whenever you feel as if you might be ready, the words catch in your throat. You just can’t stomach them. It’s a kind of vulnerability you’ve never shown to anyone before, let alone someone who already means so much to you. At the end of the day, you’re still young. No matter how much you love Ollie now, the chances of him being the one are low.

At least, that’s what you’ve been trying to convince yourself. But a part of you knows already — there’s no one else on earth you’ll ever feel this way about. Young or not, it’s always going to be Ollie.

“I don’t know if I can take that risk, Arth.” you say quietly, “If Ollie and I — if we’re not meant to be together…isn’t it better just to have him, even as a friend, than risk losing him entirely?”

You’re honestly not sure which is the most painful: having to pretend that you don’t love him, or the idea of one day not having him at all. Yet, you still know which one you’d choose — even if it hurts like ripping your own heart out of your chest.

“Huh.” Arthur says, eyebrows furrowing again. There’s something different in his expression this time, though. It’s less frustration, more a spark. As if he’s realised something you and Ollie may not have just yet.

“What?” you ask. Suddenly, Arthur begins to smile. You watch him disbelievingly, none the wiser as to what on earth he has to be so happy about at the present moment. Then he’s laughing, shaking his head as if in mirthful despair.

“You really are soulmates.” the Monégasque snickers, watching almost gleefully as you grow even more confused.

“What?” you ask again. Part of you begins to wonder if Arthur has lost his mind — you wouldn’t blame him after the game he’s been playing: acting as some sort of secret go-between in the middle and your and Ollie’s back and forth self-doubts. But Arthur hasn’t lost the will to live with it all just yet. In fact, he thinks he’s finally figured out how to make the both of you see sense.

“He said the exact same thing to me.”

And with that, Arthur turns on his heel, leaving you stood alone, your mind racing. All this time you’ve been trying to play the long game; trying to anticipate what Ollie is thinking, when in reality, your thoughts are practically shared. You’re both afraid. More than you ever have been in your life. But for the first time you begin to think, perhaps fear doesn’t have to be the dividing factor.

“Why do you look so pleased with yourself?” Carla Brocker asks her boyfriend as he retakes his familiar position at her side, still grinning like a child who’s just been told Christmas is coming early. Arthur says nothing, merely tilting his head in the direction of where you stand motionless. It only takes a few moments for Carla to catch on. She turns to face her boyfriend again, mouth hanging open.

“You think you’ve got through to her?” she whispers urgently.

Once again, Arthur Leclerc grins proudly.

“Just call me Cupid.”

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mylifesjustacarousel · 1 month

Text

bloodsucker

pairing: james hook x fem!reader (requested!)

summary: you’re keeping a big secret, but you didn’t think that anyone would be able to figure it out. especially hook.

type: kinda angsty

CW: none

WC: 800+

requests are open! <3

It was a cloudy day outside, your favorite kind of day. You could actually sit outside and study instead of being cooped up in your room with the windows closed. There were many kinds of people at Merlin Academy; Sea witches, dwarves… but you were the only vampire. At least the only one that you knew of. Nobody else knew. You didn’t know how they, or how the school, would react. So, for your safety, you kept it a secret…

… or you thought you were keeping it a secret.

Hook was sat across the courtyard, quietly watching you. Your almost lifeless skin, your dark clothing, the way you seemed much more lively at night. Hook was not the brightest person alive, anyone could tell you that. But, there was something off about you that nobody could put a finger on. Until him.

There was absolutely no way that you were a vampire, though. There couldn’t be… could there be?

You looked up, noticing the brunette boy staring at you. Grimacing, you closed your book and got up, going over to him. “You know it’s considered to creepy to just stare at people, right? What’s your deal, Hook?” you asked, your arms crossing over your chest.

“Easy, darling. Can’t a pirate just sit and admire the scenery?” he smirked, winking at you. He couldn’t deny that he found you intriguing. Your dark aesthetic and even darker attitude had him wanting more. But, he was going to have fun with it.

You rolled your eyes and turned to walk away from him. He quickly got up and grabbed your hand. It was ice cold. Your skin turned impossibly even more pale as you ripped your hand away from his grasp, “Don’t touch me!”

Putting his hands up, he backed away a few steps. “You’ve got it, lass.”

You quickly stomped away, collecting your books from the ground and shoveling them into your bag before walking off. You were screwed.

“This is gonna be fun.”

It was a few days later, and you were avoiding Hook like the plague. There was no way he knew, right? He couldn’t even figure out how to make a simple potion. You were wandering the forest late at night, something you did when you had a lot on your mind. If you were caught, there’s no telling what could happen to you. You worked too hard to get to where you were.

You leaned up against a tree, taking in the scenery in front of you. It was quiet. Peaceful. You never realize how much you appreciate silence until you’re stuck at a school with hundreds of other kids. But, you loved it. It was your one chance for a sense of normalcy in your life, seeing that your life had been so far, far from normal.

Your family was one of the only vampire families left, the rest had been wiped out centuries ago. Vampires weren’t thought too fondly of, everyone thought that they would suck all of their blood out. But, those stories were nothing but folk tales perpetuated by the same people who sought to kill the vampires. You were kept in hiding for a lot of your life, but your parents wanted to give you a chance at a normal life. So, you were sent off to Merlin Academy.

“Hello there, lass,” a voice called out from behind you.

So much for peace and quiet, you thought.

You sighed, knowing exactly who it was. You turned around, “Hello, James. You know, you just can’t seem to take a hint, can you?”

“What fun would that be?” he asked, resting on the tree beside you so you were face to face. He was so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your face.

“You need to go. Like, right now.”

He pouted, his eyes looking you up and down. “Why? Are you going to, I don’t know… suck my blood out? Maybe try to kill me? Is that why, darling?”

Your jaw dropped, “How did y-”

“How did I know? You didn’t keep it very well hidden, dear. So, what do we do about this?” he teased.

Grabbing his shoulders, you pushed his back up against the tree, getting in his face. “We? We are doing nothing about this. You are going to act like you don’t know anything, or else I will suck your blood out. You got it, Hook?”

His face turned red, a red darker than the jacket that he was wearing. “I don’t know, m’lady. It seems like a pretty big favor to be asking of me.”

You moved closer to him, the tips of your noses pressing together. “I need you to cooperate with me. I am literally begging.” He raised a brow, “Begging? I like the sound of that.”

You shoved him away, groaning. “You’re disgusting, James… But, please, just keep this a secret. I can’t ruin my chances here.”

Hook realized how serious you were being and let up a bit. “Alright, alright, darling. This little secret will stay between us.”

“Promise?” you asked, looking up at him.

“I promise, my little bloodsucker.”

“I absolutely hate you, Hook.”

a/n: this was such an interesting request, i thoroughly enjoyed writing it. it gave very much zombies/monster high vibes. i hope you enjoy it! mwah mwah mwah!

#_emily’s writing_#descendants #descendants the rise of red #the rise of red #descendants x reader #descendants the rise of red x reader #james hook #james hook x reader #young hook #young hook x reader #young james hook #young james hook x reader

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collapsedglasshouses · 1 year

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Consequences || Noah Sebastian x Reader [Part 1]

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Summary: Y/N has known Noah since he became her brother's best friend. Growing up with him and knowing everything about each other let to them also being close friends. But something changes between them when Y/N is moving in with them due to a water damage in her apartment and it all leads to Nick's 30th birthday party.

Warnings: NSFW 18+!, MDNI!, language, mention of marijuana, implied medication use, oral sex (female receiving), alcohol consumption, (feel free to let me know if i missed anything <3)

A/N: So this is the first work I every put onto tumblr and also the first work I every publish in English… Therefore: Pls have in mind that English isn’t my first language and I'm new to writing smut! If you have tips or tricks for me to improve my writing, pls feel free to message me! The idea was spooking around my head for a while. Be safe ppl and remember if you are under the age of 18, pls do not interact with my stuff since I’m really not comfortable with that (if i see it anyways i will block you). Now enjoy! <3

November 29, 2022 was the day everything changed…

12:34 PM; November 29, 2022

You woke up in the house where your brother and his friends lived. At the moment you kind of lived there due to water damage at your own apartment.

While the other roommates were momentarily out of the house, it was very empty and quiet around here. So it was no problem for you to get the spare bedroom. When you realised your brother was still sleeping, you tip toed down to the kitchen area where you found Jolly, Noah and Folio preparing a cake with candles.

"I think I've never seen you guys be so cute before." you mocked them while eying the cake. It was shaped like a guitar and coloured in black while being decorated with wonky red letters saying „Happy Birthday, Nick!“

You smiled to yourself before going around the kitchen counter and grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge "So, when do we start tonight?" you ask your friends while sitting down on the kitchen counter.

"It depends on how long Jolly and Folio can distract Nick." Noah answers before walking towards you, stepping in between your legs and than grabbing a cup from the shelf above you while looking at you.

"What do you mean 'Jolly and Folio'? What about us?" you ask your brother's best friend while holding his gaze. It wasn’t unusual for you two to be close to each other since you had known Noah for ages considering his friendship with your brother Nick, but since you were living here something had changed. From sleeping in on the couch together while watching anime and waking up in each others arms to him telling you about song ideas that he didn’t tell anyone else about or those small touches you exchanged whenever no one was watching that seemed so innocent but still left you guessing.

When he finally broke your gaze and stepped back to pour himself a cup of coffee, you took a big sip out of your water bottle to drown out your thoughts before anyone noticed your nervousness.

"You two need to prepare the house while Folio and I go equipment shopping with your brother." Jolly explains before you hear a shuffling upstairs, causing you all to become quite and stare at the stairs while gathering around the cake which candles were quickly lit by Jolly. It didn’t take long before your brother wobbled down the stairs and came to a hold when he saw you four standing in front of his cake smiling.

"Happy Birthday, Nick!" you all shout in union while Nick rubbed his eyes and took a couple of tired steps towards you before blowing his candles. "What are you guys planning? You act like fucking robots." he mumbles while Folio cut the cake into small pieces.

"Can't we just be grateful that mom brought you into this world 30 years ago?" you said before hugging him tightly. "Jesus… You making me sound so old. But yeah… Definitely… Even though Folio looks like you stapled that smile onto his fucking face"

The guys quickly changed the subject to not cause any further suspicion before you ate breakfast together. It didn’t take long until the three boys took of, leaving Noah and you alone to decorated the house.

You talked about anything and everything, before you asked Noah to help him hang a "Happy Birthday" sign on the wall.

You were unsuccessfully trying to reach the height the sign was supposed to go on. Before you could argue you felt arms go around your waist and shortly after that you were being lift up. You felt your pulse rise and your eyes widened. "What the fuck are you doing, Noah?" you protested - "Helping you. Now do your job."

You muttered under your breath and tried to concentrate while Noah's arms were wrapped around you. You would lie if you said you didn’t like how close he was to you but at the same time you tried to push away the way it made you feel.

"You know, I actually can’t believe Nick's thirty already. It feels like time flies by so much faster since we formed the band." Noah almost whispered while you try to concentrate on the banner before you and not how soothing his voice sounded to you. "It feels like yesterday when Nick called us to pick him up from that girl’s house because her dad caught them making out." You slightly chuckle at the memory before you signaled Noah to let you down.

"It also feels like yesterday when you called me in the middle of the night because the exact same thing happened to you and you were too proud to call Nick because you made fun of him because of said story." you reminded him while turning around and looking up into his eyes. You would never get used to the fact how tall Noah was in comparison to you. It wasn’t like you were tiny but he still was more or less a head taller than you.

"It’s not like nothing like that never happened to you, Y/N Ruffilo." he noted in a teasing voice and you exactly knew which story he meant. "Noah, you promised we would never talk about that again." - "I promised to never tell your brother that you slept with that skater jerk Michael back at your senior prom and than almost getting pregnant from it."

You remembered it clear as day how Noah drove you to the pharmacy in the early morning hours to get a Plan B and how you cried about not wanting to be a teen mom and how he comforted you by saying he would be there for the child like it was his own.

You also clearly remember your dumb crush on that Michael guy. There was this boy in your and Noah's year that you had a huge crush on since eighth grade. Michael was a skater and in retrospective he definitely wasn’t a good guy, considering his first love were definitely joints but when Noah left school at 15 to pursue his music career there was no one who stopped you from your stupid little crush, considering the fact you didn’t tell your brother because he would have hunted Michael down.

"You know I would kill you if you would even think about telling Nick." you threatened your friend and pointed a finger to his chest. Noah smirked while looking down at your hand, before grabbing the tape from your other hand and leaning to your ear. "As if you could do anything against me."

Shivers went down your spine and your heart began to beat faster while Noah left you standing there in the middle of the living room to go on with decorating. If that wasn’t enough he looked back at you and said "But at least you didn’t lose your virginity to that jerk."

You felt your cheeks burn while thinking about what he was implying. You and Noah being the same age and having such a close friendship at a phase in your live that was purely controlled by hormones, it wasn’t far off that you did in fact lose your virginity to your brother’s best friend. But you both swore that not a soul in the world would ever find out about that and managed to keep it this way to this day.

You tried to push the thoughts of the past away by biting the inside of your cheek. You didn't know what to do. Slowly but surely he was driving you insane and you didn’t even know if he was doing on purpose.

This was the moment you decided that it was best for your own good to try to avoid Noah's presence at the upcoming party. You didn’t want to risk ruining your friendship with him and therefore ruining the bond your brother had with him since ages.

11:19 PM; November 29 2022

Hours later you found yourself on the couch in the corner of the living room while the party for you brother was at its peak. You didn’t really know how many drinks you consumed, considering the fact that you took at least four shots with your brother, but you definitely started to feel the alcohol in your system while you listened to a story Bryan told you about the last tour.

You couldn’t help but think about what happened early. Noah seemingly consumed your mind. You could only think about his hands around your waist or how comfortable you two slipped into this weird situation in your friendship. When you were younger you often cuddled or were close but it all seemed so different lately and you couldn’t wrap your head around why it suddenly felt so different for you. You feared that you were imagining that change.

"I'm sorry, Bryan, but I'm not doing so well." You quickly excused yourself while standing up and making your way upstairs. You didn’t know what had gotten into you but you knew that you needed to clear your head.

You entered the upstairs bathroom, leaving the door open since no one was on this floor and looked at your self through the small mirror. Your cheeks were flushed because of the alcohol you consumed and your eyes were slightly red.

You bent down and splashed a few drops of water in your face when you suddenly heard a voice behind you. "Are you okay?" Noah asked with furrowed eyebrows while placing a hand on your back, instantly sending a wave of chills down your spine.

"Yeah, yeah… Uh… I'm fine just a bit tipsy" you mumbled, drying your face with a towel before turning to face your friend.

Without even realising it you let your gaze wander and looked at Noah more closely. He wore a black turtleneck and black cargo pants, if you didn’t knew better you would say he was about to go on stage. In comparison to him you seemingly looked naked. Only dressed in a lacey black crop top and a skirt that was to short for your own good. But you were at your brother's, one of the places you felt save with wearing anything and everything.

Suddenly he raised his hand and put a strand of her behind your ear. "Do you maybe wanna watch a movie or something? You seem nervous."

You slightly look up to meet his eyes. The eyes of one of your best friends. The eyes of the boy who knew everything about you except your confusing feelings towards him. You took a deep breath and noticed his eyebrows rose for a second, before you nodded. As confused as you were, Noah was still Noah and knew exactly what he needed to do to calm your nerves. So you decided to sneak away from the party and not even an hour later you found yourself showered and in pyjamas sitting in his bed while searching for something to watch while he got ready for your sleepover.

You could still hear the music blast from outside of his room when he came back wearing sweatpants and a worn out band shirt.

"You know what you wanna watch?" Noah asks you while making himself comfortable next to you.

"You will laugh at me." - "Spirited Away?" Bullseye. Over the years Spirited Away became your comfort movie. You remember it clear as day when you first watched the movie with your brother when you were around ten. So when Noah started playing the movie all the memories you had while watching it filled your body and for a second you forgot about the weird things you've been thinking all day while snuggling into Noah's side like you always used to.

"Do you wanna tell me what has gotten into your mind?" he asked carefully when you were halfway through the movie and your heart automatically started to beat faster while you turned to look at each other.

You thought about a way to get out of this situation. You couldn’t just tell him that you had been thinking about it all day how his hands felt on your body. That would have been stupid considering the fact that you were sure you were imagining that whole atmosphere so you decided to just shake your head and look him in the eyes. Your cheeks started to feel warm and him than brushing a strand of hair behind your ear while signaling you to come closer to him didn't exactly help. You obeyed him, knowing full well he didn’t believe you, and slid closer to him until your head found its place in the crook of his neck while his arms slung around you. One around your back and the other one, to your surprise, slightly under your shirt.

"You know you can tell me everything." he said, his voice becoming a bit deeper and raspier while he started drawing circles on the exposed part of your skin. You had a feeling that you would catch fire any moment. You felt like you didn’t have any control over your body anymore. So much to your own surprise you lifted your head slightly and before you knew you placed a couple of soft kisses on this neck before stopping in your tracks and panicking. He had stopped doodling circles on your skin. Instead now he had grabbed your waist a little harsher than normal and let out a sound you last heard when you two were seventeen, a bit too drunk for you own good and definitely more naked than now.

You paused in your actions and waited for his reaction, trying to guess if you officially ruined your longterm friendship for the sake of your own amusement, but than he whispered in your ear "Why did you stop?"

Before you could think Noah turned on his back, pulling you with him so now you were sitting directly on his crotch and could feel him growing harder.

"Do you even realise what you do to me?" he almost moaned in your ear causing you to lose the last bit of clarity in your head and you kiss his neck again, more firmly than you did before.

He let out that noise again that send heavy shivers down your spine and before you could even process what was happening you grinded your hips against his. A wave of pleasure hit you when Noah began to fiddle with your shirt, silently demanding you to take it off, while slightly buckling his hips upwards. So you sat up on him and did as he demanded.

You never thought that you would every be in the position again that Noah Sebastian was looking at you like that. Pupils dilated and that look on his face that made you want to rip of his clothes.

With easiness he turned you two around so he was on top of you and took his turtleneck off, displaying all his tattoos to you that always made you weak and started kissing down your neck, than along your collarbone and eventually landed between your breasts.

"You are so fucking beautiful" he whispers against your skin causing you to moan quietly. "Fuck… Noah." You stutter while he slowly takes one of your nipples into his mouth while massaging the other with one hand. Your hands quickly found their way into his dark hair and when you pulled on it slightly he moaned against your skin.

"N-Noah.." you mumble causing him to look at you "I-…" - "Take your time, Y/N."

You took a deep breath while he stroked your skin around your waist "I need you to touch me"

Never in a million years you thought that you would say those words ever again to Noah but in this moment you needed nothing more than to feel him closer to you.

You again thought for a moment that you overstep an unspoken line because Noah stared at you for a second to long. In the exact moment you wanted to say something again he began kissing down your belly and stopped at the waistband of your panties, looking at you, searching for any kind of regret in your face but the only thing you could think about was his mouth where you needed it the most. So you buckled your hips up a little, signaling him to go on which he did with anticipation.

Noah slowly let the last bit of clothing on you slip down your legs before spreading them with his hands.

Before you could even say anything you felt his tongue against your clit and arched your back. Immediately your hands found their way back into his hair and you pulled on it, causing him to moan against your core while you nearly lost your mind.

You nearly began to sob when you felt two of his long fingers push inside of you and curve upwards. You begged that nobody would hear you scream those profanities while Noah ate you out like it was his last meal on this earth. Wet noises filled the steamy air in his room while the end credits of Spirited Away rolled in the background. You began to shake.

"Noah… I'm gonna… Noah… fuck" you cried out while trying to get a hold of yourself. You never felt this kind of way. And the fact that it was Noah making you feel that way made it even better to you.

You were a moaning mess when you came undone, grabbing Noah's hair so hard you feared you would hurt him but hearing him groan against you instead made you cum even harder.

"Oh fuck… baby… look at you… cumming so hard you can’t even contain yourself." Your body shaked as you started to come down from your high, still jerking towards Noah while he slowly kissed his way up to your face.

Your first clear thought started to form in your head when Noah was right above you looking into your eyes.

"Holy shit." - "You call it." - "Fuck." He nodded looking as surprised as you did in that moment.

You looked into his brown eyes that never left your face while he admired you. You didn’t know what to say so you did the only thing that came to your mind and grabbed his face before kissing him with force.

Noah sighed into your mouth while you could taste yourself on his mouth.

You knew that nothing would be the same after this but you both also knew now wasn’t the time to talk about.

So when you left Noah's arms and than his room around two hours later, when the house got quiet, with messed up hair and lips still slightly pink, you knew this would definitely have consequences…

READ PART 2 HERE

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fic #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #noah x reader #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfic #rpf #bad omens rpf #collapsedglasshouseswrites

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haleigh-sloth · 8 months

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Alastor, the wild card

Okay, I have to get this out because it's driving me nuts not having it written down.

I watched Hazbin Hotel. I watched the pilot 4 years ago, immediately liked Alastor. 4 years go by and he gets put on the back burner, but now that the main series has begun, oohhhhh boy.

This is basically just me laying out everything I think is going on with/going to happen with Alastor--the seeming wild card--and then what I ultimately think his end game will somewhat look like. Alastor has a lot of different little plot points going on with him, that all point in different directions, but I believe will all end up pointing at one specific ending. I'll go through the different plot directions tied to him in a list but not in the particular order I think they will occur, because I'm really not sure of that yet other than the last:

Beef with the Vees, Vox specifically

Lucifer

His deal, in other words his "leash"

His relationship to the hotel and everyone in it

His relationship to Charlie

Not a long list but a lot of thoughts altogether so here goes.

The Vees and Vox:

I'll start here, but this ties into other stuff later. The Vees, very much MOSTLY Vox and Valentino, are problems. They're these media industrial overlords who own people (it's such a mystery what type of modern-day issues these 3 characters are touching on), and they exploit, take advantage of, and harm people. They're clearly antagonists, even if not the main ones at this time. Now for the sake of keeping this about Alastor, we're gonna focus on Vox, because obviously they have past beef. We don't know ALL the details of what it is (aside from Alastor rejecting Vox's offer), but we know it resulted in a fight in which he "almost" beat Vox. And it seems they were on decent terms at one point, evidenced by what looks like Vox's head in this torn out photo that Vox had pinned to his board in the finale:

Alastor has an ego. He's an overlord. A highly regarded one, and he's obviously strong. He writes off pretty much everyone around him. He doesn't seem to be afraid of anyone, or even remotely bothered by people who show up to attack him or the hotel. He only shows any kind of acknowledgement of someone else's strength when he goes to the overlord meeting in episode 3. But outside of that, he does not seem to give anyone else the time of day.

So that's really funny considering that when Vox starts trash talking him on TV, he takes the bait and gets competitive. He goes on the air, he trash talks back, he gets personal with it. And when Vox loses signal, Alastor continues sending a final, very sinister warning.

And he's not being his usual joke-y self. He's being serious. He's turning into his Wendigo-looking form, which is quite scary looking. We're supposed to take him seriously here because he's not writing Vox off. He is, for lack of a better way of putting it, taking Vox seriously as an opponent. He's being usually egotistical, but he's still putting more effort into this little social media battle than he has for (almost) any other opponent. And not to mention, Vox was shown in the pilot:

So, while this was pretty much shelved for the reason of season 1, it's coming back. And it's going to be an issue for everyone, including Alastor.

Lucifer:

This is going to be my second favorite section of this post. Because it's hilarious, and also somewhat endearing to me how he reacted to meeting Lucifer. I'm sure people noticed, but when Lucifer walked in and hugged Charlie, the frame moved up to show Alastor's face, and his eye was twitching in that moment.

Then a moment later they shake hands, and he wipes his hand off on his coat. And later Lucifer bumps into his arm when walking past him and he brushes his arm off-again. Clearly, Alastor does not like Lucifer. Now, I'm like 100% sure there are yet-to-be-revealed reasons for this that have not even been remotely touched on (Lilith), but there are some obvious guesses we can make based on what we now have in season 1.

There's the fact that Alastor's ego is present here. He points out Lucifer's height, in a condescending way. So that's a thing, but I think it goes beyond that. I'll dive into Alastor and Charlie toward the end, but I do think Charlie is part of the reason for his behavior in episode 5. Alastor is showing off his additions to the hotel, but he isn't really boasting about himself at this point. He's being very pointed about giving Charlie all of the credit, and he is very intentional about saying what an "impressive young lady" she is and saying how "VERY proud" THEY (meaning him and the others there) are of her. It's very odd and hilarious that he's pulling all of this out in front of her dad. I mean, I have my guesses, but given that Alastor then starts challenging her dad in a sing-off, saying he's a dud of a parent, and just straight up saying he could be her dad--I'd say Lucifer's lack of effort in Charlie bugs the shit out of Alastor. I'll explain more on that later, though.

The last point I'll make here to transition into the next section is that I'm sure Lilith has something to do with this disdain for Lucifer. However, I'm really not sure what side of Lilith Alastor knows. My guess is it isn't a good side though.

Which brings me to Alastor's "leash", the handler being Lilith.

I mean, this feels as on the nose as the Dabi is Touya theories. Alastor's been gone for 7 years. Lilith has been gone for 7 years. Vestial said he heard a rumor Alastor fell into "holy arms". We know Lilith is chillin in heaven (but other people don't..so again, mystery). Alastor won't tell anyone why he was gone. We know someone owns Alastor in some way right now. I mean....it's gotta be Lilith. It could be a red herring and be a complete surprise later, but it feels like something very obvious that we just won't get to see for a while and will have to wait in anticipation. Lilith is not painted in the best light right this second, but honestly it's impossible to tell whether she's actually Not Great or if there's layers to this. My guess is probably a little of both.

Alastor being involved with the hotel could be because of Lilith. That also feels somewhat obvious, though again, I'll dive into Charlie in a second.

Hazbin Hotel:

Things start to somewhat all tie together here.

Okay let's take this back to the pilot when Alastor introduced himself to the show. He said he views the hotel as an investment for entertainment, and a lost cause, and something to laugh about. He repeats this in episode 1 to remind everyone that he still views Charlie's vision as something impossible to achieve and something to laugh at. Howeverrrrrr--

We shouldn't ignore the fact that ever since he showed up to "help", under the guise that he thinks the hotel is a joke, he has given a lot more than he had originally stated he'd intended. For someone supposedly who enjoys watching others fail and fall into misery, he sure does put a lot of effort into something he considers to be a massive joke. And the funny thing is that he says in the pilot that redemption is impossible, but we literally KNOW IT'S NOT. Sir Pentious immediately brings Alastor's motive for involving himself with the hotel into question. Of course we have no idea how much Alastor actually knows about redemption, but we can't disregard the very real possibility that he's involved with Lilith (holy arms) and the very real possibility that he's aware of her whereabouts (heaven). We don't know all of those details yet. But what we do know is that all of Alastor's efforts are fueling something that is working. SO HIS EFFORTS ARE MAKING A DIFFERENCE..

So I guess that brings me to--what does he actually think of the hotel? Like reeeeaaallly think of it?

His behavior throughout the 8 episodes shifts significantly from the pilot and episode 1 even. He repeats it's a joke in episode 1. And then continues to put genuine efforts into keeping Charlie from giving up even when things get tough and she feels really beaten down. (I'll tie this into why I think he dislikes Lucifer in the Charlie sections).

I also am questioning his real vision of the hotel because it is certainly not something to be ignored that he put Husker and Niffty into the hotel--the hotel about redemption and salvation. Yeah, he's an overlord. He owns their souls. But he's forcing them to stay in a hotel that we literally already KNOW is going to save them in some way. Husker and Angel have their thing going, which will be a good thing. Niffty has a group of people who will protect her, evidenced by episode 6. So, again, Alastor's efforts are all leading to Charlie's hotel being nothing but successful (in the end). But yet he says it's all a joke.

And I think the biggest hint at there being something more here is that Alastor willingly put himself against Adam. And we KNOW that Alastor is leashed somehow. His wings are "clipped". And he ran off to go have a quick little break down in private about almost being killed because of this. Obviously his powers are shackled per his deal.

And yet? He still pit himself against Adam. Knowing this about himself. He also DID almost die for them--his friends, if we can assume he really meant that (I think later on that will be the case). This notion obviously bothers him, a lot. He went to his broadcast station and freaked out over the fact that he really did almost die for them. And then he still went back, knowing that they know he lost his fight. What a blow to his ego! He's the only one who lost and they all know it because they had to deal with Adam after he left.

I won't write off the possibility that he has to be there per some deal (assuming it's Lilith), but that doesn't negate the fact that his demeanor toward the hotel and everyone there changed from beginning of season 1 to the end.

We don't know yet what Alastor really thinks, yet. That's internal and won't be shown until later. But I don't think it's wise to take his word for it from the pilot and from episode 1, and then ignore everything that came after when it's obvious his behavior shows something else entirely.

Lastly, his relationship to Charlie ties everything together.

Again, this started off as a joke to him. He SAYS that he thinks Charlie is working for something impossible. And yet throughout the season he's been shown to be really endearing toward her.

I think my favorite part showing this was him telling her in episode 7 that "It's not like you've ever failed to inspire before." He meant himself. Because in that same sequence Charlie says she usually sings to get her point across but it never works. Except it did, because that's literally what brought Alastor to her doorstep.

That, plus Alastor's obvious disdain for her father that he shows when she isn't looking (the eye twitch), him trying to motivate her from giving up when she's all depressed, him singing about her with Rosie. I think he genuinely admires her and finds her inspiring, and genuinely likes her. Which is really interesting when you look at how he reacted to the presence of her father, and when you consider the very real possibility that he's very much indebted to her mother. Their dynamic is by far my favorite because Alastor is just very NOT easy to read.

However there is a problem that will come up later, and it's the deal he made with Charlie.

So now I'll try to tie everything together:

Alastor has this unsettled business with Vox. He isn't going to let it go. It's going to be a problem somehow. Alastor is stuck in a deal with someone, it's going to be a problem somehow. Alastor now has an unfulfilled deal with Charlie. It's going to be a problem somehow. Alastor hasn't made any vocal admittance that he doesn't view the hotel as a joke, so his front about it being impossible is still kind of there, and that's coupled with the fact that we know he's wrong. All of these things are obstacles to what I'm PRETTY SURE is going to be the hotel's final and biggest obstacle and success:

redeeming Alastor.

Before I go further I'm going to touch on the pilot here.

There are three very bold statements made in the pilot:

"Inside of every demon is a rainbow."

"Inside of every demon is a lost cause."

"He can't be redeemed."

Who is right?

Well, CHARLIE is the heart of the show. The core of what the show wants to portray--redemption and salvation. (Hams is probably right that she is a Jesus figure). I think the odds are in her favor. ALASTOR made a statement that we now have very solid undeniable evidence disproving, now that season 1 is over. So he's out. VAGGIE ended up having a dark and painful secret that she's done unforgivable things to Charlie's home. And yet, she's making the judgment call about Alastor? I think she's out. And also, her statement is the introduction to one of the biggest challenges in the show for Charlie. Because Charlie believes in the opposite of what Alastor and Vaggie are saying. And like I said, the odds are in Charlie's favor.

Now, Alastor obviously doesn't seem like the type to want redemption, or strive for that. Because I'm pretty sure he's not. For now, on the surface. There are a lot of negative things in his way. His beef with Vox and his deal shackling his powers that he wants freedom from. And I'd honestly bet money that those things will all stand in the way of Charlie redeeming him because he'll be focused on these things that keep him from wanting to do better and change--even though throughout season 1 he already showed slow but undeniable signs of changing, whether he wants to admit it or not.

But I think the point of his arc is to end up being someone who does want better. I think his obvious liking for Charlie is something that will save him from a dark and desperate place, a place we've kind of already gotten a peak into. And I think that at the end of the day, every ounce of effort he put into the hotel for Charlie, under the guise of it being for his entertainment, will all end up helping him the most out of everyone in the end.

And I'm very excited.

#Hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor

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silverflqmes · 1 year

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໒⦂ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐈 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐃 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊.

synopsis. dan heng, a person of very few words, has been meaning to confess his love, and even more so now as he prays you are not in love with someone else.

genre. fluff

for @diorlumx <3

dan heng x gn!reader.

a pair of cerulean hues eyed you as a laugh escaped your lips at another joke jing yuan made.

dan heng wasn’t one to get jealous, at least he considered himself not to be. but right now, watching you as you as he was, the vidyadhara couldn’t help the envy that crawled into the deepest layers of his skin.

“there was no reason to be bitter,” he’d told himself not too long ago, forcing himself to forget the way serval held you so closely to her. the blonde was naturally warm and physical with her affection, anyway.

but even if you likes one of them or someone else, it was something heng had anticipated from the very start. something he’d expected.

of course you would want someone with less emotional baggage, who wasn’t running away from their past. you’d most certainly favor a lover that made you laugh, smile and feel true happiness with.

anyone would want someone that wasn’t dan heng. an introvert, closed off individual; even a coward to some. whatever characteristics or titles he’d received throughout his travels. nobody wanted someone like that, and he accepted that.

and so, he told himself not to care so much if someday you did turn up at the express, hand in hand with somebody you deeply loved.

after all, it was your life to live and your choice, always. he would never ( ever ) take that away from you or chain you down to him.

however, the thought of you being in love with someone else.. without the knowledge of his feelings for you, stung him a little more than it should have.

with that in mind, the onyx haired boy did the last thing he would have ever caught himself doing.

with tentative steps towards you, he willed his lead filled legs to move, the beat of his heart thundering — echoing your name through his pointed ears.

dan heng wasn’t sure what came over him, let alone compelled him to muster the courage to grab you by the hand as he pulled you away from the albino haired general.

confusion replaced your initial cheeriness before turning into concern as you watched the male lead you elsewhere.

ever since his secret had been spilled for all eyes to see on the xianzhou luofu, he’d been acting off. which to you, was well, completely understandable. although it didn’t stop your worries as you slid your eyes to him. “dan heng?”

silence was his response as he looked ahead of him, thundering heart in his throat. what was he supposed to say? what was he meant to answer with that didn’t sound weird or out of character to say?

you took his lack of words as a sign to be quiet; patient. dan heng, you realized, required a bit of patience. if he didn’t want to say something, he would say it when he was ready. same with the appearance he hid all this time.

as you got a better look at him, you couldn’t help the warmth you felt on your cheeks despite the ocean breeze. he was beautiful. and he was forced into hiding all of his beauty, not that his norm wasn’t alluring to begin with.

when he reached a far enough- a safe enough spot, the aquamarine eyed male slowed his tracks, turning to face you properly. “i have,” he paused, taking in a breath before loosing it softly. “something i have been meaning to tell you for a long time now.”

your thoughts immediately went to the recent events — was he planning to stay on the luofu, now that he had been accepted among his people once more? no, you couldn’t jump to conclusions. “is it something bad?”

dan heng wasn’t certain. was it good? was it really just bad? it all depended on how you would see it. and if you thought it to be bad, the shame would probably haunt him until his dying days.

but he had to speak, now.

“i’m hoping it isn’t.” he answered finally, meeting your gaze again. it was now or never. “y/n, you are the light in the darkness i have lived in so long. the dreams that drive out my nightmares — and i have been afraid, so afraid of telling you.” the male began, steadying himself from fumbling with his words.

this was it. “that i have liked you for quite a long time now — and i just, wanted to tell you..” he paused, grasping his clothing. “before it was too late for me to say.”

as you processed his words, you were reminded of what jing yuan had said that made you laugh as you did. “i think there is more to what dan heng feels for you than what he leads on.” it was a joke, it had to be one. this was your stoic comrade you were talking about. he wasn’t one for romances and affection.

but as you weighed his confession, as it repeated in your head.. you realized more and more, that it wasn’t a joke. dan heng had his sarcastic comments, yes. but this, this wasn’t one of them.

this was him pulling the heart out of his throat and putting it in his hands, vulnerable and true, for you to see.

and now, it was your turn.

“well.. you’re just in time — you will always be on time.” you finally willed yourself to answer, reaching for his hands as you took a step towards him. “because it’s you — dan heng, that i’ll choose. no matter how long i have to wait- if i have to spend forever wondering.”

your hand slid to his cheek, bringing his eyes to yours. “in every life you might live or be reborn in — i will be there to say yes, and return the feelings i share with you.”

notes. this is so enchanted ( taylor’s version ) coded, it just felt fitting tbh.. such an iconic song like fellas ain’t nobody pouring their hearts out in music these days like my girlie taylor does. anyway, i hope you enjoyed luma! i apologize if it was short, i wrote this in several sittings since i’ve been on trip.. so i’m hoping it’s what you were looking for and that you enjoyed reading it!

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delzinrowe · 7 months

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Aftermath - Kento Nanami

WORD COUNT: ~4.2K WARNINGS: Some minor & major alterations to Shibuya Arc! No Culling Games in this fic. Otherwise no serious warnings. F!Reader SUMMARY: Three days after the Shibuya Incident in the midst of the aftermath Y/N is trying to sort out her emotions and deal with what happened. A/N: Feedback is always appreciated! If you want to be tagged in upcoming fics/drabbles, please let me know!!! Thank you, and enjoy <3 Considering there are alterations to Shibuya: PLEASE, keep your replies/comments spoiler free, to ensure the unaltered enjoyment of other readers. Thank you!

Curses had claimed Shibuya. Half the district was gone, reduced to ashes and debris. Thousands of human lives were eradicated, leaving nothing but pain and emptiness in the hearts of those who miraculously survived the tragedy.

The remaining sorcerers tried their best to evacuate those who lived too close to the newly created wastelands of Tokyo. There was no telling how long it would take to get rid of all the curses, if that was even possible. Therefore saving and protecting all non-sorcerers had priority.

Within record time Y/N had scouted through the rackages in search of any survivors and brought them to Shoko for treatment. It was a tiring task, not only physically but mentally. Seeing the devastating destruction caused by Sukuna, Kenjaku and the countless curses truly took a toll on everyone.

All it took was a few hours to save all the survivors. But this small win was overshadowed by the carnage left behind. Every sorcerer had returned to the Tokyo Jujutsu High grounds, even the ones from Kyoto decided to stay. Considering the immediate threat posed by the countless curses roaming the streets it was the most logical decision for everyone to stay and aid the Tokyo sorcerers.

Many of the sorcerers made it their daily mission to eradicate as many curses as they possibly could, it was their way of dealing with the losses. Among those was Y/N. After the incident she focused all her attention on the vile creatures, spending every minute on the battlefield. As one of the teachers at Jujutsu High she had always made it her priority to keep everyone safe. If going on a rampage and killing curses left and right was the only way for her to ensure no one else would be hurt, so be it.

Just after killing the last of the evil spirits in front of her she fell to her knees. The exhaustion of the past few days took over her body, but she fought against it.

“You can’t keep going like this, Y/N.” Nanami Kento’s voice sounded from a bit further away, as his feet slowly carried him closer to her kneeling form. The blonde sorcerer seemed exhausted as well, carrying scars and injuries from the massacre days ago.

“Sure I can. I have to.” She responded, but her words didn’t hold as much strength as she had intended. And when she stood up she realised how much her body trembled.

“When was the last time you slept?” He inquired with this slightly disappointing tone that made her feel aggravated all too quickly.

“For your information I slept last night.” By now he was standing before her, watching with eagle eyes as she brushed the dirt off her clothes.

“How many hours?” His question earned him an eye-roll in response. Why did he feel the need to act like this right now when he knew the current situation better than anyone.

She refrained from answering, knowing fully well that in her agitated state she might say something spiteful or mean that she’d regret later on.

“You cannot keep this up.” His voice now held a more stern tone as he tried desperately to get through to her. However, the more he tried to reason with her the more she resisted.

“I’m not a child, Kento, I can take care of myself. Thank you.” She had never raised her voice at him like this before, but his nagging really was not what she needed right now. While she knew that it came from a good place, it fell on deaf ears. She had lost too many people, had watched close friends be slaughtered like pigs in front of her.

“Obviously you can’t!” He yelled back at her when she had already turned on her heel.

“You’re a teacher, don’t you think you should be a role model to your students?” Y/N couldn’t see it but she knew that he wore a pleading expression on his face, simply with the way his voice sounded almost desperate to get through to her.

“I am!” Was all she shouted back at him before walking further away, out of his field of vision. She had to get away from him right now even if she knew that he only meant well.

Didn’t he understand that she needed this? That she needed to exorcize as many curses as she could? That she needed to make these streets safer for everyone?

Nanami knew her better than anyone. And he knew that she needed this, but not ‘to make the streets safer’. Not because Exorcizing curses was the simple job of a sorcerer.

No. Y/N needed this for herself more than anything.

Once she had walked further away, when she was out of earshot, she once more collapsed, physically and mentally. She dropped to her knees, not caring that the tiny stones on the ground would leave marks on her knees even through her pants, and balled her hands into fists. She made no attempts in stopping the tears that started filling her eyes, eventually rolling down her cheeks and dropping onto the ruined ground, which once was a bustling street filled with life.

Minutes passed in which Y/N cried without a care in the word if anyone saw her. The overwhelming guilt she felt caused her chest to tighten and burn as if it was on fire.

“Survivor’s Guilt”, is what Shoko had called it when she patched up Y/N’s injuries. “It’s the belief that you did something wrong by surviving when others didn’t.”, she explained it further. Y/N knew that it wasn’t rational to feel like this, but what did that help when she was convinced on a deeply emotional level that by surviving she truly did do something wrong.

“It’s not fair. So many talented and skilled people died, but I survived. Why? It’s just not fair…” She had argumented, but Shoko was quick to smack the back of her head, effectively capturing her full attention. The healer had made it clear to her that she didn’t survive for nothing, that people still needed her. It was enough to give Y/N at least some mental strength, but as soon as she had left Shoko’s infirmary she fell into the habit of not eating, not sleeping and using all her time to hunt down every cursed spirit she could find.

Y/N wasn’t sure how much time had passed, it couldn’t have been more than half an hour, considering the sun was pretty much still at the same spot in the sky. She frankly didn’t care all too much about it either way.

After wiping lazily over her face she finally stood up, skillfully ignoring that her knees felt like dough and her legs trembled. It simply did not matter, she felt as if nothing mattered. At the same time everything mattered.

By now she deeply regretted snapping at Nanami, he was the least person to deserve that. He had always been some sort of role model to Y/N. His moral code in keeping children safe and not letting the youth experience any misery greatly inspired her to become a teacher at Jujutsu High.

She decided to apologise when she saw him next. He’d understand her, she was sure of it. For now she just wanted to get out of here. Her strength was decreasing due to lack of sleep and nutrition. As skilled and talented as she was, she wasn’t arrogant enough to believe she could take on multiple high grade curses in her current status.

Her walk back to the next operating public transportation wasn’t short, giving her plenty of time to think of the exact words she wanted to tell Nanami during her apology and how she’d explain herself. Even though she knew that his maturity wouldn’t expect her to explain anything. He surely knew how she felt. She guessed that he was ridden with the same form of guilt that plagued her mind and heart.

Y/N paid it no mind to the unamused glares and frowns of disapproval she received from strangers on the train. She knew that the blood stains and tears in her clothes were bound to attract the attention of non-sorcerers. Sometimes she’d even jump at the chance to horrify some particularly judgmental bystanders.

“Don’t worry, it’s not my blood.” She’d muse in an assuring tone of voice while showing a smile that seemed far too friendly. Every time, without exception, it would earn a wide-eyed stare.

However, today she was not in the mood to provoke anyone. She settled for mindlessly watching the passing landscape, it was all a blur to her unfocused eyes. Only when the mechanical voice announced the next stop was she ripped out of her thoughts. Due to a quick message she had sent when she stepped into the wagon she was greeted with Ijichi’s soft smile.

The tone between the two had always been kind and casual, almost friendly, which was something Y/N deeply appreciated. Other assistants sometimes didn’t dare to pursue a friendship with sorcerers, especially higher grades. They claimed it was due to professionalism, but the truth was that the assistants didn’t want to get attached to someone who’d end up dying well before their time.

Ijichi, in his gentlemanly behaviour, held open the car door for Y/N. Behind his nervous smile was a wave of worry when he glanced at the countless cuts and bruises that littered her body. The dried up blood as well as the torn clothes only added to his inner turmoil. Yet, every time he brought up his concerns for her wellbeing she shot him down with a lazy attempt at reassurance. It never worked.

“Has Yuji-kun already talked to you?” He asked with an almost cautious tone after he slipped into the driver’s seat and ignited the engine. Through the rear view mirror he could see how she furrowed her brows in confusion. It was enough of an answer for him.

“He mentioned that he was looking for you.” Ijichi explained further but Y/N only shook her head.

“I’ll find him when I’m at Jujutsu Tech. Thanks for telling me.”

After these words the remainder of the drive was spent in silence. It wasn’t unusual for rides with assistants to be quiet. Most trips with Ijichi however, were spent chatting about missions and the current state of affairs.

This time the assistant kept quiet. Perhaps because he wasn’t fully well yet either. Shoko had only allowed him to operate the car he was currently driving. Everything else was strictly off limits to prevent him from overworking. A trait shared by seemingly everyone and their mother in the sorcerer society.

The two of them reached the school grounds quickly and while absent-mindedly muttering a “Thank you.” Y/N stepped out of the car, heading straight towards Shoko’s infirmary to get her wounds treated.

The eerie silence in her mind, surrounded by the noise of nature in the form of birds chirping and leaves rustling, were all that filled the air, but not for long. Before she even made it halfway to her destination she was suddenly stopped by a voice yelling her name from a bit further away. It was a voice she had come to know well.

“What’s up, Yuji?” She asked as she turned towards him. The boy stopped a few feet away, despite seemingly running he was barely out of breath.

“Y/L/N-Sensei, you’re not forgetting about later right?” The pink haired boy almost seemed timid and hesitant but Y/N didn’t read into it. There was no reason for something like that at a time like this.

“About the little get-together later? I won’t forget, Yuji.” She had to force a little smile onto her lips as she reassured him. It seemed to be all the young student wanted to talk about as he quickly nodded and shot her a smile, that seemed far too out of place for the mindset she surrounded herself with at the moment, before he turned around and disappeared into the direction he came from.

Y/N didn’t like that Gojo was throwing a get-together at a time like this, just days after a devastating tragedy that caused pain and loss to so many people. Yet, another part of her could understand it somehow. Even though he acted like an idiot at times, she knew his heart was at the right place. She figured quickly that he wanted to bring them all together to strengthen the bond of the remaining sorcerers, ultimately making it easier to rely on each other. Perchance he even had a plan to deal with the curses, and most of all, the curse user formerly known as Geto Suguru.

With all this in her mind she finally made her way to Shoko. The breeze, that was far too warm for this time of the year, went by her without any recognition. All she could do was try not to get lost in her thoughts, her planned apology to Nanami still lingering in the back of her mind.

“You’re looking great again…” Shoko’s voice was filled to the brim with sarcasm.

“Thanks, always a pleasure to see you.” Y/N attempted to respond with the same level of mockery as she rolled her eyes, but her tone sounded more annoyed than anything else.

“Is that why you’re making it a habit to visit every day with new injuries? Y/N, you can’t keep doing that.” It was uncommon for the (now again) heavy smoker to show this level of concern for others. She was well aware that her fellow sorcerers could handle themselves well.

“Damn, I heard that before.” This time Y/N’s words were dripping with sarcasm. There was no ill-will in her voice, but Shoko immediately realised that she had more luck getting through a wall than her patient’s thick skull. With a sigh she simply decided to drop the subject.

Only mere minutes later all of Y/N’s injuries were healed, or at least taken care of and she left Shoko’s infirmary after voicing her gratitude.

“Should I pick you up later, or..?” Y/N didn’t answer the question that was yelled after. She heard it, but she wouldn’t acknowledge it. Why would it matter if Shoko picked her up for the stupid get-together? It came as a surprise that Shoko even cared about one of Gojo’s plans.

The sky had cleared up within the past minutes, allowing the sun to shine down on the scenery and dipping the landscape in a plethora of orange hues. However, the colour spectacle went unnoticed by Y/N, whose feet carried her to her assigned room. Out of courtesy, or rather practicality, the higher-ups had decided to offer the empty dormitories to the remaining few sorcerers. Considering the school was protected by barriers, this served as a means to keep them safe more so than goodwill.

Time passed by quickly, or maybe it didn’t, but Y/N was simply too caught up in her own thoughts. She could feel herself being dragged down once more, spiralling into the depths of her sorrow. She thought that maybe as soon as she reached the room the thoughts would dissipate, but nothing of that sort happened.

Seemingly like a zombie trapped in her own mind she undressed herself, showered, dried herself off and changed into a set of clean clothes. She settled for the only black dress she wore. Taking into account the circumstances it felt fitting to wear black, even if Gojo would possibly find a way to bring colour into everything.

Maybe this get-together was exactly what everyone needed right now. Maybe this was a chance to reconnect and move on. Maybe, just maybe, Gojo’s idea wasn’t too bad.

After checking the clock on her phone for the nth time Y/N to get going. Arriving early was always fashionable, wasn’t it? Besides, she knew that Nanami, as much as he disliked these gatherings, would most probably be there early as well. She’d simply take the time to talk to him and apologise. This way she had a chance of enjoying the rest of the late afternoon, possibly even with Nanami next to her.

And wouldn’t you know it, just like she had predicted, the blonde sorcerer stood outside the venue, glancing at the watch on his wrist. To no one’s surprise he wore the same white suit as always. He likely owned it multiple times to make dressing up in the morning easier, a simple fact she had never cared to think about before. Now it almost seemed hilarious to her. Nonetheless there was a frown on her lips. Knowing that she had to act like a responsible grown up and apologise for her earlier outburst left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Kento! Hey.” She greeted him almost hesitantly, if he noticed the nervousness in her voice he didn’t show it. He simply greeted her back while turning towards her.

“Can I talk to you about earlier this morning?” What a stupid way to have phrased it. Of course she could, she evidently had the ability to do so. Internally she scolded herself instantly over her choice of words.

“If you want to apologise, there’s no need for it, Y/N.” Here he went again, being the ever considerate and thoughtful person she knew him as. The expression on his face was almost soft, something he only showed around a small number of people, which she considered herself lucky to be a part of.

Before she even had the chance to respond to him he spoke up once more, prompted by the uncertainty shown on her features.

“I’m serious. It’s a difficult time for everyone, we’re all on edge. It’s alright.” Nanami uttered with a tone so full of understanding that it almost blew her away. Then again, despite him being the youngest of the adult sorcerers, he had always been the most mature one and the voice of reason.

For a few short minutes a comfortable silence was shared between the two, until Y/N glanced over his white suit and remembered her train of thought from before.

“You decided to keep wearing that same white suit? Don’t you have anything different to wear?” Y/N’s almost playful glance revealed the nature of her words, there was no malice or ill-intent. She prided herself on being the only one who could get him to engage in conversations in a light-hearted manner.

“Why? Don’t you think it looks handsome?” Nanami’s response came quickly, eliciting a chuckle from her.

“Oh, it definitely does.” She replied back, unable to help herself from chuckling once more as she saw the slight smile forming on his lips. At this very moment it almost felt like nothing bad had ever happened.

“Y/N, there is one thing you have to do for me.” Nanami spoke up once again. Y/N didn’t pay too much attention to his somewhat more seriously sounding tone, that was simply his nature.

“You can't keep me from getting absolutely shitfaced drunk.” If this get-together was anything like Gojo’s previous festivities there would be an unlimited amount of alcohol provided. Even if the host of these gatherings never drank an ounce of it himself.

When Nanami didn’t respond or smile at her quick remark she straightened her posture and looked at him expectantly.

“You have to forgive yourself for everything that went down the other day.” He continued then, judging by his tone it was clear as day what exactly he was referring to.

Without any sort of warning a wave of guilt washed over Y/N. Her chest tightened at the reminder of how many lives were lost, how many people she couldn’t save. The destruction was terrible. But it wasn’t the source of her pain. Involuntarily her mind wandered to the corpses which had littered the grounds of the Shibuya station. Her lips started to quiver but she was determined not to give in to the tears. No other word was needed, no clarification or elaboration. She knew what he meant.

Nanami didn’t rush her in her response, instead he gave her all the time she needed by waiting patiently. Something she was thankful for, even if he was the only reason she needed time in the first place.

Y/N hardly noticed when the index finger of her right hand started to scrape at her thumb’s cuticle. Her head was turned away, gaze averted from him. A part of her knew that she had to forgive herself. In fact, she knew that there wasn’t anything to forgive herself for since she had done everything in her powers to save as many people as she could. She had done enough. But her heart did not agree with her head. In her heart she had failed the people of Tokyo. She had failed her fellow sorcerers. She had failed herself.

“You can be really annoying sometimes.” She responded after what seemed like forever, allowing a deep sigh to leave her lungs. ‘Mostly when you’re the voice of reason’, she added in her thoughts bitterly while turning her gaze back to him.

“Yes. Maybe.” His words of agreement were simultaneously out of place and so very typical for him, at least when he was with her. It was enough for her to crack an unwanted smile.

She breathed in deeply, once, twice, and another time.

“Okay.” She finally answered his previous request. Both of them knew that Y/N needed more time to actually forgive herself, but it was a step in the right direction. It was an unspoken promise that she’d attempt to do this for him.

Nanami only responded with a proud nod, barely mouthing the word “Good.”

The quick change in atmosphere had almost caused her heart to beat irregularly. A silence hung over them, but this time it was heavier than before.

Y/N needed to shift the mood again, she needed to uplift not only his spirit, but also her own. She knew that otherwise she’d be glum and gloomy during Gojo’s get-together. There had been too much tragedy within a short time, a killjoy was definitely not what any of the sorcerers needed.

“Since you’re forced to attend this get-together, when are you gonna start complaining?” She chuckled, a little forced anyways, as she asked the blonde sorcerer.

“Complaining about what?” It was Shoko’s voice that sounded from behind Y/N, making her turn around and face the healer with a smile. Although Shoko was never full of energy and happiness, she seemed even more dispirited than ever.

Y/N shrugged her shoulders, “You know, about Gojo’s obnoxious attitude, about our tone deaf singing when we get drunk, about music that’s way too loud. The whole thing, really.” It seemed obvious to her that Nanami wouldn’t enjoy any of these things.

Shoko’s brows furrowed, her head tilted ever so lightly and her lips pursed.

“Where do you think we are?” She asked Y/N. A question like this would usually have resulted in the female sorcerer chuckling and replying in an amused tone. However, something about Shoko’s tone made her hesitate.

Y/N turned around towards Nanami once more, ready to smile at him.

Except, he wasn’t there anymore.

In a split second Y/N’s entire world came crashing down on her as the realisation set in that he had never been there in the first place. Images of her fights in Shibuya flashed before her eyes. Imagines consisting of sorcerers dying in front of her because she had been too slow.

A ringing set in her ears, intensifying with each memory that surfaced. The sound became stronger when she remembered finding Nanami again amidst the chaos and rubble of the destroyed Tokyo district. She had watched him fight, she had yelled after him, she had attempted to reach him and aid him.

Y/N swallowed hard, slowly turning towards Shoko again. Her chest tightened enough to leave her breathless. With a bitter smile on her face she lowered her gaze. Reluctantly she forced herself to walk, taking one painful step at a time towards the row of outdoor chairs that were neatly set up in front of the closed casket.

She had saved lives and exorcised many curses in Shibuya. She helped search for survivors and consoled the ones that were left behind after the losses.

Alas, the only thing she would forever remember about that night was how she witnessed Nanami dying right in front of her, when she had been too slow to save him.

Without any form of communication she sat down on one of the chairs in the first row, right in front of Nanami’s picture.

She was soon joined by Shoko who sat down next to her, placing a warm hand on her thigh and rubbing it assuringly. The gesture went unnoticed by Y/N, whose eyes were focused on all the little details she could make out on the picture atop the casket. Details that blurred more and more when her eyes filled with tears upon realising that it was all an illusion.

The arguments, the smiles, the quick light-hearted banter she shared with the blonde man during these last few days. It was nothing more than a beautiful hallucination.

#stef writes #jjk #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento brainrot #nanami kento imagine #nanami kento scenario #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you

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