#with three cats entangled in it

[psalmsofpsychosis]

"#Batman resists his own insanity so it spreads to e v e r y t h i n g around him"

You can't just say this and not elaborate in great detail. PLEASE elaborate oh my God. I do agree but I want to hear every single thought you have about this topic.

Btw, I'm the same Anon who asked -- or not really asked but more so talked -- about Batman and Joker's soulmate sort of bond.

AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN WITH "COMBINING JOKER'S HEAD WITH BATMAN'S BODY"???????

I was thinking along the lines of the concept version and how they could never be satisfied like this, united in one body. What is the result of mixing chaos and order? What is the result of mixing the act of forgetting the past and fixating on it? What do you get through combining the ideology of making everything matter and taking all meaning away?

The result is that the pure concepts become stained and dull, pushed away from their original function, losing their purpose to oppose each other.

Becoming one entity is the act of becoming complete (concepts being stained) and losing the thing that made them them. Batman and Joker were never meant to unite in this way with overlapping voices, finishing each others thoughts and sentences and it SHOWS. I'm in love with their grotesque obsession with each other that borders on love and punishment. Their desire to win and conquer the other for good but never being able to because losing one side takes away the purpose of the other.

That's why I'm so, so, SO disappointed with how the Batman Who Laughs turned out. Where are my identity crises? Plural, because this could never be an one-and-done kind of deal. They became OneTM, inentionally or not, but BeforeTM, they were always wondering what it would be like. Batman could try to get closer to Joker's mental state but never fully experience it, same with Joker. But now they are OneTM and then what? Batman is just the Joker with Bruce's memories and face. I can't begin to describe how boring that is. That's like if DC made a "Deadpool kills the Marvel Universe" story only they used Joker instead of Deadpool.

Do you see my vision? Can you feel my pain? I wanted to psychoanalyse that asshole with my amateurish psychology knowledge but they only gave us a watered down Joker who makes other Batmen less interesting upon contact. WHERE ARE THE IDENTITY CRISES?? WHERE IS THE DIFFICULTY IN MAKING A DECISION?? WHERE ARE THE LENGTHY MONOLOGUES ARGUING BACK AND FORTH OR CONTRADICTING EACH OTHER ALL THE TIME??? The Batman Who Laughs is basically Two Face but without the wall seperating Harvey and Two Face. Joker!Batman should be unable to do anything or constantly switch between Bruce and Joker or save one life and then turn around and kill it. Like, where is the complexity? Why the hell is that guy only a murder machine?? That was neither Joker nor Batman's whole purpose??

Tell me all your thoughts, my friend, while I'm here spinning in circles and going insane. I'll never get out of this alive, you'll still find me ruminating on this on my deathbed.

I swear, if you give an absolute banger of an answer again, I'll come and start living in your walls.

Have a nice day!! :)

ANON LOVE OF MY LIFE, i'm shoveling all the insides of my walls out as we speak, you can move in by Wednesday morning—

Like, the way i felt every single word you said in my bones. You are so right, and there are a couple different points here and it's gonna get longer than usual so i'll separate each thought thread to avoid drowning in lé brain soup.

• Re: batman resisting his own insanity, i feel like i have simultaneously talked about this in 7986 different ways and haven't said anything about it at all 😂 possibly most of it has been discord ramblings. Long story short, the spine of his narrative to me is that he actively resists his own humanity and in extension of it, his evil. He wants to be good. But there's also immense psychological/emotional/physical price we pay whenever we make these kind of choices; whatever we disown and banish to our subconscious, we project out into the world and unto the people around us. The load you refuse to carry will be carried by the people around you, because at the end of the day /someone/ has to carry it, it doesn't just disappear into ether. So, in a way, for Batman to remain good, to remain a hero, someone else has to be bad. The extent in which Batman keeps his goodness "pure and untainted" dictates the horrors created around him— and particularly the creation of Joker. I say creation because the existence of Batman as a concept absolutely necessitates the existence of Joker. In a way Batman does create him, and it's true that with Batman gone Joker and half the evil in Gotham would be gone too, not because Batman is an evil presence— but precisely because he disowns his own evil.

And the thing is, in the specific context of Joker, it has become this almost loving, adoring symbiotic relationship; Joker has willingly shaped himself to fit the outline of an evil that Batman needs to defeat, he has become the sin that Batman can overcome so he can stay a saint. I actually have a draft on this that i never finished, a meta about how all the coloring choices in Joker's design eerily resemble the different color stages of a wound and the bruising after, how Batman almost feels like Jesus with Joker as his side wound, Joker being the price he pays and the pain he goes through for his martyrdom in order to stay pure, for his idealogy to have any form of meaning and significance, Joker being his very own holy suffering.

We fundamentally understand reality in form of contrasts, internal ones, external ones. As you very well pointed out, without an innate sense of contrast, we cease to have any form of coherent grasp on different concepts, and they start to sort of become noise, they become nothing. Would you truly understand what a day was and grasp it as a concept if it wasn't followed by a night? So like, what i'm saying is, people around Bruce/Batman become what he needs because they love him and they want to help him keep his narrative, the structure of his psyche intact. They help him stay 'him' by taking on the burden of what he doesn't want to be, he subconsciously shapes them in the image of what he needs to uphold his identity as a good person. This is why Alfred becomes Joker to save him, this is why Selina is the more socially acceptable pretty Joker that Bruce can actually marry and bring to his family, this is why Joker and Batman feel like they can never escape their narrative, their roles and their performance. It's the reason the moment Batman lurches to kill The Riddler in "the war of jokes and riddles", Joker stops his knife with his hand. It's their defined roles, and the greatest act of love that noone except Joker would show him. Joker says "I'm the sacrifice. I'm the evil, i'm the one who kills, i have made this choice so you can make yours. You're the good one. If you become evil, it renders both your efforts and my sacrifice meaningless, and i can not allow that to happen." And it's a truly fascinating dynamic really, for all that Joker has and hasn't done throughout the Batmanverse history, when it comes to Batman he's irredeemably selfless. Everything he does regarding Batman is to keep Batman's sense of goodness and heroism intact, and in this context he's more pure than him. Everyone around Batman wants him to kill, perhaps rightfully so, they mean well. But Joker says "i'll bear all the unbearable evil so you dont have to, and we both acutely understand that without my existence you mean nothing. I will be the monster so you dont have to." And honest to god there's a heartbreaking affection to this, something noone else will ever be willing or want to offer to Bruce, not to this extent.

in 'the war of jokes and riddles' Bruce tells Selina that "what separates him from utter evil is a hand on his knife. Joker's hand." like bro, he knows. In a deeply twisted and gutwrenching way Bruce knows that noone loves him the way Joker does.

• Re: combining Joker and Batman's heads and bodies, i was thinking.... two concepts maybe?? 👀 one is more like the Dullahan myth, in which Batman loses his head but he isn't carrying it, Joker steals it. And then Joker loses his head and Batman has to keep it and he's forced to use it. It'd be an insanely fun concept; the Dullahan myth can be interpreted as the idea of death of self by supposedly losing all that would make you human; your thoughts and memories and logic, etc. Except that you still have a heart, and a body, and they're not exactly cooperative. It'd be fun to have Joker's mind trying to tame Batman's heart and body, each fighting and singing their own song, same for Batman. A version of the myth has Dullahan carrying a human spine in one hand, and i mean, the possibilities are endless!

But also another concept would be: two frankenstein monsters lmaooo, same sense of discordent internal landscape, same sense of ideological tension and conflict, but also someone's gotta [tw mentions of gore] chop chop them and sew their body parts together, and that can be another interesting element added to their fucked up dynamic ✨️ it can also be Joker as Dr Frankensten and he sews parts of himself to Batman in order to save him!

• Re: Batman Who Laughs, oh girl (gn), i have nothing to add that you haven't already said more beautifully than me. There's so much emotional nuance and complex philosophy that could've gone into that concept, it's certainly one of the hardest Batman story variations to pull off, and weirdly enough, the people who dont directly aim for "Batman becomes Joker/Joker becomes Batman" stories often tell a better more intricate tale about that transformation than the people who straight up shoot for the concept. One of the things that always sends a chill down my spine is the ending of Batman: Europa, in which Joker is terrified and screaming as Batman laughs and lurches for him; that's the dynamic, that's the Batman who laughs, and the most unsettling part of it is that, Batman doesn't change. He doesn't have to. On a core level he is quite frankly a bit fucked up, it's not a stretch for Batman to be evil, and that's why his goodness is meaningful. Cue Nietsche's quote, "Of all evil I deem you capable: Therefore I want good from you. Verily, I have often laughed at the weaklings who thought themselves good because they had no claws." Batman is not a good guy entirely, and that makes his goodness a conscious choice with so much weight and worth and significance. I dont think a lot of DC people understand this.

With Batman Who Laughs, the name kinda sums up the take unfortunately; it's a superficial interpretation that falls flat on its own face because the writers couldn't be assed to explore how a chemical combination of Batman and Joker's narrative would unfold. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ as with any potent chemical reaction, the mixture is highly unstable and unpredictable, and that's the fucking fun of it. There's gotta be tension. I do think Batman and Joker can very well mix, i do think they can make a seamless fusion, but i dont trust any canon DC writers to handle the characterization well in a way that doesn't bore you out of your fucking mind. You gotta make a new person and you gotta capitalise on the core components both Batman and Joker share; their incessant sense of idealism, their need for purity, their volatile emotions and their aggression, their need to individuate from their context and deviate from the norm, take the third way out narrative wise, their philosophical and intellectual bend, their immense grief, their need to be oh so special and different 😂 they actually have a whole lot in common, this is why they're perfect enemies!

But yeah, writing that personality fusion is very hard because it's such an emotionally complex context and most DC writers have not felt a single emotion in the past 35 years aflhdtdhlf

Anyway yep i love your brain so SO much Anon, hope you have a wonderful day ❤️💕 and dont forget to tell me what ya think!!

[rendaze]

work on you (m)

+ featuring ... manager!taehyung x idol!reader

+ summary ... when your manager, kim taehyung, decides to avoid you after a massage turned sexual, you are determined to kill two birds with one stone: get him to talk to you again by fucking him.

+ genre ... smut, fluff

+ wordcount ... 12k

+ warnings ... fem!reader, possessive/jealous!taehyung, dom!taehyung, perv!taehyung, brat!reader, a lot of dirty talk, orgasm denial, objectification, dumbification, degradation, dirty talk, cumplay, cum swallowing, exhibitionism, public fingering, 

For much of the night, Kim Taehyung is quiet. He rests on the crème couch, cat eyes observing you through the mirror. Outside, pink skies fade to indigo and crickets popcorn beneath the underbrush; the pattering of your feet against the practice room floor accompanies it. It has been hours since workers have clocked out and the last buses have run, but he knows this.

Your manager of two years is not known for the saccharine politeness of his peers nor the pedantic nature of his seniors. Instead, he is blunt. Reserved. An intrinsic part of your life whom you’d grown reliant on as winter faded to summer and back again.

His diligence is not due to principle but rather habit – if it wasn’t for you, he would be watching cable, cigarette ash tainting work clothes he was too tired to change out of. Instead, he waits—regardless of overtime—to drive you to your apartment where he bids you a weary ‘bye’ only to pick you up three hours later. He doesn’t need to, but he does. A habit.

But as entangled as your lives have grown, he has always kept a distance; hence your intrigue when he approaches you post-practice where he would have ignored you altogether.

“You look tired,” he says in the disinterested tone you’d come to expect.

He studies you through the floor-length mirrors as you spread your legs in a stretch. You had been shy once, all too aware of how little your leggings left to the imagination, but Taehyung’s blank stares had assuaged those thoughts long ago.

You admit, his ignorance bothers you. He is there, but he is not, with all the presence of drapery that sways only when a window is ajar.

“I’m fine,” you say – and you are, for the most part. “Just a little sore.”

“Where does it hurt?”

You dismiss his verbosity as a sign of your own palpable fatigue. “No, it’s just that my shoulders feel like shit.”

“Do you need help?” His fingers flutter before your face. “I could give you a massage.”

As the sole target of his scoldings, the notion of such a Samaritan action is laughable. “Oh, really? You?”

“Why not?” Cherry-tinted lips twitch. “Can’t have your body breaking down on me before your comeback.”

His tongue pokes his cheek and he cracks his knuckles; the sound draws you to the length of his fingers, callused and long. The kind meant to caress piano keys or draw pleasure from a crooning lover. You think of those hands on you, enkindling a different type of satisfaction.

You are pulled to face the mirror as he stands behind you. “Like this,” he says, the ball of his wrist gliding against your upper back. His hands are rough as he kneads, tugging and pressing on the skin as he would dough, a harshness that should hurt but doesn’t. He moves closer, his pulsing heat a reminder of his proximity.

Sandalwood, you realize. That’s what he smells like.

You breathe it in as if the rest of him would follow. Once, twice. Then exhale as he finds a particular knot between your shoulders.

“Your muscles are so tight,” he says, with all the wispy quality of a fever dream.

It’s wanton to clench at such an innocent usage of the word but you do, thighs rubbing against each other in pursuit of friction.

The siren song of his whisper dallies close to your ear’s cusp. “You’ve really been overworking yourself. I guess this is sort of my fault, huh?” He heaves a great sigh. “It’s only right that I make up for it then.”

You nod, unable to part your lips for fear of the sounds that would surface. Had you always been so weak, you wonder, the tickle of his breath inches from your neck enough to compose your compliance. Comets of ideas, bad and worse, streak past your musings. You pluck one, entertaining the thought of grinding against his length until it hardens between your ass.

You instantly berate yourself though your underwear moistens still.

Your manager. He’s your manager. A person of whom your mortification would be parried, and your chagrin discarded. Such constant proximity would be unbearable if awkward, and Taehyung, as curt as he is, means too much to you to be cast aside due to your own lack of restraint.

Stood before a mirror, there is nothing else to focus on but the reflected image of him behind you. There’s no particular difference in his wardrobe today: a beige cardigan, dark jeans, and pale sneakers, reminiscent of a History major, art connoisseur, or both. Curled obsidian hair drapes along the curve of his eyes, eyes focused on his ministrations against your back. One would expect a more formal way of dress, but considering that most of his job revolves around following your schedule all day there’s no reason to.

He grins when he catches you staring.

You scoff, face burning. “What?”

“Don’t you think you’ll feel better if I massage you while you’re lying down?”

His hands rub your bare arms, coaxing a reply out of your quiet contemplation. You hesitate – not out of wariness, but rather embarrassment that he may find a swift reply too eager. Though he is not one to heartlessly poke fun at another, you attempt as casual a shrug as your nerves can handle.

He leads you by a gentle grip on your wrist to the spacious couch opposite where you’d been standing. The same couch he spends most of his time on while waiting for your practices to end.

He motions for you to flip over and lie down on your stomach with a swirl of his finger. The action combined with your obedience is almost dog-like, but you are so deeply entrenched in his spell that if he told you to bark you would.

Face planted into a pillow, you can hear his shuffling as he kneels atop you outside your thighs. He rubs circles against your shoulders, leaning forward to whisper: “Feels good?”

Below, your core aches like the starved, demanding sustenance.

“Sure,” you say, settling on the least innocuous of words. “You’re like… strangely good at this.”

“Good enough to switch careers? I don’t think the pay would be as good, though.”

“I wouldn’t be there either, so that would suck. For you.”

There’s a playful frown in his tone. “Oh, yes, because how could I ever go about my day-to-day life without you in it?”

He’s joking but you do wonder what he does outside of managing you. If he has hobbies, passions, friends… or a significant other he does this to. To be candid, the thought irks you.

“Are you sore anywhere else?” he asks, having focused on your shoulders.

You respond with a breathless ‘yes’, turning your head to meet his gaze. “My lower back.”

His fingers are a paradox of frigid and warm as he grazes your neck, making his way down your spine, then shoulders, then upper arms. He sits astride your ass, touch gliding against the exposed skin below your top. He digs into your muscles as if trying to see what is buried beneath them.

He’s never touched you so purposefully before.

He’s never done much of any of this before.

Talking. Touching. Tempting.

“Is it cool if I lift your shirt?” he asks. “It’s getting in the way.”

Your breath hitches, your heart races, and somewhere outside the company building the horn of a taxi startles you out of reverie.

“Go ahead.” You nod, helping him help you out of the shirt.

He’s clinical as he folds it and places it on the hardwood flooring. He doesn’t look at your bra—a gray, sporty number—and avoids touching the fabric as he continues.

A few blissful minutes pass when he says that he has an idea.

He gets up, walks to your bag, and (without needing to ask) locates the lotion you keep in a pouch. Settling back down, his crotch nestles between the warmth of your ass. The plastic pump splashes white cream onto your back which he massages into the skin.

“Does that feel better?” he asks, hands gliding across the exposed flesh. It smells like nectar on his hands and feels like ambrosia against your skin. His touch is overwhelming, every caress casting electricity straight to your lower stomach.

“My abdomen hurts too.” The words are a muffled whisper against the throw pillow your face is buried in.

“Then, turn over,” he says, as if it’s that simple. Perhaps, to him it is. Perhaps, this is all in your head, that lightning-charged static in the air. 

He moves up, allowing space for you to roll over.

When he sits down his crotch directly presses against your clothed cunt.

His pinky rests against your chest, moving with the sound of your breathing. It slips slightly beneath the stretch of fabric, poking the flesh. You hold your breath until you can’t– until your lungs demand air as much as your body demands his.

You hold his wrist. “Is my bra getting in the way too?”

His adam's apple bobs, pretty eyes flickering between you and your concealed chest. “A bit,” he shrugs, sliding another finger beneath the underwire.

Your voice is raspy, the way one sounds when in thirst. “Then you should remove it.”

He moves with the grace of a caught deer, watching your face for any sign of hesitation. Your back arches, allowing his hand to slip underneath and unclip it.  He slides the straps down your arms, inch by inch, giving you time to say no. You don’t, not able to even fathom the thought of doing so.

He drinks in your chest and the erect nipples standing in the centers of them with dilated pupils and hooded eyes. You imagine that he thinks you’re gorgeous, that it takes all of his will-power not to ravage you on that couch as beasts often do. It is that need to be made into poetry under his gaze that you push your chest upward, seeking his warmth.

He stills your squirming with a hand to your sternum. “Don’t move,” he says, a command you heed the moment it leaves his lips.

The rough pads of his fingers graze your hips then stomach before resting beneath the cusp of your chest. You are hyper-aware of every movement, every stutter, every pulse – if only so that you don’t miss that cataclysmic moment when his hands finally cup the flesh that hides your stampeding heart.

He grips you carefully, digging moon-shaped indents on your skin. Your nipples rest within the crevice of his outstretched fingers, surrounded yet untouched.

“This isn’t a good angle.” He pouts, looking around before finding the tossed pillows. Your back is moved into an arch as he tucks one of them beneath the small of your back, causing your chest to jut out from where you lay. He grins, satisfied.

His hands go back to your chest, working from the outside in circular motions, avoiding your nipples. He then reaches for the lotion bottle, pumping more of the white cream onto you.

“Do you like this?” He asks, fingers dragging around your slippery tits.

“Yeah, it feels really good.”

“Really good, huh?” He laughs when your body jerks at his finger brushing against your nipple. “How about this? Are you sensitive here?”

You groan when he pinches the bud. “What do you think?”

“No one’s giving them enough attention, huh?”

To your embarrassment, you whine when he moves his hands away.

“Shh, you don’t want to be caught getting special treatment from your manager, do you? Unless… that’s the sort of thing you’re into?” He laughs, eyes blown out as he watches you panic. You’ve never seen that look on him before.

“What the hell are you talking about, you dick?”

“Nothing.” He bites his lower lip in an attempt to quell his laughter. If you weren’t insanely horny at the moment then you would’ve been better able to appreciate the rarity of such a display of emotion. “You’re just being really cute right now acting all shy when all I’m doing is giving you a massage. You said you were tired, so I’m helping you.” He squeezes your tits. “That’s part of my job, isn’t it?”

You scoff. “You mean this is you being a pervert. I can feel your definitely average-sized cock hard as hell against me.”

Taehyung gasps as if that was the most insulting thing he’d ever heard. “Okay, three things: one, I’m not a pervert; two, my cock is definitely not average; and three, if you want me to stop then tell me and we can pretend that this never happened. Or, you know, if the pretending fails then we could just die from the inescapable awkwardness. That’d be fine too.”

Trust that he was only ever talkative when he wanted to bother you. You roll your eyes, mumbling: “Well, I didn’t say that…”

His gaze meets yours, dark and tempting. “Then what do you want from your poor, overworked manager?”

You answer by moving his hand back to your chest. “Nothing much,” you say coyly, though what you mean is ‘everything’.

His nails scratch tight circles around each bud, teasing you. He watches your wide-eyed desperation with amusement, alternating between fanning his fingers over the points and holding them between his slippery fingers, squeezing them until they slip out of his grip.

He blows phantom winds against the mounds, hardening them into stalactites. He rocks against you, hips against hips, crotch against crotch, stimulating your clit through the sheer fabric of your leggings. You whine and pant with every motion.

“You’re so noisy. Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” The word leaves you before you can fake nonchalance.

“Then be a good girl and focus on my service.”

Though he’d always been the strict type, you weren’t one to be so obedient: to follow his every command, bend at his will, become a pliable figure; to crave escape through the form of mindlessness. Between his periodic seeking of consent and cautious eyes, you feel safe, safe to drown in his touch and never resurface. You know, even then, that despite the blasé way you were both treating this moment, it was one that neither of you could take back.

He scoots backwards from where he sat on your thighs, moving your feet over his lap. From this angle, he is sure to notice the wet outline of your labia through your leggings.

The soles of your feet are a slight vermillion from having danced barefoot for the past three hours, and he briefly rubs them before moving upwards, to your ankles, your knees, your thighs. It is with an anxious draw of breath that you await his touch at your most sensitive center.

“Where do you want me to touch you?”

“Anywhere,” you say. “As long as you keep doing it.”

“I’m going to need a specific place, sweetheart.”

Head tossed back, you whine. “Just- Come on, Taehyung.”

He kneads your outer thighs, scarcely exerting pressure. “Is this what you want?”

“Please. There. Touch me there. It hurts.”

He chuckles beneath his breath. “Poor baby. I’m sorry, but I don't know where ‘there’ is. Oh, I have an idea. How about you show it to me?” He moves to give you enough space. “Come on, show me where and how you want to be touched.”

You, the rational you, would have been unable to process the erotic words coming from your manager’s lips. These are the whispers you’d conjured in daydreams with not even the hope of being subject. But you aren’t the rational you. The you beneath Taehyung is someone else entirely, someone caught in a dream without desire to wake.

Your hands crawl to the waistband of your leggings but hesitate at the breach.

“Don’t be shy. I know how you like to play with your little cunt in hotel showers, even though you know I’m waiting outside the door, subject to hearing your pretty moans. I’ve always wondered how you pleasured yourself, if you liked to finger your sopping hole until you passed out or if you preferred to press the stream of a shower head against your clit.”

Whilst your right hand sneaks its way into your underwear, your left slaps to your lips, rushed to suppress a gasp. “Are you actually trying to kill me? Have some fucking decorum. And what do you mean you heard me?”

“Decorum? I’m not the one touching myself where anyone could walk in and catch me.”

You didn’t even realize when you’d started the teasing motions, fingers caressing your outer labia.

You scoff. “You’re acting like you weren’t salivating over my tits a few minutes ago.”

“Is that what you want? Me salivating over your tits?”

His hair, like strands of inky silk, drape over eyes that refuse to part from your gaze. He is warm where he touches you, cold where he doesn’t, and temperate only when he mouths against your skin, marking you, in some invisible way, as his own. Your gasp echoes in that cave-like room, his lips an inferno keeping you sane. He nibbles at your breasts, teeth tugging at the perked tips. His spit dribbles down your flesh.

“So soft. I’ve always wondered what you taste like.” His mumbles vibrate against your skin.

You press tight circles against your clit at the same pace as Taehyung’s tongue against your nipples. The sounds, wet and sticky, are loud to an embarrassing degree.

“Baby, look at you. At this rate you’re going to dirty the couch, and then who’s gonna have to clean it? Maybe if I’m too tired I’ll have you lick it spotless instead.”

You push a finger inside, curling the digit with a gasp.

“Interesting.” He grins. “So, you do like it when I treat you like this. I knew it.”

“You talk way too much when you’re horny.”

“Only because it’s you,” he says. “You turn me into an absolute mess.”

“Is that why you only talk to me when you want to scold me?” It’s a childish question. His attention wasn’t yours to have, a fact you’ve grown well-acquainted to.

“Because I knew something like this–” he licks your neck “–was inevitable, and that it’d be my fault. Though… I’m starting to think you’re the type that likes to be scolded.” 

His face is inches from yours. The span of a butterfly’s wings, or a fallen autumn leaf. You prop yourself up with the arm that isn’t beneath your leggings, breaching the gap ever so slowly. “So, you imagined it, then? Something like this happening?”

“It usually went a little different.”

“How so?”

“Well, I’d already be fucking you, for starters. And I’d probably initiate it with something less lame than ‘offering a massage’.” He notices your slowing hand and laughs. “Tired, already? You really are such a princess. Do you want me to do it for you?”

You nod, though you should have known nothing ever came easy with Kim Taehyung.

His fingers creep up your legs before squeezing your thighs open. Between, a wet spot darkens the fabric, and he notices it with a smugness that annoys you. He moves your arm away before palming your wet cunt from outside your leggings. The touch is electrifying yet not nearly enough to sate you. As if sensing your dissatisfaction, he slips his hand beneath the cloth, directly touching your clit.

He sloppily plays with your juices, spreading them around your pussy. Deeming you wet enough, he sinks a finger into your warmth. The squelch sound is inescapable as he begins a moderate pace. You squeeze your eyes tight enough for your world to burst into starlight, flecks of shimmery white floating across your vision.

He lifts his hand to your face, and you could smell your moisture before you saw it, viscous strands hanging between his fingers. “Look at this,” he says. “They’re soaking wet.”

Without thought, you take his fingers into your mouth, rolling your tongue around the digits. You’d never tasted yourself before. It’s more sour than you imagined, but not as bad as one would expect.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises. “What’re you making that face for? Do you want more?”

You release his fingers. “Fuck, please just touch me.”

He leans over you, nibbling at your ear before whispering: “Too bad.”

All too abruptly, he startles you by clapping his hands and standing up. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

You blink, dumbfounded. “To… fuck?”

He laughs, glancing at his watch. “As much as I would love that, I’m still your manager. And you have to be awake by eight,” he explains with a normalcy unsuited for your half-clothed, aroused state.

“Are we really not going to even talk about-”

He tosses you your shirt and bra.

“Thanks…” You don the clothes in haste. “And for the massage. Though, it was missing one thing.”

“And what’s that?”

“An orgasm,” you deadpan.

“Well, there’s always the option of getting me fired, though I’d prefer to keep my livelihood sustained, thanks.”

“Don’t give me ideas,” you joke. “And here I was thinking you’d risk it all for me.”

“I’d risk a lot of things for you, but definitely not if seeing you around everyday was at stake.”

A grin forms on his tinted lips as he turns before you can gather your words. The door slams shut behind his harried exit and you are left, alone.

Several suns have set and risen, and on the eighth turning you decide you’d had enough of his boyish disregard. You recall being eight, blithe with even the gentle breeze lifting autumn leaves into tangerine storms. Boys at that age were difficult, if they weren’t picking at you they were ignoring you altogether, huddled into little clubs of their own. Every attempt at breaching their sanctified playground circles result in them scurrying in all directions, like mice caught lurking in a kitchen. Taehyung didn’t seem much different.

When he picked you up on the morning after that first intimacy, he had nary a word to say. Even a glance too many had his ears reddening and shoulders curling in, as if it were possible to shrink himself small enough to be unseen. He, who’d eat in his car if he weren’t eating with you, found himself talking to the other staff, if only to avoid your confrontation disposition as he knew you were loath to interrupt an uninvited conversation.

Prior to the current state of tension, you’d jokingly asked him to guess what your astrological sign was. His immediate guess was Taurus. As your manager, he was the one most subjected to your stubbornness, your unwillingness to give up if only to prove a point. But you—impatient, tired you—were reaching your limit.

Yes, you were stubborn, but you hadn’t realized how his obstination could rival your own. And more than your missing and wanting of him, the question of ‘why’ burned trails along your musings. Why? Why was he avoiding you when: one, he’d been the one to initiate the tryst; two, during the moment, he’d joked of things being too awkward (and surely joking about things being awkward meant that things weren’t awkward enough to not be joked about); and three, he had acted as if everything was fine until that dreadful morning after, when he picked you up from your apartment (as he always did) except with not a word to say or a glance to spare.

Yes, indeed, you were stubborn. It was how you’d gotten this far in such a consuming career, but you were sure that you’d have given up at this point – he was just a man after all, and you had other problems of greater consequence. However, there was one thing stopping you from ceasing the pursuit.

Alone in your apartment, you are unafraid of moaning or indulging in the characteristic sticky sound of masturbation. That wetness spurs you into speed. A rush to completion. It is more out of necessity than pleasure, and the pace of your fingers exhibit that. You don’t bother fingering yourself, finding the notion too tiring. Instead, your focus is on your clit and massaging tight circles against the protective skin covering it.

You’ve become an expert of your own body, having so few sexual partners over the years. The risk of dating was high for idols, and you’d found that the few times you had risked it it was never sex worth losing one’s career for.

You know how much pressure to apply against the nub, teasing yourself at the edge long enough to draw out the pleasure. Your other hand lazily drapes across your chest, softly gliding across the skin just as Taehyung had that week before.

You’d be quite the fool to not notice how he coughs into his fist, ears red, when he notices your staring, or the subtle ways he checks you out when he thinks you aren’t looking (that much, at least, hasn’t changed).

By this point, you’d masturbated to him and that moment on the couch one too many times.

When you cum it is not as satisfying as it should be. It is but a relief of pressure rather than a gateway to ecstasy. There’s something missing, though to question what it is would be a benign pursuit for you already know the answer.

It is then, winded and shaking, that you come to the conclusion you’d been dreading.

You need to fuck Kim Taehyung… and then you’d figure out it why it is that your heart aches so.

The car’s hum permeates the air and settles on your skin unpleasantly, as if trapping you in its needly weight. Suffocating. There is no better word for it.

When his eyes flicker from the road to you, it is even worse. You hate that he looks good: styled hair, pressed clothes, expensive cologne. But what you hate most is that you don’t see any of it. Instead there is the image of him above you, cock sliding in as if nothing could fit better.

It isn’t silent from a lack of trying, but after the hundredth attempt at conversation you’d grown tired.

He has not regarded you once despite you wearing his favorite outfit (a favoritism you’d deduced when he glanced at you one too many when you’d last worn it). The corduroy atop his thighs becomes his handkerchief, more to wipe sweaty palms against than a piece of clothing.

When he makes a sharp right turn, your hand on the center console knocks against his.

He jumps but plays it off, turning off the blinker and pressing closer to the door than he had been.

You sigh. “Do I have some infectious disease I should know about? That’d be pretty bad for my career.”

He blinks at you, catches himself staring, then turns back to the road.

“No,” he answers plainly.

“You aren’t even gonna berate me for sleeping in this morning?” Tired from last night’s self-ministrations, you slept through your alarms, leaving him waiting in the car for over an hour. On a normal day, he would’ve spent the entire trip either glaring at you or complaining. He did neither.

“You must’ve been tired,” he said.

“Remember what happened last time I was sore and tired?”

He sucks a breath between his teeth, gives you an incredulous look of shock, then proceeds to pretend as if you’d said nothing.

In a series of losses, you consider that a win.

Emboldened, you lean across the controls and press your hand on his thigh, your face so dangerously close to his that you could smell the mintiness of his aftershave. You’d always liked the cleanliness in which he prided himself on. Smoking, he’d always joked, was his only flaw. When stressed, he had a tendency to hit a few sticks more than usual. It didn’t take a genius to surmise the reason as to why, despite the sun’s low place in the sky, you could smell that more-than-few on him. You were both figuratively and literally bad for his health.

He sneaks a glance down your chest, cleavage revealed by the low cut of your top. He’d always been so fond of your breasts, those soft curves of flesh that he spent so much time fondling when he had the chance to. He gulps before looking away.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, coyly. His grip on the wheel twitches as he contemplates removing your hand from his thigh but thinks otherwise, perhaps rationalizing that touching your hand in order to remove it was also a bad move in his plan to pretend you were but a figment of a mind tortured to want what it shouldn’t have.

The main road close to the company building appears before you, a heavy strip of crowded cars anxious to make it in time to their corporate rat living.

You glance downwards. “Did I make you hard?”

He makes a choking sound, knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel because the answer is yes, you had. The stiff texture of his pants only heightens the image of his cock struggling beneath, forming a tent you have to look away from lest it distract you from your mission. “I have to focus on driving.”

A pointed look is thrown his way as you gesture towards the windscreen. “We’re going to be stuck in this traffic for probably more than twenty minutes,” you say, untucking his button-up from his pants. Your hands press against his toned stomach, making a home beneath his shirt. “Aren’t you bored?”

“Out of the two of us, I don’t think I’m the bored one.” He turns to face you, putting his hand atop yours. “Did you really like it that much? Me touching you? I’m starting to think that your excuse this morning was a lie. You were probably just playing with yourself, am I wrong?”

“Half wrong,” you grin. “I wasn’t fucking myself this morning.” You press your lips against his ear, chest against his shoulder. “I was fucking myself last night.”

He curses, head thrown back at the notion. “Has anyone ever told you how blunt you are?”

“You do,” you say. “Constantly.”

“That’s because you are.”

“Then what does that make you?”

“A horny fuck, who, by some stroke of luck, got paired to work for an idol that’s somehow even more depraved.”

Though you laugh, relief surges through you at the familiarity of his bantering. “Define ‘depraved’.”

He pushes your hand to his waistband. “This,” he says, as if it is some grotesque and beautiful thing. “How badly I want you.”

You unzip his pants and untuck his cock from his briefs. He’s larger than you’d expected; long yet girthy. You run a finger down the appendage, catching on the prominent veins.

“God,” he hisses at the contact. “You’ve been such a slut recently, it was only a matter of time before you did this, huh? Touching my cock where anyone could see.”

The flesh of him is soft and warm beneath your fingertips. You squeeze the head then trail down to the base, cupping his balls.

He’s beautiful when he moans. His head tosses back, curls cascading over shut eyes as he attempts to move away from the pleasure all the while begging for you not to stop. A beautiful paradox, and you its orchestrator.

“Right there,” he groans. “Rub the head just like that.”

His commands are hypnotic in a way you deign to follow.

“Shit, you’re such a sub, aren’t you? You do everything I ask you to if it means you get a nice, thick cock.”

Despite your forwardness, you lacked much experience regarding the kinkier side of sex, though not from lack of trying. Perhaps it was the consequence of a homogenous industry where every individual was fearful in the face of social ruin if word got out that they were participant in this or that.

“Maybe, I am.” You shrug. “But right now–” you squeeze his cock “–you’re in my hands. And you only get to cum when I say you can.”

With that, you take your hands off him. The look in his eyes is almost comical, as if you’d divorced him, taken custody of his three children, and set his house ablaze.

“Fuck. I was close,” he pleads. “Please don’t do this. I need to cum. Please.”

“You sound so pretty when you whine but that isn’t good enough.” You pout. “You need to promise that you’ll stop being awkward around me.”

“Shit, fine, I’m sorry, okay? I just didn’t want to make things more weird than they already are.”

“See, I want to make things weird between us. So there’s really nothing for you to worry about.”

“You seriously don’t understand how much I think about fucking you on a daily basis. I wasn’t even purposely trying to ignore you, it’s just-” He runs a hand through his hair. “Whenever I see you I…” You wait for him to find his words only for him to say something entirely unexpected. “...Can I cum in your mouth?”

You snort. “Nope, you don’t deserve that.”

“Aw, man. This car was just deep cleaned.”

“C’mon, Taehyung, cum on your dashboard like a big boy.”

You continue your ministrations, tightening your fist around his length as you stroke him faster and faster. “You know you wanna cum for me, don’t you? Tae’s precious little idol.”

His reaction to the nickname you’d heard his colleagues call him was not missed by you.

“Fuck,” he groans, head tilting back. “Say that again.”

“What? Tae?”

His cock twitches. “I don’t know why, but I really like it when you say my name.”

You lean in to whisper. “Then I’ll make sure to scream it when you inevitably fuck me.”

His eyes blink white, head slamming into the headrest. His cock twitches, then releases. You try to catch most of the mess in your hands but some escape onto his shirt and, unfortunately for him, his dashboard.

“You know what you’re doing, hm? My little slut. Made me cum so fast, baby.” He condescendingly pats your head as you help him wipe down the few strings of cum that misaimed.

“Far shooter, huh?”

“Shut up,” he huffs. “What about you? With how much you’ve been chasing after me, you must’ve wanted me that bad.” He nips at your ear. “Let me touch you.”

You feel his teeth drag against your skin, from your nape to your collarbone. You’re aware of the brush of his lips, the warmth of his breath, and the way he is pressed so close against you. Across the console, he reaches to slip his hand beneath the band of your bottoms. It is a familiar motion, reminiscent of what happened on the couch that night.

He wastes little time as his finger glides into you with an embarrassing squelch. You feel the rough pad rub against your g-spot, amazed at the swiftness in which he’d found it. Your walls tighten around him when he inserts a second then third digit.

“You’re so fucking tight. I want to bury my cock into this slutty hole so badly, you don’t even know,” he groans into your neck. His hand roughly paws at your chest. In want of more, he lifts your shirt, baring your chest to the traffic. “Thank god for tinted windows.”

He pinches your nipples, tugging them until they’ve extended farther than you’ve ever tried to. “My perfect little fuckdoll. My good fucking slut. All for me– only for me.” Hand confined in the tightness of your trousers, every motion caused his palm to slap against your skin, perfectly blending pleasure and pain.

He continues to rapidly finger you until you feel that telltale drop in the bottom of your stomach. He holds you as you cum, body shaking in the small space of the passenger’s seat. The fledgling feeling in your gut erupts with the incandescent sparks of some other foreign emotion. You wonder if it is happiness, or perhaps some remnant of lust. But then he looks at you—eyes soft as he caresses your hair, trailing fingers to your nape—and you think that it is the beginning of something else entirely.

“You good?” His voice is faint as he pulls you to face him. His flickering gaze searches your expression for some sign of hesitation or regret of which you have none.

“Yeah, I’m good. You?”

“Same here.” He smiles. “Don’t blame me though if you have a hard time during practice.”

You punch his shoulder with a chuckle, serenity descending upon you in the afterglow of a cause of stress meeting its resolution.

After lunch you see a carton of orange juice sitting innocently on that couch, a small sticky-note attached to it. In clean handwriting, it read: ‘a peace offering’.

You laugh, stabbing the plastic straw into the carton.

You’d take it.

Kim Taehyung has always thought your beauty was the kind that accompanied devastation; attractive in a way that halted his breath and stymied his heart. Perhaps a bit too much for his sanity and his cock, which has been rubbed raw to the thought of you one too many times. You are much too pretty for his own good, and it has grown increasingly difficult to be around you without wanting to fuck you against every surface imaginable.

It’s made worse by the mask of nymph-like innocence that you wear around him, wearing those tight leggings and parading your pretty pussy for everyone to see. He knows you aren’t his. Knows it with all the confidence of blue skies and steady lakes, but there are times, strenuous times, where it is difficult to control the possessive nature he is chained by. When his co-workers mention how sexy you are in your latest comeback teasers he simply clenches his fists and stays quiet lest said fists pummel their faces. He isn’t a violent man by any means (and definitely wouldn’t stand a chance in a real fight, because, as his friends have said, he’d never do anything that could potentially ruin his pretty face) but he entertains the thought as a way to keep sane when forced to listen to their ramblings.

When he has to stand behind you during fansigns, he can’t help the bitter feeling that rises in his gut when you hold hands with fans he knows could never know you in the same intimacy that he does. When they talk about how much they love you, an indignant voice in his head fights back: do they know about all the pretty little lingerie you keep in the back of your closet? Do they know about how bad you are at hiding your moans when you play with your pretty pussy in hotel showers knowing that he’s waiting for you outside? Do they know the soft texture of your tits and the way your eyes roll back when he plays with your nipples just right?

It’s an irrational sort of jealousy, but he’s learned to bear it as part of the occupation. There are times, however, where it is much more arduous a task, such as the massage of last week and the car ride of yesterday.

The feeling is not one he is fond of; how at odds his desire to ruin you is with his one to have you ruin him. Such had been a constant in the past year. Blame proximity or his lowered standards of human decency after having worked with only the most heinous people in the industry – you were kind, even when you needn’t be, even when you shouldn’t have been. And it ached somewhere beneath his chest that you thought him deserving of it.

He knows such feelings are ones not meant for him to have, but he has long since been past the denial that it was only but a physical sort of affection. However, even with your initiation of yesterday’s tryst, he doesn’t allow himself to indulge in you in a manner less carnal; his gaze lustful as you prepare for a livestream.

You glance at him once as if sensing the shift in the air before you press ‘start’.

As your manager, he has to be in the room for most of your activities, even the boring ones – but he can think of a few ways to make it less so. For him and you.

You greet your fans with a laugh that is akin to sunlight bursting through foliage. “Of course I missed you guys, it’s why I’m doing this live right now.”

Your company-issued phone, to read and answer comments, is slid across the table with a note meant only for you: ‘Want to play a game, good girl?’

Though your eyes widen, you type your reply in the guise of looking through your fans’ messages, ever the professional. Your glance towards his phone is pointed and when he checks it he sees the notification of your text. ‘I don’t know what you’re planning, you horny fuck, but if you think I’m losing in any game then you’re on.’

There is little ceremony in how he drops to his knees to move underneath, cautious to keep silent. The table tall enough to situate himself. Oh, how he wishes he could see your reaction. He focuses on your voice: the hesitation in which you resume speaking; the hitch in your breath as he spreads your legs; the tremble in your tone as he places his hands on your thighs.

The sight of you beneath is lewd. Your underwear, a simple cotton gray piece, is already soaked. He’d always loved the color gray, especially because of how obvious it made wetness appear.

He allowed himself a moment to appreciate everything about you. The softness of your thighs. The stretch marks on your hips. The dotted marks that lined your legs. His nose grazes your knee, breathing in the saltiness of your sweat. How badly he wants to eat you up. To wholly consume you and spit you out in broken pieces, forced to crawl back to him in order to be fixed. It’s a horrible thought, he’s well aware, but he can’t help but be fixated on the idea that you might want that as well.

Your skin is as silken as he remembers, but touching it feels utterly different, stark raving mad; he leans into that sentiment, urgent in his need to pull you closer and kiss your thigh harder, desperately starved for something he could not yet name.

He imagines it difficult for you to read through the comments let alone reply to them when his hands are caressing your waist and playing with the garter of your underwear. Blood rushes to his cock at the sighs you release every time he teasingly dips his fingers past the fabric. You’re so pretty and perfect for him, his little slut.

Phone in hand, he sends: ‘Your pussy’s so wet for me already, baby. Do you want me to eat you out?’

It’s easy to surmise when you receive it, a light gasp disrupting your sentence.

He struggles to hold his laughter when your consent is given through a grab of his hair and a shove towards your crotch. Satisfied with your enthusiasm, his lips caress you above the fabric, catching against your clit but not wanting to give you what you want. Not yet.

He teases you for ten minutes, licking up and down your clothed cunt until the fabric is fully darkened – only then does he push it aside to expose your pussy lips to him completely. Having tested the patience of both you and him, he wastes little time in capturing your clit between his lips, suctioning onto it whilst swirling his tongue.

You spread your legs wider to give more access, allowing him to move from your clit to your tight hole, slowly edging his tongue inside it. Building up the pace, he begins fucking you with it whilst rubbing your clit with two fingers in quick circular motions.

He gathers his spit around his finger before pushing the moisture into you. You lewdly clench around the digit, sucking him deeper into your depths, just as he thought you would. You’re always so good for him. He could just picture your humiliated face as he slaps his cock around your cheeks, wiping your tears and his cum around your skin. He knows you’re a pretty crier, and he’s never wanted anything more than to see those tears be caused by him.

Another finger is pushed in. Then a third. But he knows you can take it – knows that you’d be able to take everything he gives you.

When your thighs begin to stiffen and you clench around his fingers—the tell-tale sign that you’re close to completion—he stops.

He shoots off another text. ‘What a horny fucking slut, getting fingered in front of her fans like this. I wonder what they’d think if they knew how you were really like. Just a pliant little bitch who’s always ready to slut herself out at her manager’s every whim. Don’t tell me you think you deserve to cum just because you want to?’

Above, he can hear your sardonic chuckles as your knuckles wrap against the table in obvious frustration.

“I know this was a short one, but I have to go practice. I’m sorry for leaving you guys hanging,” you say with blatant venom, kicking his shoulder beneath the table. “Bye!”

He pinches your thigh in retaliation.

Before you can kick him again, he stills your leg with a firm grip.

Accepting your loss with a sigh, you rush to turn the live off, gaping at him when emerges from where he’d knelt. “What was that for?”

He grins, gums showing. “Revenge for what happened in the car. I was scolded by upper management for bringing you late, y’know?”

You punch his shoulder. “At least I let you cum… asshole. This is the second time you’ve blue-balled me.”

“Good thing I prepared this, then.” In his hand is another carton of orange juice. “Peace offering?”

“If a thousand won juice is your form of a white flag then I must say you’re quite stingy.”

“Hey, you’re the rich one in our relationship.”

“Oh, so we have a relationship now?”

His smile drops slightly as he rubs his nape. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t think I do, actually.” Though you’re smiling, your eyes are serious, searching his for an answer that he knows he’s not yet ready to give. “I-”

He grabs your hand and places the carton in your grasp. “I’ll get you two orange juices next time, alright?”

‘Next time’, he thinks. It’s the closest thing to an answer he can give you.

The establishment of your newfound ‘relationship’ was one suffused with clandestine trysts in storage rooms and cars, and yet it had never gone past touching and tasting as if it were an unspoken rule. You sensed it in the hesitancy upon which he laid kisses across your neck and jaw, never moving upwards. There was a fragility to his movements that gave you pause as time went on and words left unspoken remained so. Taehyung was gentle even when he called you his whore, and what began as ways to relieve each others’ stress led to hours spent in the afterglow talking about anything under the weather.

What you appreciated most (even more than the times he’d go down on you for hours) were the rare glimpses into his thoughts when he’d let his guard down. His rants about how his friends sucked ass at gaming, him bringing the new mechanical keyboard he’d splurged on just to show off to you his custom-made keys, him quitting smoking when you nagged about the smell and how he subsequently would complain to you about withdrawals before having you suck him off to relieve his other urges.

You wanted to lurk upon every crevice of his mind, know every secret he held close, and you know he craved it just the same. You each felt the devastation of fear, hesitation; you shared moments lovely and small, sat beneath midnight stars in the back of his car, insignificant in the face of endlessness. A month in each other’s company and you’d grown to understand that you wanted more from him than carnality.

It is why it is no surprise to you to find his glare pointed towards the man you’re flirting with. In an effort to leave practice early to meet with friends, your hand lingers on your instructor’s arm, pleading desperation alongside a promise to work twice as hard the next day. Men are easy that way, and the next thing you know he gives you permission with a nod.

…And on the other hand, there are men like Taehyung.

“You really think you’re getting out of it that easily?”

You point at the emptied room. “Seems so.”

He scoffs with crossed arms, the definition of intimidation with his bangs casting shadows across his eyes. “You’ve been getting out of breath too quickly during dry runs.”

“I’ve been getting exercise through other means, don’t worry.” Your eyebrows wiggle.

“I’m sure your newly developed neck and hand muscles will help after hours of performing.”

“I think you’re just jealous,” you say.

His laugh is hollow, forced from the depths of some aching thing. “And why would I feel that?”

“Because you like me but you don’t want to admit it,” you say with a shrug. “And you use the whole ‘manager and idol’ thing as an excuse when really you’re just a pussy.”

There is little he can do to hinder the shocked guffaw that parts his lips at your blunt observation. “Confident, are we?”

“Very, actually.”

He shakes his head but smiles in exasperation. “What am I going to do with you?”

“A lot of things, I hope.” You wrap your hands around his shoulders, pulling him in closer.

“I thought you had somewhere to be.” His nose brushes against your neck, the warmth of his breath scattering goosebumps across your skin.

“My friends can wait,” you say. “I can bless them with the honor of my presence in another hour or two.”

“Oh, am I supposed to be honored that you’re choosing to spend time with me, then?”

“Don’t you know how charitable I am even if you can be kind of a dick sometimes. Or, well, all the time. But that’s just semantics.”

He hums in response, arms around your waist tightening.

“You never answered my question,” you remind him.

His brow raises. “And you never answered mine: do you really think I’m going to just let you play hooky?”

“Well, I was hoping to offer you something a little more fun than watching me exercise.” You trail your hand down his arm, nails scratching along his veins.

“Oh,” he scoffs. “Is that the same thing you were offering him?”

“I’m yours, aren’t I?”

He tilts your chin upwards. “You wanna be my object tonight, baby? Is that what you’re saying?” Taehyung tended to be all bark but no bite, but the embers lit beneath his pupils indicated that this time would be different.

“Is that even a question?” you reply.

You bite your bottom lip in anticipation, only to be met with: “Then do fifty jumping jacks. Now.”

“You’re joking, but I thought-”

“Objects aren’t supposed to think. They just do as they’re commanded... Or so your favorite erotic novel alpha males always say.”

You give him a pointed look. “Yeah, the key word being ‘erotic novel’, not ‘workout manual’.”

He holds his hands up beside his head in defense, making a face. “I’m doing this for you. And besides…” He takes a step towards you, caressing your chest. “We can always multitask.”

You groan but comply, though the feeling of doing that specific exercise is tantalizingly embarrassing when he’s watching you so closely.

“Sweating already?” He moves to stand behind you, observing from the mirror. “Let me help you.”

He stills your movement to reach around and unzip your hoodie, pulling the sleeves off your arms. Underneath, you’re only wearing a flimsy white shirt coated with sweat, leaving it transparent enough for Taehyung to see your red sports bra.

He presses his mouth to your ear and whispers, “Did I say you were finished, slut?” He laughs. “Don’t look surprised. What else could you be with your tits bouncing everywhere. The fact that you can’t even comprehend what I’m saying is just proving my point.”

You almost regret sharing with him your favorite romance books. Almost. If only because of the way your knees buckle at his degradation.

You continue the motions and Taehyung does little to disguise how he watches your chest as it bounces with every jump. With your arms outstretched, there is nothing to cover the jiggling weight.

Neither of you are keeping count but after two minutes he ceases your movement with a firm “stop”.

“You like playing games with me, don’t you? Want to play another one? I’ll reach into your panties and if you’re wet, you’ll be my personal little slut. Are you willing to take that bet, pretty girl?”

“Yes,” you say without further thought, and his hands dip into your leggings and past your underwear. You already know the answer, have known it since the moment he’d walked into the room with his heavy gaze on your body.

“Oh, you’re soaking, baby,” he purrs into your neck, his fingers caressing your folds but not applying the direct pressure that your humping hips seek. “Does your pussy like the thought of being owned by me?”

His hands still with the promise of moving only when you reply. “Yes,” you cry. “I want to be your personal… I want to be your personal slut. Just please… Touch me.”

“You think you deserve to be touched for your pleasure? Are you forgetting what you’re supposed to be doing right now?”

He retracts his hand but you rush to grip his wrist. “Tae, please. I need it so bad.”

“Need what, baby?” he coos, ever softened when you use his nickname.

“I need you to finger me. To make me cum.”

To your surprise he complies, shoving two into your snatch. His fingers scissor you, stretching you out. He pushes another in, all three pushing in and out of you, making disgusting and lewd sounds.

“Aren’t idols supposed to be pure and innocent? I’m ruining you, aren’t I, slut? What would your precious fans think if they knew you liked being a whore for your manager? They’d probably lose all respect for you. Your latest stage outfit was a pretty little number too. Probably had all your fans jerking their little dicks off to your fancams. I just know if I searched your name up the first thing I’d see is some asshole doing a cum tribute to you.” He laughs. “Too bad for them they’ll never know just how tight and wet your pussy is, because I own it now, right?”

“You’ve always owned me– Fuck!” You yelp when Taehyung bites your neck. Your makeup artists were definitely going to have a hard time covering that up. “I love the way you control me so easily.”

“If you weren’t such a brat all the time it’d be a lot easier.” The speed in which his fingers met your g-spot increased. “You always seemed so uptight. Did you ever expect that you’d get played around with by your manager? The other staff members would love to know that you’re into this kinky shit. Especially your fans. Everyone’s always talking about how sexy you are but I bet you know that, don’t you? You thrive on it – want everyone to jerk off to you.”

To your dismay, he pulls out. “You were complaining about your sore throat earlier, weren’t you? I know a good solution for that.”

He tugs you by the back of your neck, moving you closer to his crotch. He pulls down the zipper, releasing the familiar length of his cock. You run your hands from the tip to his balls as if driven by pure instinct, wrought only with the need for proximity. Taking the head into your mouth, you slowly begin to swallow him until it reaches your throat. As he’d taught you, you let him deepthroat for a bit before releasing him with a gasp for air.

Patting your head, he encourages you to keep going. “What a perfect fleshlight. Born to suck cock.”

It is an all-consuming task, leaving room for little else in your mind as you make sure to avoid your teeth from scraping him as well taking note of when to suction and when to draw him deeper into your throat.

He groans with every ministration. “Doing so good for me, baby. Always my perfect slut, so good at taking dick. It’s like you were meant for it. Meant to have your throat pussy be my cum dump. At this point, this should be your job.” You look up and meet his eyes, a twinkling obsidian shade. “Ready for your medicine?”

He grabs the back of your head and takes control of the pace, roughly fucking himself with your throat. His moans grow louder, taking full advantage of the sound-proof nature of the room. You could clearly hear the sounds of your choking, spit drooling down the sides of your mouth as you struggle to keep with his rhythm. The scent of his cock sends you into overdrive, and, though you’re already wet, you feel yourself gush beneath, your pussy clinging to your underwear.

You know well enough, from his pretty groans and tightening grip, that he was about to cum.

“There you go, pretty girl. Your favorite meal. Drink it all up like the depraved cum dump you are.”

You swallow, and gasp, and swallow again. His cum, sticky and bitter, lingers in the back of your throat as you choke for a decent breath of air. It shoots into your mouth, spilling all over your tongue and lips, dripping down the sides. You gag at the taste, coughing up the creamy fluids onto the floor. Your hands tighten on his thighs, struggling to steady your lightheaded self. When he releases your hair from his grasp, you stumble back onto his crotch, heaving breaths against his softening cock.

His thumb wipes sweat from your forehead. “What are you doing, baby?” He grabs the top of your head, forcing you to look into his eyes as tears stream down yours. “That isn’t what sluts do, and I thought we already established that that’s all you are. Objects listen to their owners, don’t they?”

“I-I’m sorry,” you whine, not really apologetic when you know that he knows that cum isn’t exactly your favorite flavor.

He tugs at your hair, lifting you back onto your knees. “You’re acting like I care about what dumb little brats like you want – I don’t. Lick my cum off the floor. Now.” He grins. “And don’t forget that you got some on my boots, too.”

You hesitate, eyeing the strings of white that decorate the wooden panels and the black of his shoes.

“Consider this as punishment for trying to skip out on your exercises.” He crosses his arms, looking down at you with an unimpressed countenance. “So, now, be a good girl and lick my fucking cum off the floor.”

You move your face to the ground and give it kitten licks similar to how you liked to tease Taehyung’s cock. The taste is salty, and you shudder to wonder when the floor was last cleaned. You look up, hoping that that act of obedience is enough to quell his thirst for domination over you. It isn’t.

“I said, clean it up,” he hisses. “Do I really have to grab the back of your head for this? Yeah?” He pushes your head to stay close to the floor. “Don’t just stay there like a stupid bitch. Open your fucking mouth, let me see that tongue. Yeah… There we go, baby.”

You do as he says, collecting his spilt cum.

“All of it,” he groans, watching you debase yourself for his entertainment. “The boots, too.”

You move towards his feet that are impatiently tapping against the floor. Your tongue hesitantly drops out of your mouth, trying to touch as little of it as possible.

Unexpectedly, he presses his shoe against your lips, causing you to deeply lick the length of it in surprise. “You’re not doing a thorough enough job, slut. Don’t disappoint me.”

Once you’ve deemed it spotless you look up to face him. “Is that good enough, your highness?”

He snorts, helping you stand up after having knelt for the better half of an hour. “You mean, was that good enough for you to finally cum?” He reaches between your legs to smack your sensitive pussy, aiming for your swollen clit. “Still want more, baby?”

You nod, whimpering in pain at the unexpected hit.

“Sluts are always horny, aren’t they? Since I’m so good to you, I’ll let you hump against my boot to relieve yourself.”

“Oh, fuck you-”

He grabs you by the chin, tugging you to his face. “Don’t try to hide that you’re an insatiable slut now. I know exactly who you are and what you want. And I know that what you want is to be humiliated like this. Now be a good bitch and fuck yourself on my shoe.”

What’s more humiliating is the speed in which you position yourself below him as you slowly squat down until your crotch brushes against the hard tip. Your hands grip his trousers as you begin humping his boot. You struggle to find enough stimulation, still wearing your underwear and leggings. “Tae,” you whine. “It’s not enough.”

Frustration makes way for pleasure when Taehyung angles his foot up just right. Your moans are relentless now as you buck your hips wildly without rhyme or reason. You are simply a vessel controlled by pleasure, exactly as he wants you.

“Yeah, rub your clit against my shoe like the well-trained slut that you are.” He spits on your face, the fluid dripping down your nose and onto your lips. “You know that I don’t care about your pleasure, right? You’re just an entertaining toy to me. Who owns you?”

“You,” you whine. “You own me, Tae.”

“Then cum, baby.”

Your orgasm is an all-consuming force that possesses your body. It starts at your stomach, that incendiary pulse, before you feel it between your thighs. You can tell that you’ve lost all bodily control by the numbness in your hands and feet and how one second you are humping Taehyung’s shoe and the next you’re laying flat on the ground, his figure towering over you.

Your pussy is still attached to his shoe, and, as if it is an unconscious desire, you continue to move against it until your senses return, reminding you of the pain that overstimulation causes.

He kneels down and lifts his hand, and you aren’t sure what he’s doing until you feel his fingers brush against your cheek, gently wiping away a tear. “You did so well for me, today.”

Rivers trail down your face as you shake your head with what was left of your strength. “I need more.”

“Whatever you want, baby.”

You meet his gaze. “Tae, I want you to kiss me.”

He blinks, gulps, and stutters, “What?”

“I want you to kiss me.”

Despite everything you’d done together you’d still yet to share that one intimate act. Perhaps because doing so would make everything feel so much more real.

You caress the side of his face, watching as he watches you, hesitant to make the first move. The silent anticipation weighs upon you like honey, dense yet saccharine, and you slowly move closer and closer until you feel his breath on your skin. His eyes flicker from your lips to your eyes and back.

“You can kiss me already, you know,” he mutters.

“I’m not the one scared of my feelings,” you say. “I can wait for you as long as it takes.”

And so he does.

When you kiss it simply feels right. His head tilts as you deepen it, licking his bottom lip. Your hands run through his hair, the perm he’d kept when you complimented it one too many times. You kiss him until his bottom lip swells and he kisses you until your mouth is numb. He wrestles your top over you, kissing down your arms before meeting back at your mouth.

There are touches that feel like beginnings and touches that feel like endings, but this one felt so awfully far from either, tucked perfectly between as if whispering of times past and times present. It feels like comfort, his hand on your neck, a grip so gentle that the promise of it was what had you gasping for breath. It is new yet familiar all the same, and when he kisses you harder—pressed against you as if in fear of letting go—you kiss him back with all the same intensity.

When you break apart, he steadies himself with hands wrapped around your waist, hair covering his face as he looks down with astonished laughter. You think that he is gorgeous in a way that makes your heart ache, but it is when he looks up, noticing your admiration, that your breath catches.

You collide once more and there are no more questions, no more waiting.

He lifts his shirt off and tosses it to the side before draping his body across the length of your own. Though the floor is hard against your back, you’re distracted by the rigidity of his muscles pressed against you.

“Do you have a condom?” you remind him.

He curses, standing up. He almost trips over himself in his rush to his bag, rummaging through it for the plastic wrapper. He makes a victorious sound when he finds it, holding it above his head. “Got it!”

You laugh into your hand. “Hurry up, you loser.”

He gets back on top of you, pressing kisses around your face. He kicks off his pants until he’s as naked as you are before positioning himself above your hole.

“Is this okay?” He rubs the head of his cock against your clit.

“More than okay,” you say.

The heat of him sliding into your pussy sparks kindles in your gut. He’s rough yet gentle. Too fast yet too slow. A paradox of sensations encapsulated by the longing gaze in his eyes and the torturous grip he has on your nipples.

He pulls out until only the tip is in before slamming his hips against yours, balls smacking your ass with a clapping sound. He repeats the motion until you’re drooling, rocking back and forth.

“You feel so good,” he moans, moving to grip your tiger-striped thighs. He lowers you until he’s buried balls deep into your warmth, and you can feel his hard length spasming as he adjusts to the tightness. “Feels so much better than I could’ve ever imagined. No one compares to you, baby.”

Despite the thin layer of protection you can feel every vein rub against the soft walls of your cavern. It deliciously fills you up until you’re delirious, drowning in the feeling.

“How many cocks have you had before me?”

“Two.” A friend and a boyfriend – neither of which mattered when the only cock you could think of was Taehyung’s.

“What I would give to have been the one to take your virginity.” He sighs. “Guess I’ll just have to fuck the memory of them out of you.”

His hips begin to thrust into you with a pace you can barely comprehend. The head of his cock reaches so deep, much farther than any cock or toy has ever gone. He pushes into you as if you were a pussy pocket crafted for his pleasure, holding your thighs to your chest in a mating press.

Your breath hitches with every upwards thrust as you struggle to speak. Words swim in your head, a thousand lines of ink dotting across pages like stars that twinkle in and out of existence, unable to catch them before they disappear.

He bites the lobe of your ear, tugging it. His hands caress the entirety of your body with wild abandon, struck with the need to feel you – to ensure that you are really the one beneath him. You, the gravitas of which he orbits.

When you begin twitching underneath him he focuses on hitting your g-spot, lessening the speed. He pulls out then slams back in, repeating it over and over and over. He taps your clit in rapid succession, occasionally rubbing before landing a hard smack against the nub. His other hand goes to your neck, applying pressure to the sides of it. Your mind goes blank. Your legs go numb. Then somewhere between your legs you feel it.

The orgasm is euphoric. You thrash in his hold, the pleasure all too much for your mind and body to take. The feeling is everywhere.

“That’s it, baby.” His thrusts begin to lose rhythm as he chases his own release in wild abandon. “So good for me. Mine. All mine.”

He cums into the condom with one final jerk, burying himself as deep into you as he could. The overstimulation is just enough to not be too painful as he stays inside you for a few moments more, barely able to pull himself out of your warmth.

His eyes are blown wide as he flops to the ground beside you, tying then tossing the condom to the side. “That was…”

“I can’t believe we waited that long to fuck.” The punch you land on his shoulder is weak.

He carries your limp body to the couch he’d massaged you on that fateful month before and gently lays your head against a cushion. Brushing a few strands of hair away from your forehead, he places a kiss on your temple. It’s gentle.

“How are you feeling?” He slips beside you until you’re laying side by side and nudges his nose against your shoulder like a cat seeking attention. “Was I too much?”

“No, it was really good, trust me.” Try as you did, there weren’t words in your vocabulary that could sufficiently explain what you had just experienced.

His eyes flicker the length of figure as if attempting to convince himself that he, indeed, had not accidentally fucked your body to the point of destruction. He pouts but sighs, taking your word for it.

Abashed in the afterglow, he asks once more, “You know I didn’t mean most of what I said, right?”

“Most?” You grin. “So what did you say that you did mean?”

“I’m sure I called you pretty once or twice,” he grumbles, burying his face in your neck.

“You already know that I like it,” you assured him. “You’re always so good to me, Tae.”

His eyes soften as he laughs, the melody of it soothing. “It’s because it’s you. And I like you.”

“If I had known that the way to get you to admit your feelings for me was to fuck you then I would’ve done it ages ago.”

There’s a long pause as he composes himself. His hair tickles your neck, his arm a gentle weight around your stomach, and you feel the warmth of skin not your own.

“Shut up.” His ears are red as he flicks your forehead with faux nonchalance. “Is that all you’re going to say?”

Dizzy in the moment, you reach up to cup his face and kiss him. He meets your lips with a gentle eagerness, trailing his fingertips across your chest and along the grooves of your collarbones.

“I like you, too,” you say. “But I also really, really hate you. I’m going to be so sore tomorrow.”

He laughs, pecking your shoulder. “Good thing I’m here to massage you then.”

thank u for reading!! <3 if u liked it let me know ! : ✉

© rendaze 2022. all rights reserved. copying, reposting, translating, and modifying in any platform or by any means is NOT permitted.

[reiluvr]

Suguru's Morning Routine

hello! this is a new account, just cause i wanted to start somewhere new! requests are open and im still working on everything so...

i'll eventually make a masterlist, once i've posted at least 5 works or so.

this is pretty much 100% fluff even though i'm a hardcore angst girl. just starting off easy. uhhh there's suggestive words but no smut.

just suguru being head over heels for you and toru <3

It's the way Suguru has his alarms set for at least half an hour before the other two ring. He's so used to this routine that he doesn't even really need the alarm, his eyes already open and hands reaching for his phone to turn the alarm off in case it wakes you two up. He turns his body, a smile subconsciously falling onto his face as he observes the mess of your hair. He gently brushes a few strands away from your mouth, fingers tracing your features as he grins.

Once his ten minutes of admiring you are up, his body shifts, neck craning to admire Satoru on your other end. His heart flutters as he watches the constant rise and fall of Satoru's chest, finding solace in watching the "honored one" look so mundane. His smile only widens further as his eyes trail down to observe how your legs entangle with Satoru's, Suguru being the only somewhat normal sleeper. In the quiet of the room, a small giggle escapes him as he thinks back to the beginning of the relationship, how hard it had been to get a good amount of sleep between Satoru's limbs stretching across the entire bed and you're constant mumbling. Now it's only one of his countless favorite things about his two partners.

He alternates between both of you, waiting until the sun has fully risen to quietly get out of bed, humming a soft tune as he turns on the coffee maker, already pulling out countless items from the refrigerator. It was honestly a blessing that Satoru was loaded, because not only did he eat for a family of ten, all three people in the house had very different tastes, leading to grocery weekends being quite hectic. He places three cups on the counter, practically adding only a few drops off coffee to the first one as he drowns it in creamer and sugar cubes. He moves to the second, not even trying to fight the smile as he notices the small paw prints on the side of the mug. He had gotten accustomed to finding cat themed items all around the house once you had moved in. It had been a nightmare listening to Satoru whine constantly about how "those stupid cats mean more than we do, right?" He adds two sugar cubes to the cat themed cup, pouring the coffee and topping it off with whatever nut based milk they had bought that week. By the time he turns to the last cup, Satoru's poptarts have popped out the toaster, so he quickly places them on a plate while he heats up a pan to prepare his own eggs. He quickly pours coffee in his own cup, not bothering with sugar or cream as he takes a few sips, mixing granola into some strawberry yogurt. By the time breakfast is ready, he can already hear Satoru's soft whines from the bedroom, the man already having found something to complain about. He places the poptarts on one end of the desk, placing the granola in the middle, and the eggs on the other end. No one spoke about it, but everyone knew they had an assigned seat.

He takes his coffee with him, leaning against the door frame of their bedroom as he watches. Satoru seems to be clawing at the bedsheets, one hand digging into the bed as the other is wrapped tightly around the bedframe. You stand there, hair a mess and clothes all ruffled, clearly just having gotten up, with one of Satoru's ankle in you hands, desperately trying to pull him out of bed. Suguru rolls his eyes, you'd think after years of living together, they'd be over this dramatic scene every morning. He sighs, placing his cup on the dresser as he shuffles behind you, hands wrapping around your waist as you drop Satoru's leg in surprise.

"For once, could you two just wake up normally?"

He has to suppress his smile as he hears your own frustrated complaints, already talking his ear off first thing in the morning.

"I woke up and he was literally laying on me! So I push him off and he start whining and crying, you know how he is, he's all like "you don't love me" and "I'll just go die, I guess". And then! Suguru, you're not gonna believe this, actually, you will, cause Satoru still acts like he's 16. He pulls me back with him as he's like, "Hey ma". MA? WHY IS HE TRYING TO HAVE SEX FIRST THING IN THE MORNING??-"

Suguru does the only thing that he knows will shut you up, pressing his lips against your own as he silences you, Satoru cackling in the back as you push Suguru away, already on another rant about how you're living with two men who are horny 24/7. Of course, you're just kidding, already back in Suguru's hold a few minutes later, both of you just swaying in place while waiting for Satoru to finish washing his face. (He has a 24 step skin care routine.)

The three of you finally settle into your places, both you and Satoru digging into the prepared breakfast in front of you. Suguru sighs happily, watching as a bit of yogurt sticks to your nose, Satoru pointing it out. He watches as Satoru throws his head back in laughter as you try to wipe it off, only smudging it more. He holds back to urge to tell Satoru not to speak with his mouth full. He watches as you rub your nose red, somehow still missing the smudge. He watches as Satoru finally reaches over, using the edge of his sweater's sleeve, it's Suguru's sweater but he's already accepted he's never getting it back, to gently rub your face, getting rid of the mark. By the time he takes a bite of his own eggs, they're cold. He just smiles and continues eating, a cold breakfast being a small price to pay for enjoying his morning with his favorite people.

[whateveriwant]

No thoughts, just Punk!Simon.

Punk!Simon who dresses like he shops exclusively at Hot Topic. We're talking band t-shirts, combat boots, leather anything he can get his hands on. His style is bold, accessories maximized, and his entire wardrobe can be condensed into one of three colors: black, gray, and dark gray.

Punk!Simon who likes to wear lots of jewelry. Thick chains, bulky rings, decorative pins pressed into his jackets. His pieces are mostly silver and always real, none of that fake, turn your skin green shit. Keep him far away from metal detectors because he will set them off.

Punk!Simon who listens to only the grungiest of grunge rock music. Ask him for recommendations and he's spouting off six or seven bands that are so underground they may as well reside in the Earth's mantle. Don't leave him in charge of the playlist when driving together unless you want a bad case of tinnitus for the next four hours.

Punk!Simon who’s tatted up to high heaven. You thought he only had his left sleeve done, until you saw him working out without his shirt on one day. Turns out it doesn't just stop at his shoulder, but continues downward, wrapping around his trunk like vines of black and gray ivy.

Punk!Simon who's sporting more than one set of piercings. You ask him how many he has and (with a smirk) he tells you six, and you try to take a mental tally of the ones you've seen. 1) eyebrow 2) industrial 3) nostril 4) snake bites 5) areolas 6) . . . 6) . . . . . Huh. Where's the sixth?

Punk!Simon who experiments with a little body modification. Not just the normal piercings and tattoos, but things many people would consider to be on the more extreme side. Stretched lobes, sharpened canines, . . . bifurcated tongue? 👀

Punk!Simon who, on an uncharacteristically unmasked day, grabs your attention as you enjoy a round of drinks with friends. One minute you were sitting there, chatting, just minding your business, and the next your gaze was locked onto Simon's tongue as it darted out from in between his plump lips. You tried not to let your eyes linger, but you couldn't help it. You'd never seen something like that before in person. A tongue split right down the center, cut with surgical precision from the looks of it. It had clearly been done on purpose, not an accident or deformity, but you hadn't expected to see it as you watched him lick away a bourbon droplet from the corner of his mouth. As you stare, said mouth then curves slyly, impish, into a grin just shy of wicked. The movement makes your eyes dart upwards, where they meet Simon's, and he's giving you a look that says one thing: Caught you.

With that taunting expression, Simon turns in his seat, plants his elbows on the table, and blocks out the rest of your group as he asks lowly, “Somethin’ the matter, sweet’eart?”

His tone makes you startle, eyes rounding in surprise, mouth fluttering open and closed like a flailing fish. “N-No, I was– I– You– I–”

“Wha's wrong?” His brow furrows, teasing. “Cat got your tongue?”

Oh, the bastard.

But the reminder has your gaze dropping back to his lips unthinkingly, almost like you secretly wish he'll grant you another peek for your sick fascination.

He doesn't, keeps that serpentine tongue tucked within the confines of his jaw, but it's like he can read your mind because his smile curves further, drawing even closer to you as he says, “Curious?”

It's like the rattling of a deadly snake's tail, the way he hisses out the question. It means to warn you of danger ahead, of expert predation, of total and utter annihilation should you let him take a bite.

You drag your eyes back up to his smoky ones, half expecting to find slitted pupils that speak of poison. There isn't, just a mirthful quirk to his brow, and a solitary nod is all you can offer him in return.

“‘S alright.” He tips his chin in encouragement. “Go on, then. Ask.”

Another glance to his lips as you rummage through the dense brush that entangles your brain. Plucking one of the first you find, you ask, “Does it hurt?” eyes moving back to his.

That earns a little chuckle from Simon, an even smaller shake of the head. “Not now that it's healed,” he tells you truthfully, cheek dimpled in amusement. A beat passes, him waiting for another of your questions, and when you don't conjure one up, he jokes, “That it?” Clearly, he expected a barrage.

You take a second, searching for another, then simply, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why'd you do it?”

Simon raises his shoulder in a shrug. “Dunno. Wanted to do somethin’ fun; different I s’pose,” his reasoning is as carefree as his voice sounds. He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Plus, ‘s more useful than you think,” he tacks on at the end, something mischievous glinting in his eye. Deception maybe. Bait definitely.

Useful, he says? You doubt it. Having a second tongue sounds like a burden honestly. You'd have to learn how to talk, eat, and drink all over again, just like when you were a small child. But if he said so, and with such confidence, then it begs the question: “How?”

How is having a second tongue useful?

Throughout your entire conversation, Simon's maintained steady eye contact with you, his focus never faltering from yours. But now, as your brow creases in confusion, Simon breaks away, lids lowering as he gazes down at the floor. He rolls a thought around his head for a moment, that cheeky look still etched into his face. When he huffs an amused breath through his nose, it only deepens his smirk that much more, and then slowly, painfully unrushed, his eyes rake up, up, up your body, until settling on yours once again.

The look he gives you now is dark, a grin like the devil’s as he peers up at you. The tip of his forked tongue pokes out as it makes another swipe across his bottom lip.

No thoughts, except for Punk!Simon who takes you back to his place and shows you just how useful two tongues can be.

[eth3real-ess3nce]

PICK A ♡ PILE - THREE MONTH LOVE FORECAST

Top left (1) , Top right (2) , Bottom left (3) , Bottom right (4)

Enjoy!

PILE 1

This reading is meant for you if one of more of these apply: ♡ you have been planning your Christmas holidays (2-3 months prior) ♡ you were born in March or April ♡ life path 3 6 or 8 ♡ someone close to you (or you) is named Christina ♡ summer is your favourite season ♡ you hate coffee ♡ it's your last year of high school or college ♡ you own a cat ♡ you are from Asia or dream of visiting Asia / Western Asia ♡ you love Starbucks ♡ you see angel number 333 ♡ you used to love Bratz or Monster high ♡ I see you regaining your confidence, how lovely! Many of you have been thinking about making changes to your appearance & you will make these thoughts come true. You will be PAMPERED by the universe. Feels good to finally spoil yourself, huh? Totally! And because of the radiance your glow up offers you, you are going to attract multiple "knights" who will want to add to it. I see material gifts, thoroughly planned dates and tokens of appreciation in your future. Many of you will be meeting new potential love interests during Christmas holidays. Please be careful of lovebombers. Now it isn't the case for everybody of course, since it's a collective reading. But if you notice that someone is making big promises early on and you feel uncomfortable with it, listen to your gut please. For many of you, there might be a third person you don't know about. And whether you know about the third person , please avoid getting entangled in such situations as it won't end well for you..I'm saying this with love Being showered with gifts and being treated like a queen is amazing , but just be aware of the hidden agendas. In cases a third person doesn't exist, they will attempt to lure you in by pretending that you are everything you ever asked for. Keep your lovely eyes open! ✨ 💗 Zodiac signs mostly present/related: Taurus, Leo, Cancer (sun, moon, rising or venus)

PILE 2

This reading is meant for you if one or more of these apply: ♡ Life path 5 or the number 5 on your birth date ♡ you are christian or muslim ♡ you wear earphones most of the time ♡ your favourite colour is a shade of blue ♡ you have sensitive stomach or food intolerances ♡ you drop things on the floor easily lately ♡ you like to draw, you use black&white filters on pictures a lot ♡ you live near a thrift shop ♡ your name ends with an "e" ♡ you have practised art before like drama or sculpting I feel that this is my heartbroken pile. I want to start by giving you a BIG warm hug and try to offer you the sweetest, most encouraging words possible today. I'm sensing some type of betrayal here whether it's literal or emotional. You tend to overgive to people close to you, even if they don't deserve it. You are tired of feeling taken advantage of. You feel that so much is owed to you and you definitely have the right to feel this way. You have been stepped over and over again. This is the time where you will be given the decision to put an end to these energies. Some of you might be still entangled in situations where they drain your soul and your light , others might have walked away but are still trying to pick up the pieces of their hearts & heal.. It seems very difficult for you, because making the decision to prioritise yourself & your needs is something brand new to you. You never thought you were supposed to put yourself first before ; to think that your physical mental, emotional wellbeing must come first. My dear pile 2, I know you are seeking a glimpse of hope in today's reading but I ought to be 100% honest with you. Dating is not what is meant for you right now. You are going through one of the deepest spiritual transformations in your life currently and I am not exaggerating. You are still learning how to perceive yourself as someone who is human with needs and desires, and NOT as a doormat for others to step conveniently on. "But is there hope for me to find love?" Yes. I see that happening later than sooner, though. When you will be coming out of your "winter" phase in your life ; with your healed scars and with confidence you never even imagined you'd possess before. The future holds endless, limitless blessings for you, pile 2. All the power & courage you're seeking is within. Zodiac signs mostly present/related: Pisces & Sagittarius (sun, moon, rising or venus)

PILE 3

This reading is meant for you if one or more of these apply: ♡ you have short hair ♡ life path 9 or have 9 on your date of birth ♡ one of your parents or siblings has aries placements ♡ you traveled inside USA in the past month ♡ you own a green jacket ♡ you are an athlete ♡ your chart is water or air dominant ♡ your name or last name starts with an "M" ♡ you have trouble sleeping lately ♡ you have neon lights in your bedroom ♡ you prefer older guys (I don't blame you) ♡ one of your favourite artists is Taylor swift, Jhene Aiko, Beyoncé ♡ you have tattoo(s) on your wrists/hands ♡ you stay home a lot lately Currently, it seems that you prefer your solitude. Many of you have given up on dating, you feel defeated in some way. You are extra picky with people (as you should) , as you can clearly see through them & make correct judgements about them often. Some of you might have been practicing abstinence, you are spiritually isolated and you are single by choice. I see you living your truth and stand firmly on your beliefs, even if it comes off harsh or weird to others. You don't care. 😉 In the next three months: Initially, you will stay this way. It's very likely that for some of you a past lover might return and even offer closure. You will have reflected a lot on past mistakes that were made & since you took time off the dating pool, you will be able to make healthy choices for yourself. And also, to say "no" to what doesn't serve you. Dear pile 3, I agree it's good to be highly selective, but I see here that many of you struggle when it comes to receiving. You might be looking at those videos where girls are getting princess treatment, flowers, etc. from their boyfriends and you deeply yearn for it. I know some of you won't even admit it 😅 But it's PERFECTLY fine to desire those things. You deserve to be properly loved & cherished. Allow this into your life when the opportunity presents itself, because I assure you it will. Something passionate is in the cards for you. You won't expect it and you won't expect with whom it will happen. You might know (or get to know) this person & not like them at first, but then sparks will begin to ignite. Mark my words. I'm sensing heavy air energy from this pile, woah. (gemini, libra, aquarius) sun moon rising venus. Because of your naturally detached nature, you don't fall in love with just anyone . This time, though , your inner child finally feels safe with someone. This is what your spirit has been asking for. A love that feels like home. Zodiac Signs mostly present/related: Pisces, Aries, Leo, Sagittarius, Libra (sun, moon, rising or venus)

PILE 4

This reading is meant for you if one or more of these apply: ♡ you braid your hair very often ♡ you're reading this while you are not in your hometown ♡ you were born in 2005,2006,1997 ♡ your father is an attorney ♡ you have leo placements ♡ you come from money ♡ you have heart(s) in your bio ♡ you have dark hair and light eyes ♡ you mostly wear boots ♡ you love Green Day ♡ your venus is in Aries ♡ you have nose ring(s) ♡ your name has two A's ♡ you ate cereal the same day you read this ♡ you have a pet with green eyes ♡ you own a necklace with a crystal/stone ♡ you're half European Hello hello! I must say, this pile is scaring me a bit. So wild! 😳 and so much secrecy... 👀 Pile 4 your love lives never cease to be boring. I can hear you thinking "why am I falling in love with the wrong people" "why do i have to make difficult choices in love". I see.... There are multiple energies coming through so bear with me as I'm going to cover them all ❤️ As I said, I sense so much secrecy here. But during the next 3 months everything will be revealed. Do you have feelings for someone you shouldn't, but you keep it to yourself? You will probably either tell them or they'll know. Someone from your friend group or class has a crush on you? You will definitely discover it. Do you have an affair behind someone's back? Baby.. it will be known. Does the person you are involved with know that you don't want something serious? It's time for them to learn... I don't seek to be strict, only honest and loving with you, so this is why I advise against being reckless, okay? With your heart and others'. One of the first messages that popped up, is **warning against unwanted pregnancies** so pretty please make sure you use protection if you don't plan on getting pregnant!!! 💗 Pile 4, in the next 3 months karma will be served, whether it's good or bad. If you worry, it's not too late to change how things are. You always have free will. It's just the overall energy that I am getting. For example, if you don't want your crush to know that you like them, then they won't. BUT, opportunities will present themselves.. just sayin'! It's your choice, always. Expect those changes to occur during the next mercury retrograde (December 13th if you're reading this before that date). I advise you to be on your best behaviour, pile 4!!! I know "forbidden love" situations & mind games are giving you adrenaline and meaning in life... but it's not the time to act up if you want to be free of consequences 😳 And for those of you who know you're doing nothing wrong, I got you. Someone is absolutely infatuated with you but something is holding them back. I have channeled a few clues for you ❤️ : "dark hair" "Scorpio" "19 (could be age or numbers at their date of birth)" "Works in retail" "Initials J or D" "has a flag/scarf of their favourite football team in their room" "met at a party" "subtle ways to have physical contact with you" "had a cringe emo phase a while ago" "has randomly bought you food before" Does it ring a bell?? Zodiac Signs mostly present/related: Aquarius, pisces, Scorpio (sun, moon, rising or venus)

[seresinhangmanjake]

The One I Want: Part 3.5 - Jake POV

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Plus size!reader

Summary: You’re new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Warnings: This chapter is written in first-person (warning you now so don't come for me later if it bothers you pretty please) Judgment related to weight. Cursing. Fluff. Angst. Eventual smut (alluded to/or other). Self-esteem issues.

Note: These Jake POV chapters are not necessary to read to understand or follow with the rest of the story!

Words: 1115 (i told ya it'd be shorter)

The One I Want Masterlist

Jake:

“If she doesn’t end up going for you, send her my way,” Javy whispers so only I can hear. 

Turning sharply, I whack him upside the head. I tell myself it's mostly so Javy stops looking at you the way he is, but I know it’s also a way to release my frustration at realizing my brain is only the slightest bit faster than my instincts. My brain just barely held me back from instinctually snapping ‘mine’ the second you walked into the place and I saw the look on my friend’s face. But thankfully it did. Because you’re not mine. Not really. Not at all. 

You don’t notice the smack, and Nat and Bradley have seen the same interaction enough to know it’s not genuine. Although, this time I can’t fully say that it isn’t. Their eyes find you and you blush under all four pairs; mine included, of course, since I can’t seem to manage to keep them off of you anyway. I don’t try anymore. 

“H-Hi,” you say with a lick of nerves. 

The look on your face screams ‘too much; too many people; too many eyes’, and I would instantly feel like an ass if it weren’t for the fact that when you agreed to meet them, you seemed happy about it. After a month and a half, you were finally willing to learn more about my life, integrate yourself into my world, and I wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass me by. But seeing you now, in the aftermath of putting my excitement above your anxiety, the guilt creeps up on me. 

“It’s good to see you again,” Nat says, carefully wiping away the deer-in-headlights expression off your face. Your shoulders settle and, albeit tentatively, you smile. The same smile I thought I would’ve grown immune to by now, but no. It still kicks my heart into overdrive in a way no other has. 

And that’s the problem. That’s the thing not allowing me to surrender in my efforts to open you up to me. I just want more; crave it; each day contemplate how I can coax new pieces of you to the surface. 

There was a brief period in those first three days when I prayed that what I saw in you was merely a challenge. A beautiful woman who doesn’t want me is rare, as ridiculously vain as it is to say. But it’s the truth. I know the game of cat and mouse well. The playful back and forth that inevitably ends up with the woman in my bed. And damn, did I want to play. But what I had allowed myself to assume was a need to conquer grew into genuine interest. It grew so quickly, in such an all-consuming manner, that I didn’t know what to do with myself. 

I still don’t. 

Instead, I act on impulse, and that usually leaves me doing what I must, asking what I must, to get to know you. At times, successfully. Others, not so much. Never before has the phrase ‘one step forward, two steps back’ applied so heavily to my life. 

You ease yourself into the kitchen and Javy takes it upon himself to give you his name and wrap you up in a hug; muscled arms irritatingly just barely bigger than mine squeezing you tight. It’s returned, though much less enthusiastically. 

When his arms have been around you far too long for my liking, my fingers fist in the back of his shirt and tug until he releases you. 

“I’m Bradley,” my final friend—potentially my new best friend if Javy keeps his shit up—offers with a wave.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” you reply.

I feel my lips curve all on their own at the rising confidence in your voice. You entered, took a moment to adjust to the room and the people occupying it, and then found your footing. A familiar adapt-to-survive skill I am slowly learning you possess. 

My friends smile, then look at me. Which is fair, considering the silence filling the room is my fault. I told them not to ask you too many questions. Not to pry into your past. Not to be too curious about your plans while you’re in the area. I left them with nothing and nowhere to go.

“How was your morning,” I ask. 

“Good actually. I got a job.”

I stand a little straighter. “You did?” 

I know I'm coming off a little too eager at that information, but it’s the first indication you’ve given that says you intend to stick around for a while. So far, you’ve not made an effort to find friends, you haven’t bought yourself anything that can’t fit in a backpack, and, until now, hadn’t found a job. It was a developing pattern that kept me in a state of wondering if I’ll wake one morning to find you gone. But if you got yourself a job then that has to be a good sign of things to come. 

You nod. “It’s not much. Just cashier at the gift shop across from the beach, but at least I’ll be able to start paying you for last month's rent.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. You don’t have to pay me,” I say. Because it’s true. Having you around, knowing I come home to someone every day, is enough. And the reality of it is, I don’t need the money. 

With a raised brow, Nat smirks, and I wonder if it’s too obvious. If I’m too obvious. 

“I’m paying you, Jake,” you state with an edge of harshness that has ‘two steps back’ repeating in my brain. And before I can think to argue with you, you’ve muttered something about taking a shower and have disappeared into your room. 

When I look back to the small group at the side, my brows dip in irritation. Nat is still smirking. Bradley is shaking his head. And Javy’s lips are pinched tight to hold in a laugh threatening to burst. 

I sigh as I lean my weight against the countertop of the kitchen island. “What?” 

“‘Oh, don’t worry. You don’t have to pay me,’” Bradley mocks in a voice much higher pitched than mine. 

“You’re making fun of me for being nice?”

“No, No,” he corrects, glancing between Nat and Javy before once again meeting the glare in my eyes. “It’s just interesting. It was only two months ago that you were expecting Brit to pay rent and she had your dick inside of her a few times a week. She never even got a discount, but this chick lives here for nothing.”

A beat passes. 

Then Javy’s laugh finally breaks free. 

---

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @rosiahills22 @oliviah-25 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @nani-kenobi @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @cehenyne @tngrace

[meshlasolus]

Your Beauty Never Ever Scared Me

Dbf!Joel Miller x College!Reader

A/n: Listen… I don’t have any excuse for ditching my other three active series except for tiktok made me do it… That, and the CLM series by @macfrog has ascended me to a new level of crazy and I just needed an outlet for it somewhere. Another shoutout to @theatrelove3000 who keeps putting up with my dbf joel shenanigans, they are indeed insane.

Warnings: girl this whole concept should be a warning but anyways… age gap, some fluff, light smut, uncomfortable situations with readers father… probably some editing mistakes bc ya girl is tired ok its 2am

Please be kind to this chapter, I actually like it, despite the horrors.

Decided on the song ‘Mary On A Cross‘ by Ghost for this one bc it fits ig.

MASTERLIST

Age gap is approximately 15 years or so, reader is over 21 and joel is about 37

"I think I'd probably only slow'ya down," you chuckled, looking to Sarah who seemed to read the displeasure off your face from your dad's offer. "I'm studyin' to be an archeologist, dad. I don't know nothin' about framin' and all that house buildin'..."

Maybe it had been your dad's idea, but he wasn't the one who planted it into his own head. Joel subtly turned to you and cooly uttered a response.

"You could work on interior stuff with me."

It had been almost three days.

You looked out the window to the front of your house repeatedly to try and remember it clearly. The drive home, the kiss, and how abruptly it ended with a promise to see each other around. You thought about it so often you almost wondered if it happened the way you perceived it, if any details had been skewed in your mind simply because you wanted to keep it there, fresh, untouched. Maybe he thought of it differently... but maybe he didn't.

"Did you bring home the stuff I asked ya?" Your dad came into the kitchen with a smile, embracing you with a side hug and turning to help you unpack the groceries.

"Course' I did, Pa," you handed him the bag with the six-pack of bud and the other one full of snacks.

It was the first Rangers game night, and as per tradition, that meant the company of the next-door neighbors. It had been a while since you'd been around to enjoy it, but now that you were back, there were quite a few more reasons why you were on edge to now participate. It would look weird if you came up with an excuse not to be there, and you knew that. You also knrw that you'd gotten into a rather complicated entanglement with your father's closest friend, and weren't sure what the outcome really was.

Had that driveway light not spooked you both apart, and had that little black stray cat not made an appearance, how far would it have gone? Things were pretty heated, but even still. Would he have said something? Maybe along the lines of 'I've known you since you were sixteen, and this isn't appropriate at all.'

You didn't have time to think about it, you were set to work on helping your dad cook dinner for the soon-arriving neighbors. Dinner and a baseball game, once a relaxing and enjoyable time to bond with your dad, now turned into an anxiety fest where you were convinced you'd have to walk on pins and needles around every topic.

"So," your dad piped up from his silence at the stove, stirring the pot of chili he'd been prepping. "Joel told me he gave you a ride 'few nights back."

You knew it was harmless, and that he wasn't asking for any reason, other than that he was probably curious. You hadn't seen Joel in a while, not since two Christmases ago. Your dad had driven up to Dallas to spend both Thanksgiving and Christmas with you last year, and you didn't come home for summer break given an internship opportunity. You must have seemed different to the man in some way. All grown up.

"Yeah, gave me a ride n' saved me at the bar," you chuckled, trying to seem playful and unsuspicious about the encounter.

He seemed to be confused, his brows furrowed and a funny look on his face.

"Whad'ya mean he saved ya?" he of course was continuing to speak all the while dumping his favorite spices into the pot of chili, looking across here and now to keep engaged.

"Just scared off some weirdo who couldn't take no for an answer," you let a sweet and genuine smile fall across your features, but didn't let it get out of hand. Your relationship with your father was airtight, and he could read you pretty damn well. You weren't going to give anything away, not with what was potentially on the line.

"Glad he was there," he replied with a chuckle, sending you a soft glance. "Never thought you'd have grown up so fast, now I gotta carry a shotgun whenever we go places. Fend off the wild beasts."

His jokes were only so funny now, because in this situation, you knew he wouldn't hesitate to shoot Joel if he found out what had happened. All in the nature of protecting you, but it made you sad to think of the situation that way. Joel wasn't just another weirdo following you around at a bar.

"It's only because I'm so pretty," you did your best to respond lightheartedly, making a quip that would soothe the silence. "And I believe that's yours and Mama's fault, givin' me the genes and what not."

You'd finished chopping a nice garden salad by the time the doorbell rang. You ran upstairs to change your shirt to the Jersey your dad bought you for your birthday, claiming it was good luck for the team. Truth be told, you didn't wanna be downstairs when Joel and Sarah got here.

Sarah was here, too. Her, you could easily handle. You were almost hoping that she would be in a rather talkative mood, that way the attention could be swayed to her inconspicuously. You doubted Joel would even try to talk to you, anyway.

"Lovebug, come on down, Millers are here!" Your dad shouted up, even though he saw you run upstairs right when the doorbell rang to change your shirt.

"I'm comin', hold on," you replied sassily while heading for the staircase.

You got to the bottom and had to take a breath before turning the corner into the entryway. Joel stood there with a sweet smile to you, and you tried your best to hold back the one you wore. It was too bright, too happy to see him. All despite your nerves.

You were quickly embraced by Sarah, whom you paid immediate attention to.

"My lordy, girl," you held up your hand by your shoulder to show the height difference, "last time I saw you, you must've been this tall."

"Dad tells me I'm growing like a weed," she tossed a finger over her shoulder to where he was standing, and you gave him a small glance and a smile.

"Us daughters do have a tendency to grow up," you laughed, slinging an arm around Sarah and pulling her along to the kitchen as your dad and Joel did the same behind you.

Why had you been so anxious? Joel is happy to see you. He makes causal conversation with your dad, but he catches your eye every chance he gets. His expression doesn't change, except for the tug of his lips in a smile that's barely there. Joel doesn't smile too often, except apparently when you and Sarah are around.

It doesn't take long for everyone to get situated with their food at the table, playful banter between Joel and your father filling the air as you made less rambunctious chatter with Sarah.

She's doing pretty well since last you saw her. She was always a bright girl, but as she grew it became more apparent that she would probably excel further than anyone in her graduating class. You were sitting across from a future valedictorian, you were sure.

You'd tried to ask her about her out of school interests before your dad interrupted with a question.

"How about you, lovebug?" He watched your eyes flick over to him with a turn of your head. He added context, given you hadn't been listening to them earlier. "Are you gonna look for a summer job?"

You really should, if you're being honest. There's not much work in your aspiring profession located here, but you weren't as lucrative as you used to be, given your educational expenses.

"I've thought about it," you tilted your head back and forth, and your dad seemed to need more from your answer. "I need to earn some cash before I get back to Dallas, but I'm not really sure where to apply."

Sarah seemed to know where this was going before you did. She'd been around the last time your dad was begging Joel to find some help for the contracting team they worked with. But surely your dad doesn't expect you to build houses, does he? Your dream job is to dig holes in the ground, not fill them in and put homes on top.

"We got some spaces to fill, you should come work with us 'few months. The pay's good and you don't have to stay on long, probably just till the end of July."

You gave him a look, and he instantly knew you weren't interested, but you figured you'd try and justify your reasoning. It was an argument either way.

"I think I'd probably only slow'ya down," you chuckled, looking to Sarah who seemed to read the displeasure off your face from your dad's offer. "I'm studyin' to be an archeologist, dad. I don't know nothin' about framin' and all that house buildin'..."

Maybe it had been your dad's idea, but he wasn't the one who planted it into his own head. Joel subtly turned to you and cooly uttered a response.

"You could work on interior stuff with me."

Did he just-?

"S'not much more fun than what your dad's been doin,' but at least it's out of the sun, and easier to learn."

You were almost dumbfounded. Your dad offering you a job that potentially could give you heat stroke with your lack of experience seemed like the worst idea in the world... but working on interior projects? With Joel of all people? Well, that didn't sound so bad.

You didn't want your dad to catch on, of course. Being so protestant of his suggestion, but then falling right into it as soon as Joel was the one to offer would be a dead giveaway to some sort of favoritism to his best buddy. It simply wouldn't look right.

"What kinda interior stuff?"

He smirked. The motherfucker was smirking. He knew you'd changed your mind, but couldn't exactly just come out with it. He understood, but it was still slightly amusing to him.

"Flooring, cabinets, countertops... 's things like that," he explained, knowing you really didn't care what all it entailed. He was still happy to play along. "S'not as fun as archeology, but it pays alright."

You nodded, acting as though you were turning the thoughts over in your head.

"Well, if you're sure I won't mess it up, I'd be happy to try it out," was your final response. You figured it left some leeway in case your father became suspicious, but gave a good enough answer to end the conversation on.

"That's my girl," your dad clapped a hand on your shoulder in excitement. Truth be told he would very much enjoy your presence on a work site. "I'll go ahead and call Eddie in the morning, let 'im know I found someone to replace Charlie for interiors."

It was said more to Joel, you figured, because you didn't really know who either of those people were. He'd nodded to your dad, taking a sip of his beer and then looking back to you. You smiled sweetly, nobody catching it but the one it was meant for.

"Game's gonna start soon," Joel spoke aloud, drawing everyone's eye to the clock over the stove.

Sarah cleared her throat before jumping in on the conversation.

"About that," she looked to her dad with the same puppy dog eyes she used to use against you. He was just as poor at saying no to her when she pulled those bad boys out. "Sammy texted me to ask if it's okay to stay over at her place tonight?"

Joel sighed. He knew that no matter the attempts he made for her to like baseball, it wasn't her thing. It was summer vacation, and he had no reason to say no, so he didn't.

"Is she coming to pick you up?" He began, fishing his keys out of his pocket to drive her if need be. The girl lived five minutes away, he'd be back only a few minutes after the game started, but he didn't really want to leave.

"I can ask her," she pulled her phone back out of her jeans, opened her screen, and checked her messages.

"No need, I can take you," your voice rang out, standing from the table and taking your bowl to the sink. It was a genuine offer, but it was also to get out of the house and process what just happened with the job situation.

Joel was the first one to stand up with you.

"You don't have to-"

"It's fine," you cut him off, leaving no room for discussion. It was lucky he liked you, otherwise, Joel Miller might have put up quite the argument for such a small dilemma. As was his way, of course. He huffed, but accepted he had been overruled.

"Thanks, then." It was mumbled, but there was gratitude in it.

"We gotta hop over to ours real quick and grab my stuff," Sarah told you, waiting for you to return from the kitchen before beginning to head out through the front door. You'd grabbed your keys off where they hung on the wall before going behind her.

"I'll be back soon," you called over your shoulder into the house, and got a chirped 'alright' reply from your dad.

You walked out passed your driveway, seeing the light flicker on as you both went passed the censor on the ground.

"Y'know, I didn't think you'd have caved so fast on that job thing." She had piped up once you were almost to her porch. You found it only slightly funny that she chose the exact topic which had been swirling in your mind since it happened.

"Not sure I really wanna do it, but your dad made it sound better than every time my dad's talked about it, guess he just convinced me," you chuckled, playing it off in a way that she absolutely was about to use against you.

"That's another thing," she turned to you as she backed into the house through the door, only turning once she was inside. "Since when are you friends with my dad?"

She said it in a joking tone, but having known a few things she didn't about interactions that occurred between you and her father, you felt constricted to answer seriously. Probably with a lie if need be.

"I've always gotten along with your dad," you gave her a confused look, accompanied after by a playful smile.

She grabbed her backpack and opened it, checking to make sure she'd taken all the school stuff out before starting to shove things in, her charger, headphones, etc.

"Yeah but... you're just all young and cool and stuff," she shrugged, turning around to walk towards the staircase. "My dad is all old and boring and only talks about baseball."

"Thirty-seven isn't old, babe. My dad is two years from fifty, and I don't even think he's old, yet. Boring? Maybe..." you reasoned, hearing her laugh before she sprinted up the stairs, giving you time to think of some answers before she asked any more questions. Had she really caught onto you that fast? You didn't think you'd acted noticeably. If Sarah was able to see it, then maybe your dad did, too. You needed to be more careful, in that case.

Sarah returned a few minutes later, her backpack now stuffed and her pillow under her arm. You nodded out the door and headed back to your driveway to open the door for her, seeing as though her hands were full.

-

The drive after Sarah had been dropped off felt so much longer. Maybe it was just your thoughts, or maybe you consciously drove slower to avoid getting home too quickly. Your dad was waiting, but above that, Joel was there, too. Probably sitting back on the leather couch, relaxing with his feet kicked out on the floor. He usually leaned onto the armrest with his elbow, and held his face against the hand it supported. You'd noticed it years ago. He only ever spoke up when your dad did, usually in reply to him.

He was content simply watching the game in the presence of a friend. It was endearing.

When you pulled into the driveway, you had come up with an excuse to not remain downstairs for the duration of the game. It was too risky, and you weren't apparently as good with self-control as you'd thought you were.

You went inside and hung up your keys on the hook, immediately passing the living room on the way to the stairs.

"Hey, lovebug, you missed the top of the first," your dad called. He knew you liked baseball, so if you were to lie and say you didn't want to watch, he'd know something was up.

"Y'know, pa, I think I'm just gonna watch it upstairs, I forgot I still got some stuff to unpack," you peaked your head into the room to respond, and saw that Joel, just as you had pictured, was sitting in his most usual position on the couch, feet out on the floor, arm up with a hand holding the side of his face.

"Can't you do it later?" Your dad pleaded, but you knew, seeing as how your father occupied the recliner, you would have no where else to sit but on the floor or next to Joel. You didn't trust yourself with that.

"I could, but I might fall asleep if I wait too long."

He sighed, throwing an arm in your direction and shooing you away. He wasn't annoyed, but he'd admit he missed watching these games with you. It had been like a tradition, but if Sarah wasn't here either, he wasn't gonna make you stick around.

"Sure you don't wanna stick around? We could use your lucky jersey down here," Joel piped up, lifting his face from his hand and giving you a pair of soft eyes. That was exactly the reason you would not be staying. He didn't even realize how much he affected you, but you'd make sure he did at some point. Maybe you could just tease him a little.

"You're right, it would be a shame to take the lucky jersey with me."

You walked behind your dad's chair, out of his sight, and tauntingly stripped the jersey over your head, revealing the tight black tank top beneath it, just like that night at the bar. Joel's jaw clenched and his eyes turned darker, even under the bright light of the flatscreen in the living room. You never took your eyes away from his as you slung him the jersey.

"Hey pa, can I get you anything from the kitchen before I go upstairs?" You leaned over the back of his recliner, looking at him upside down. He chuckled and shook his head, trying to move your hair from obstructing his vision.

"We're all good, lovebug," he spoke in addition to his physical response, his laughter dying down as you stood back up. "Come on down if you change your mind."

"I'll probably be down later," you spewed a half-lie. You weren't sure if you would be or not, especially if Joel was still lurking in the living room.

You gave those brown eyes one last look before heading straight upstairs.

You grabbed your remote and flicked on the TV. It was already on the right channel, so you tossed the remote aside onto your bed and flopped back into it. You didn’t actually have anything left to unpack, but they would never have known.

Your phone buzzed beside you, and you lifted the screen to your face to see a text from an unsaved number:

Missin you down here…

You’d never put Joel in your contacts, because in highschool, your friends thought it was weird to even text or call him regularly, but you had his number for years, always just as a backup. You’d known it by heart, now, and nearly had it memorized back then, too, for the times you needed his help.

I’d come back if there was an open seat.

A bit sassy of a response, maybe, but you were hoping he’d understand the hidden meaning behind it… Although, Joel didn’t usually pick up on those things very easily.

Open seat right next to me

Yeah, that’s why I’m up here…

You huffed, realizing it wouldn’t be that easy. The three little dots indicating his next response was on the way slightly nerved you. Maybe he took the last text you sent the wrong way. You didn’t mean it to sound badly.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Means that I can’t keep my hands to myself.

You quickly rectified the situation, although you might have gone too far. He was taking far too long to answer, now. The little dots that before nerved you would now be your saving grace if it meant he would just fucking respond, already. You dropped the phone on your chest, raising up and down in a scattered rhythm while you wiped your hands over your face. Your phone vibrated over your shirt and you immediately opened it.

I can’t either. Stay up there.

You breathed out a sigh of relief. He was thinking the same things you were, and likely was under more stress for it, given he sat right across from your dad, responding to his comments about the game here and there. Your dad had no idea what was happening right under his nose.

Wasn’t thinking about leavin.

This little back and forth went on, the majority of the game, in fact. It was more-so about the plays then on, because you didn’t have anyone to talk to up here.

Joel thought it a bit funny, your dad would say something oddly specific about one of the players, and then you’d text him right after saying the exact same thing. You’d been a product of watching baseball with your old man for just about ever.

“I’m thinking about gettin’ some tickets over the summer for a game or two. They’re always cheaper in them group packages, you n’ Sarah should come along,” your dad was barely paying any attention to the words he spoke, but they came flowing out anyway, clear and cool. “Could be fun.”

Joel knew that there was only so much group interaction he could handle with you, and you with him. It stands to why you’re upstairs, an he’s down here, fist wrapped tightly around your lucky jersey. All out of your father’s sight, of course.

“It could be. Don’t think Sarah’s much for baseball anymore, though.”

He’d hoped that your dad would drop it. Halfway through his third beer, he hoped the man was a little more than tipsy, and maybe didn’t even mean the words he was saying.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t still tag along,” your dad was definitely still sober enough to keep it up, although the way he spoke became slower. Maybe he was getting sleepy.

“I’ll think about it.”

His response was followed by a hum, then a lull of silence that endured the rest of the game. He sat all the while and thought about his predicament a bit more.

He couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was insane… like you’d leeched yourself to the inner workings of his mind and he wouldn’t be able to pull you off without hurting himself, too. You were just upstairs, and had been texting him. You were within his vicinity, and yet… so unreachable.

He’d wished for you to be down here, or for him to be up there with you. Obviously, that wouldn’t go too well with the man sitting next to him, but he’d be asleep soon. If he could just touch you again, just kiss you one more time, maybe his cravings would be satisfied and he could go about his days… but what would happen if he kept feeling the addictive urge to do more? What if he was never satiated enough to quit you?

The game was called, and you’d texted him a small ‘victory’ at seeing the Rangers had won.

It was wrong, and the presence of his friend beside him was a constant reminder that you were his kid, and he would have a final say. Even though you were an adult, he understood this was completely taboo, and you should be off with guys your own age... but he’s made up his mind about the thoughts spinning in his head.

He didn’t respond, though. Your dad stood up out of his chair, his arms stretching outwards with a loud yawn as he took a few steps forwards, clapping his hand down on Joel’s shoulder.

“I hate to kick you out…” your father joked, a low and tired chuckle under his words.

“It’s alright, I got some stuff to sort out anyway.”

They started making their way towards the door when light but fast footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs.

Joel turned quickly, a smile on his lips and in his eyes when he saw you trying to catch your breath after sprinting down here.

“Leavin’ already?”

They both laughed heartily. As if Joel hadn’t been here almost three hours, most of which you spent upstairs. Your heart was beating far too fast for your liking, but there didn’t seem to be a way to stop it. Now that you were present again, in the room with him, you didn’t know what else to do.

“Your dad’s half asleep as it is, if I stay any longer I’ll send ‘im into hibernation,” Joel’s response made you giggle softly, although you withheld most of the laughter, because in all honestly, it wasn’t that funny, and you needed to learn to control yourself.

“He’ll be over next week, we’ll talk about gettin’ you into that job.”

You nodded, turning back to Joel as your dad opened the front door. What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t hug him, could you? That’s too much… maybe just wave, or maybe-

He held his hand out… for you to shake it. A hand-shake. Yeah, sure, fine.

You shook it, but he pulled you in half way, tapping your back once and then letting go.

He just bro hugged you. This man just-

He turned and did the same to your dad, giving you one last glimpse as he stepped out the door. Your dad closed it behind him and you were almost clean out of words to say. That had to have been the strangest interaction you’ve had.

“I’m beat, love-bug. I’m gonna head to bed,” he slung an arm around your neck and kissed the top of your head before turning and going down the hall to the stairs. “Don’t be up too late.”

“I won’t, just got a few things to do.”

You waited approximately ten more seconds before running to the garage door, going as quickly and as quietly as you could through to your front yard. Joel was still on his porch when you got out there, but was about to go inside.

You ran out to the sidewalk in font of his house and called out to him, all the while still barefoot.

“Hey Miller,” you crossed your arms, watching him turn around and lean in one direction. “Did you just bro-hug me? Or did I imagine that?”

He stepped closer to the edge of the porch, leaning against one of the wooden beams closest to him.

You slowly walked up to him, tilting your head to side as you observed his stance. he looked rather good. Hair tousled, body adorning a black t-shirt and some dark jeans. He was a sight, even in the dark light of the neighborhood.

“I reckon I oughta’ try again?”

"Seems like the fair thing to do."

“You’re takin’ your sweet time, baby,” he irked, grabbing gently under your elbow and pulling you up onto to porch once you were close enough.

You smiled to him, and wrapped your arms round his neck, over his broad shoulders. He pulled you close, tucking a head into your shoulder. The anxiousness you felt before fell apart, the rapid beating of your heart slowed, because you were comfortable. You felt immense peace in his arms like you’ve never felt before.

He backed away too soon, but still kept you relatively close to him.

“Was that better?”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

There was a moment of silence, of contemplation, but it wasn’t stiff, and it wasn’t awkward. It was just there, a nice and pleasant quiet, and you standing still with Joel Miller on his porch.

“You wanna come inside a while?”

Sarah wasn’t home, and wouldn’t be till morning. Your dad was probably passed out in bed by now, leaving the opportunity completely open. You had nothing to lose, no risk to be had.

“Yeah, I think I will.”

He didn’t let you go, he just walked you both backwards until he was able to reach the door, reaching with one hand to open it before stepping slightly to the side to allow you entrance first.

“Ever the gentlemen,” you smiled, walking inside before he followed you in.

“Gotta make up for all that nonsense earlier,” he closed the door, taking your hand and walking to the kitchen. He pulled out a stool at his counter and let your hand fall to your side as he made his way to the fridge.

He pulled out two beers and uncapped them with the tool hanging on the side of his fridge. You think you remember your dad buying it for his birthday one year. You can remember sitting in this exact seat many times before, actually. Never alone, though. Never just you and Joel, and nobody else near.

He slid you one beer an you smiled at him in thanks, taking a sip.

“Last time you had one of these, I didn’t know if you liked it or not,” he gestured to his own bottle, drinking some and setting it down on the counter.

“I don’t know, I think it’s growing on me.”

He looked straight to you, leaning both hands on the edge of the counter. You leaned forward, mimicking his more stern face of features before he said anything else.

“I didn’t wanna say so with your dad around, but you look awful pretty tonight,” he spoke the compliment smoothly, but he had to drop his head after he said it. Seemed that giving you compliments alone in the night was something of a struggle for him, since he was blushing still even when he looked back to you.

“I seem to be feelin’ a lot prettier as of late whenever I’m around you. Think you’re just good for my self esteem,” you paused, leaning back onto the stool to take a drink of your beer. “That, or it's just nice to be complimented by a handsome guy like yourself.”

He didn’t seem to believe you. His scoff was loud and heard immediately after your compliment returned to him.

“You think I’m handsome?”

He’d always thought he was average. Maybe even slightly below. As he got older, that notion grew until he felt that maybe he was beyond trying for a woman on behalf of his looks. Perhaps there were women from time to time that would agree to a date, but there were none since Sarah’s mom who actually stuck around, not until you… but you were different as far as relationships go, because technically, you shouldn’t even be considering one with him.

“Absolutely, I do. Why wouldn’t I?” You were curious, because he was clearly attractive. Maybe you’d spent too much time around the more traditionally preferred young men in dallas, but something about Joel intrigued you that never did with anyone else. Maybe it was the forbidden aspect of what you two were doing, but before that, it was something else. He was rough and rugged, and good looking in a mature way that the boys your age couldn’t mimic if they tried. Those dark brown eyes with little crows feet at the edges every time he smiled were a dead give away to his age, but it was so appealing somehow.

���Don’t know. Guess I’m just old,” he spoke, trying to hide the insecurities that phrasing brought about. He was too old for you, he shouldn’t be sitting here with you you alone and calling you pretty, and yet…

“Maybe that’s a good thing. Too many boys my age are still very immature these days.” And it was very much true. Too young, too immature, and too stupid to see what’s in front of them and really appreciate it. Older men have a tendency to take care of the things they have, because they know that with time they can lose them.

“That so?”

“Mhm.”

“They don’t even realize what their missin’ out on, do they?”

You shook your head in reply. Nope. Not a single one of the younger guys you’ve dated has treated you with the care you know he could. He’s always treated you with care, before… why would that change now?

“They probably figure there’s a million girls linin’ up after me that they can take a shot at,” you raised your eyebrows and drank some more. Maybe it was just a thought of some past experiences, but this beer was tasting better and better to you.

“I pity them,” he said nonchalantly, without really thinking about it.

“Who, the girls? I mean, I kinda feel bad, but other times, I think we all know what we’re getting ourselves into n’ we just try to ignore the red flags.”

It was meant as a joke, but he was being genuinely serious.

“No, the guys. I pity ‘em.”

“Oh, do you?”

“I do,” he nodded, thinking of the right words to say. “They lost you, didn’t they? Biggest mistake of their lives and they didn’t even know. Pity ‘em just for that.”

You didn’t know what to say. You figured the wide smile you wore was doing a fine enough job, but he wasn’t looking like he had anything else to voice yet.

“You think I’m somethin’ special, Joel Miller?”

He set his bottle down on the counter and walked around it to stand right in front of your barstool. He took both your hands and pulled them to his chest, just holding them there and looking to you with the sweetest expression you’ve ever seen from him. He’s so different than what you remember in your earlier years. He used to be so stoic and serious. Sometimes even a little grumpy. Guess time changes things.

“I wouldn’t be gettin’ myself into sum’ this crazy if I thought anything else,” he mumbled it almost, but he definitely meant it. His words rang true in every aspect of the implications they made. This was crazy, it was very unlikely in the first place, but even still, it was happening. Neither of you backed down, neither of you said no.

“If it helps, I happen to think you’re pretty damn special, too.”

He didn’t respond, just leaned closer towards you, nudging his nose against yours, before letting your lips meet in a kiss. it washed rushed and hazy like the last time. It wasn’t forceful or fast or anything of that sort. It was gentle, and it was meaningful. All the years he’d known you, but never like this. You knew this attraction was new, but it was still real. You wondered how many women pined after him over the years, only for you to now gage his attention when clearly no one else did. The man’s been single since Sarah’s mom left, and otherwise, you didn’t know him to be much of a ‘dating around’ kinda guy. Standing here with him, now, you felt such excitement in knowing he’d pursue you, the off limits woman, over anyone else. It was a true victory, or at least you thought so, sitting on a stool in his kitchen while he kissed you softly, his thumbs going over the backs of your hands that still lingered in his.

When the kiss broke, you inhaled deeply, the scent of him so close to you, surrounding you. He was like a warm blanket you just pulled out of the dryer. He was comforting, and soft, and his skin was currently hot to the touch. You could only hope that you had something to do with that.

“Baby,” he breathed, hands letting go of yours and finding a new home at your waist. You left your hands on his chest, feeling his heart rate fluctuating. “Gotta know something before this goes any further…”

You hummed in response, still trying to even your breath intake. He backed away a few inches to be able to look you in the eyes correctly. He’d spent enough time with you in the past to know if you were telling the truth, and he was going to use it just this once to his advantage.

“What we’re doin’, you sure you’re okay with it?” He knew better than to jump into this without clarification. “Don’t want you feelin’ pressured if you’re not.”

“I want this,” you spoke softly, just loud enough that he could hear. “Promise.”

You had thought you’d been the instigator to this, if memory serves you correctly. Even still, you know now that whatever happens, he won’t take it somewhere you don’t want it to go. This show of good faith was something you could put trust in him over. He’s a good one, you always knew that.

And again his lips were on yours, differently this time. It was a bit more hasty and fervent like the first time, but there was still something different from then that you couldn’t quite decipher.

You absent-mindedly opened your legs and he instantly came between them, letting your bodies become flush with one another. His hands ran up and down your sides, every once and a while dipping to your hips and somewhere below on your thighs.

There was a heat between them that you didn’t realize was there until he came so close to touching it. He never actually did, though, and you were both endeared by and upset about it. He was the one making that heat spread, he can’t just leave it there… but he’s testing his limits, and you think it’s respectful that he is.

He doesn’t want to cross any lines… as if this entire entanglement has not already done that. This situation in every sense of the definition, has crossed the line. Him hugging you that tightly on his porch, him inviting you in after dark when it’s only you and him alone, having a beer with some very personal conversation, and now making out with you in his kitchen. They all crossed the line of what should happen between a man and his best friend’s daughter.

“Tell me to stop,” he mumbled against your mouth, almost as if reading your mind. His hand on your thigh drifted between your legs, just barely caressing the heated pool sitting there, waiting for him. It was still very reserved, and you had to buck against his hand for more friction, but at least it was something.

The taste of him somehow made it worse, the feeling growing inside you without an end in sight. The arousal was evident, but you weren’t sure he would be able to do anything about it, yet. You could tell it was weighing on his mind, what was okay for him to do, and what wasn’t. You would beg him if you had to, you just needed more.

He had an idea, one that could allow both of you to explore this dynamic easier, and one that could potentially keep him from overstepping like he was afraid to.

He removed his hands only for a minute, bringing yours up and over his shoulders before he settled his back down below your ass.

“Hold on,” he told you, lifting you from the seat and walking until he got to the living room. From there, he let the space guide him until the back of his knees hit the edge of the couch. He sat almost abruptly, and when you relaxed your weight onto him, you felt the stirring between his legs as well. You moaned into his mouth at the mere size and feeling of it, beginning to slowly grind down onto him. He encouraged your movements, and used his hands to guide your hips as you went, back and forth, getting into a rhythm.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised, tearing himself away for a moment to expel his breath from his lungs at the new feeling. Your head fell against his, and suddenly it was the movement of your lower half taking you over.

He let his hands move over your body a bit more freely, now, but still careful not to make any harsh movements, or grab in places he felt he shouldn’t linger too long. He knew you wanted this, but something inside him questioned how comfortable you really felt… that was until you started doing the same, roaming his body with your delicate touch, making him feel like the most important man in the world. You could have sworn you marked the exact moment he snapped, rolling his hips upwards into yours shamelessly. It was so deliciously addicting, the feeling of his body pleasing yours, and vice versa. His rough and sturdy hands, though still gentle, ravished any part of you available to him.

The air between you was hot and thick, and you could swear that by breathing it in, you were drawing even more arousal into your body.

The motions kept going until there was a quickening of pace brought on by you both simultaneously. You couldn’t mark a distinction of when it increased, you just knew that the speed you were going wasn’t where you started. All you could think of was that your spend was fast approaching, and you wondered if his was, too.

“Gettin’ close,” you murmured, barely able to get the words out for the moans that slipped passed your lips. “M’gonna…”

He heard you, and understood. Truth be told, he’d started getting hard since that moment on the porch, so this was just nothing but sweet relief to him. He kept on, trying to meet you at your finish.

“Let go , baby.”

You had no qualms about being told twice when it came to him. You gave it up easily, the muscles in your body contracting when you felt the wash of utter ease through every inch of you. He tensed beneath you, but relaxed with a groan of relief right after, and you could feel his length twitch in his jeans.

You just dry-humped Joel Miller on his couch. Like a horny teenager. What the fuck.

The dawn of realization was cut short by his hand softly coercing the back of your neck, bring your lips back for him to claim as he did earlier. Soft, and gentle, no rush, no heat. Just that feeling between you both that started this mess.… and it was indeed a mess.

“You wanna stay over?”

-

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@justanothersadperson93 @moonchild-warrior @hopplessilse @brittmd115 @michilandcof @untamedheart81 @just-someone-broken @joelalorian @xybil @yvonneeeee

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[straightforthefl00r]

sidekick? more like sidechick!!

There were three main outcomes Tomura had prepared for, when he schemed to attack USJ.

One: the ideal result was that he would succeed in killing All Might with his state-of-the-art nomu, and move onto the next stage of his plan to world annihilation. The world would hail chaos in one move. He would be known to everyone that he was the bringer of fear; the one who destroyed their precious peace.

Or two: All Might would, annoyingly, not die, but would be fatally injured by the nomu. This would still be partial success, as the Symbol of Peace would be out of commission, and this would mean that society would be well on its way to falling without its stability. Not only that, his League of Villains (well two villains right now, counting Kurogiri) would gain traction in the media, and publicity is always a plus. Tomura could use this to expand the League and his influence across Japan.

As much as he wanted his plan to go in any of these ways, Tomura knew he had to be prepared for any scenario — even his failure.

His third outcome was that if All Might defeated his nomu (which should not be possible due to its extraordinary power), then he should retreat and build up his forces again for another attack.

Unfortunately for Tomura, his attack on USJ resulted in the final outcome.

He escaped with three-ish, four-ish, five-ish bullet wounds, no USJ underlings and no nomu, not even its bloody body.

At this point, he was just glad he had the foresight to plan his failure. Not only were his underlings arrested, the nomu was apprehended by All Might, and he proved to be stronger than ever, despite Sensei insisting All Might has been drastically harmed in their last battle together.

He needed a fucking drink.

“Kurogiri, I’m heading out.”

The door slammed shut and Tomura disappeared into the night.

oOo

You, on the other hand, were having the time of your life.

Exams were finally over and that meant you could finally release your inhibitions, in the form of obnoxiously loud music and sweaty clubs.

You had just finished a lovely evening out with your boyfriend and friends. After a night of raving and dancing and (fairly) responsible drinking, you were just coming out of the club and on your way home.

Your boyfriend went to his apartment earlier before you, a few hours ago due to “something”. You couldn’t hear him clearly above the booming music, you assumed it was because of his chronically weak stomach. He always said that, whether it be nights out or dates. You brushed it off like it was nothing because his health mattered first.

He’ll make up for it.

Probably.

oOo

It was around 4am when it happened.

“What the fuck?” You yelped and found yourself sprawled on the floor, outside a closed bar. The street was empty, save for a few stray cats, occasionally yowling into the night.

The mass you ended up being entangled with was wearing a black hoodie. Dishevelled hair could be seen peeking out from the hood - light coloured, a stark contrast to his hoodie.

You sat up straight on the floor, trying to make sense of what was happening, veins pulsing. You could hear shallow breaths coming from the body turned away beside you.

You tried to shake the person awake, he groaned and the stench of alcohol and iron greeted you. His shoulder felt slightly damp too. You raised your hand up slightly to the yellowing street-light. Your hand had a tinge of orange, leaning more to the red side.

Blood?

“Oi, get up,” You frantically whispered into the person’s ear, “You’re fucking bleeding!”

He started mumbling incoherently under his breath. You could make out weak swears and a few mentions of “stupid fucking heros”.

You stumbled to your feet, pulling him up with you, surprisingly warm and pliant against your shoulder. You wrapped his arm around yourself to steady the two of you.

“Come on, we’re off to the hospital.”

As if snapped out of a trance, the man tried to tear himself from you and shook his head furiously. The both of you barely managed to stay standing, leaning against the nearest rough wall.

He was already facing you, when you looked at him, his eyes glaring at you, as if you were the scum of the earth.

Your hand gripped onto his wrist to steady your centre of gravity. His fist was clenched, so tightly that each knuckle looked like they would burst from his skin to reveal blood as dark as his eyes.

His brows were furrowed furiously.

You frowned at him back.

You could make out the dry skin on his forehead and, despite this, his face was surprisingly good-looking. A faint scar trailing from his cheek to his mouth caught your attention. You started to wonder where he got it from, an accident? Or was it a self-inflicted wound from scratching?

You were a bit drunk still, but the situation was causing you to sober up.

You sighed and tried to signal to him that you were only here to help.

“No hospitals,” he croaked, words low and slurred, “h-hate them.”

You agreed as to not agitate him further, “Let’s go to my boyfriend’s then. His apartment is only a street away from here.”

The man’s face contorted into a look of scepticism, as a strained “why” was pulled from his lips.

“First aid kit.”

He stared at you for a moment, debating on something, before mumbling, “I can walk by myself.”

oOo

Tomura should’ve just drank at the hideout. It was a literal bar after all, however he wanted to get away from all the scheming, nagging and his failure.

And so, into the barrel he went.

“I’m hungry.” He mumbled, eyes glazed over slightly as he stared at the head in front of him.

He was met with a hum in agreement.

“We’re almost there,” You took a breath, “but there’s a convenience store on the corner.”

He doesn’t know why you’re even doing this.

Helping him outside that bar and trying to care for his wounds brought you nothing. You looked so soft.

Stupid sidekicks and their idiot saviour complexes. Tomura was starting to get annoyed. It would be so easy to just turn you into dust.

Poof.

He concluded that it was pity driving your actions.

You looked non-threatening enough and you were still slightly buzzed. He would go through with this and then you would part ways and never see each other again. It didn’t seem like you recognised him.

A roll of bandages came into his view. The convenience store lights were harsh white and made the bandages seem brighter than they were. His head was starting to throb a bit.

“The big roll or the small roll?”

“Small.”

You raised an eyebrow.

Out on the dark streets, you couldn't see him very clearly, let alone his injuries, but in the store, it looked like his hoodie was drenched with blood from his shoulder to the middle of his chest. Even his black sweats were glowing in red if you looked at him from a certain angle. You were still deciding whether you should just cart him to the hospital after all.

You chucked the big roll of bandages in your basket. It was already full of a variety of sweets.

You giggled at the basket.

“What are you laughing at?” Tomura accused, miffed due to his answer being ignored.

“You don’t seem like a sweets guy.”

“Anyone can have sweets.”

“Just saying.”

“Right.” He answered dryly.

“Why are you all bloody?”

“Why are you buying bandages?” He shot back, “I thought your boyf had a first aid kit?”

“Because I don’t think he’ll have enough,” you gestured to all of him. “for your situation.”

“Stupid sidekick.” He muttered.

You rolled your eyes and leaned towards him, “So! Why are you head to toe in blood?” You said with a slight lilt in your voice.

Tomura wondered if you were still a little drunk. He was one to talk.

“Because I ripped a few stitches while drinking.”

“And how did you rip them?”

“Some guys were yapping about how hard ‘All Our Heroics’ was — even when he downloaded the helpers mod for it.” He answered in disgust, “All I did was engage in a conversation with him and told him how stupid he was. And then, we ended up in … disagreement.”

“Clearly.” You deadpanned. “Still. Where did you get your stitches from?”

“Work.”

“Work?”

“Yes.”

“Ah. Sue them?”

“Sue them.”

“Annihilate them?”

“Sure, annihilate.” He gave a faint smile.

OoO

By the time you arrived outside at your boyfriend’s place, the sun was starting to rise. A melody of colours took to the skies: swirling clouds painted the perfect picture of peace.

You stopped in your tracks and gazed upwards. Tomura ended up walking into your back. He cursed, as the two of you stumbled.

“This again?” He hissed, “We already knew you couldn’t walk straight at that bar and now you're sending me flying?”

You laughed at him.

“Just look up. Isn’t that pretty.”

“No.”

“Zip it before I push you.”

“Technically, you did.”

“Even more technically, you pushed me. You walked into me.”

“Yeah, exactly, walked into you, not pushed.”

You grinned at him and rolled your eyes.

You walked into the elevator and Tomura followed you in. The two of you were in a comfortable and easy silence.

You were walking to the door before you just suddenly stopped. Tomura prevented himself from bumping into you.

“Seriously? Again, again? I almost dropped our stuff.”

“Sorry about that, but I just remembered, what’s your name? I’ve just been calling you the bloody-hoodie guy in my head.” You questioned.

“I don’t give my name to strangers.”

You stared at him incredulously and gave him your name.

“There, we’re not strangers anymore.”

He was silent.

“People also don’t follow strangers to their homes.” You pointed out, “What’s your name?”

“S-Shimura Tenko.”

“I feel like you just made that up just now.”

“Aw. Shucks.”

You shook your head at him while you opened the door.

The two of you walked in and what greeted you shocked you both. You dropped your plastic bag full of junk food and bandages on the floor and stormed further into the apartment.

Two bodies were on the couch, near the balcony, heads close together and lips touching. Unneeded sounds of pleasure could be heard from where the two of you were standing. They were kissing. Very passionately.

Ouch.

You yelled out your boyfriend’s name in flaming anger.

Two heads turned so quickly to look at you, you could’ve sworn you heard a crack.

It all became clear as you slotted the puzzle pieces together.

“So, you never had chronic diarrhoea,” you sneered, words dripping with sarcasm, “you had a chronic case of cheating scumbag!”

Your boyfriend’s face was flushed when you came in, but it became even redder as you glared at him.

A resounding smack made its way through the room, making you turn your attention towards the other person on the couch.

“I was with you for two years! You fu-“

“What?” You exploded, “You literally asked me out a few months ago. How dare you do that to your partner!” You followed that with curses.

Out of nowhere, laughter echoed. And three heads turned towards Tomura. His laughter was bright and full of amusement.

When he finally stopped, a stunned silence filled the room and he spoke, “So,” he started in the same tone as you when you spoke to your boyfriend, “you’re no sidekick, you’re a sidechick!” He started to laugh again.

You stared at him in pure shock, anger dissipating into slight amusement.

“That was a shit joke.” You said after you managed to dig some words out.

“Who’s he?” Your ex-boyfriend accused, “Were you cheating on me? With that?”

It was your turn to laugh as you told him that you weren’t cheating on him but you were only helping a poor guy out, while he was being scummy.

“I’ve had enough of this,” you frowned, “We’re leaving Shimura!”

You marched over to him and grabbed his wrist.

“No, don’t use your quirk here!” Your ex pleaded, “The landlord is going to have my head.”

You huffed out a self-satisfied puff of air. “Watch me!”

“I hope you don’t mind too much. We’re off to my place.” You muttered to Tomura.

“Oi! What are you trying to-“

Tomura was cut off before he finished his sentence.

He fell through the floor with the convenience store bags grasped tightly in his hands, with your hand gripping his wrist. His pinky was aching and his head ached even more.

He yelled as he found himself on the floor with you once more, legs tangled and things rolling around on the now-dusty ground.

The two of you were laying on the ground, looking at the white ceiling. Tomura could see the walls in the corner of his eye, the colour of it matched your top.

“Sorry about that.” Your voice coming from his right, “My quirk is Rabbit Hole. I can teleport by creating literal holes in the ground. That’s why we are at mine right now and not at that idiot’s.”

“I couldn’t have guessed. Ha.” Tomura replied, oddly calm, “If I touch things with all of my fingers, I can make things turn to dust. That’s why the ground is all dusty.”

You hummed in reply.

“I’m really fucking tired.”

“Same.”

“What’s the time?”

“Shit, if I know.”

“I hoped I left a massive hole at that asshole’s. I hope that it went through all his plumbing and that his apartment is flooding right now!”

“He’s going to sue you.”

“So? Sue me!”

[edenalieth]

A SPIDER-HAN STORY...

Words: 742 words, spiderverse!au Song rec: Sunflower by Post Malone & Swae Lee

A.N: hello hello! im back into my spiderverse era lately and who would be better than the han peter himself for a short story ? hope you will enjoy it! more is coming (hopefully...) soon :), maybe my very first full length jisung fic... who knows... — 240401

His limbs felt sore after his last fight. Massaging his left arm, he checked his body, looking for any important damage. Physical and material ones. He had been a bother for Mr.Stark… Endangering him because of his clumsiness. Thankfully, his mentor had more experience, knew how to keep his composure and perfectly controlled his equipment. However, the silent treatment the youngest had received couldn’t be mistaken. Mr.Stark was mad at him.

Jisung sighed loudly, pacing the rooftop of a building, as the scenes of the fight kept looping in his mind. Every single mistakes he had made were becoming clear and he couldn’t help but think that he had been fucking stupid to do such things. He just wanted to impress his role model, prove him that he was worth of his trust and that he could help on a bigger scale. Not just run after simple thieves or rescue Mrs.Yoon’s cat from a bad fall. He sighed again, head between his hands, fingers entangled in his hair. He looked at his mask, already torn here and there. Was he enough to call himself a hero ? A mix of guilt and shame was compressing his chest, the raging buzz of the city under making his head spin, his breathing getting quicker and chaotic. He couldn’t even hear himself think anymore. He clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly, fighting the urge to punch onto something, anything. He had to calm down. Grabbing his crossbody bag, he threw it over his chest and shoulders and pulled down his mask. He checked that everything was correctly settled before putting his headphone over his covered ears. Deep breath. The downtown kept growling, like a beast, hidden by the high walls of the buildings and skyscrapers which were looking like claws. Again, his legs started to move. His steps were echoing on the asphalt. Faster, he thought to himself, pushing his muscles into their limits, his small strides turning into sprint. Soon, his feet met the edge of the roof, a swift jump over it, his eyes being dazzled by the tremendous city lights. He opened his arms, diving into the void beneath him. His fingers met the button on the side of his headphone, turning on the noise cancelling feature, finally finding peace. He shut his eyes close, enjoying the sensation he once feared which now felt like his only escape from his amazing yet stressful life as Spider-Man. When he began his late night strolls, he wasn’t going too far nor too high, yet unsure of his web shooters and of the distance separating him from the walls and ground. Not long after, it became his routine, his haven. 

Air was molding around him, like a blanket. He only opened his eyes when his spidey-sense warned him to do so. Smoothly, he shot a web on the nearest wall and started to swing from building to building. Jumping, letting himself free fall for a bit, clinging on a window, keep going. He even found himself chuckling while doing so. What a thrill… His relaxing time was cut short when he felt something buzzing inside his bag. Right after, he opened it and grabbed his phone, not noticing that several things were falling along the way… The screen softly lit up. A picture of him, his best friend Seungmin and you, appearing on it. He had three miss called. Two of his aunt and one from you. That was kind of rare and his heart skipped a beat. It was useless trying to deny the fact that he had a longtime crush on you. You became friends the second year of high school, creating a fine trio with Seungmin. Since then, you had never stopped to amaze him by your mind and beauty. In a blink of an eye, he perched himself on the fence of some emergency stairs and tapped on your name. Few ringtones. 

- You’re finally calling me back ! What took you so long ? Anyway, just wa-

His ears were welcomed by the soft tone of your voice despite your fake annoyed state. He was smiling to himself, holding his phone tenderly, swaying his feet in the air. Maybe one day he would be able to confess to you, to tell you all about this, to make you come along his little strolls. However, for that wish to become true, he had to be worthy of the title named: hero.

[secretlovezz]

You know how you've written for Simon's S/O with a cat right. Well what if the cat one day dies, how would he comfort the reader?

As someone who has a cat I cry when I think about him leaving me behind (he's three lol but still) I love my baby and I can't imagine losing him.

Thank you for the request btw and i hope i did your ask justice 🫶❤️

Simon knows that "Your baby" is a little on the older side but because of the animal's usual rambunctious behavior, he had always figured he'd be around for some years longer. The "little devil" as Simon liked to call him was always on the move never too tired like some older animals might get, he never stopped eating -Simon had told you on multiple occasions that he felt your cat was getting fatter every time he looked at him- and with the number of times your boyfriend had lost something only to find your cat took it out of pure spit -and love- he definitely thought he'd be around longer.

So when he's leaving a meeting with the rest of the one-four-one and sees he's missed about fifteen calls from you and twenty-three panicked messages about your pet it's safe to say he's worried.

He's calling you back almost immediately his feet tapping on the ground harshly and when you pick up the phone his heart drops. You're sobbing in a way he's never heard before hyperventilating while trying to speak to him but the lack of air you're taking in is prohibiting you from being coherent. He could tell that the hand you were holding your phone in was shaking from the way your voice wavered with the movement. He's telling you to breathe, to take a deep breath in and out with him but his voice is going in one ear, and out the other, and you struggle to take in what he's saying from being too distraught.

For a moment Simon is lost, not with what happened he knows how to use context clues but he's lost on how to comfort you and he hates himself for it. The love of his life needs him and he's failing.

"-need you."

Simon blinks out of his little trance quickly entangling himself back into what you're saying, "What," he asks, he feels horrible for asking you to repeat yourself.

"I really need you here Simon," you hiccup through your sentence sniffling through more salty tears.

"Okay," He replies and though the both of you stop speaking after his brief response he never hangs up the phone he knows you don't want him to. Moving quickly now trying to catch up with Price before he locks himself in his office for the night Simon tries not to seem as panicked as he is but his eyes must give off the energy or maybe it was the phone still pressed up to his masked ear but Price wordlessly tells him to go before walking into his office and closing the door.

Now he's speed walking on the brink of jogging to get to his truck so he could see you. He makes sure to ignore any distractions including Johnny who tries to ask the lieutenant what his problem is.

When he is finally in his truck he breaks at least three laws to get to your apartment quicker, to get to you quicker and even as he drives he keeps you on the phone listening and trying to calm your cries but nothing he says seems to work and once again he feels like he's failing you. You'd hate to say it out loud but you barely listen to your boyfriend's attempts to comfort you out of pure shock and heartache.

Before long he's swinging his car into park, turning off his vehicle, and running up the stairs of your apartment building skipping steps and loudly stomping his way to his distressed lover.

Simon just about breaks the key hole shoving his key into it and grips the handle so tight he thinks it might snap off as he swings the door open, he finds you hunched over on the floor in front of the cat tree tower looking into the cubby. You're staring into it, eyes widened seemingly absentminded but Simon knows better he knows your mind is currently running a mile a minute he knows that whatever you see in that cubby you blaming yourself for whatever reason.

As he starts moving toward you his steps are dead silent in comparison to the way he had barged in not even minutes ago. He's moving as carefully as possible and then crouching down beside you, once again silently. Fat salty tears appear there and then in your eyes and drip down your face when Simon moves an arm around your shoulder pulling your shaking body into him. His hand rubs up and down your arm and he moves his still-masked face -he realizes- into your hair.

He peeks at what you are staring at and when he sees a still ball of fur curled up with one of your favorite scarves propping the little animal's head up he quickly hides his face back into your hair and you turn your face into his shoulder in response letting out a muffled and broken sob.

He's not sure what to say so he says what anyone would, "I'm Sorry, 'm so sorry, love."

The sound of his voice in person, here with you, makes you cry even harder. You don't know what to do with yourself You grab and pull at Simon's clothes and makeup and tears smear across his sweater.

Your lover is moving to pick you up before you can even realize he is moving. Your legs and arms wrap around him instantly and your face shoves itself further against his neck your nose rubbing back and forth to move his balaclava up so you could feel his skin against yours. He slowly brings you to your bedroom your gentle giant of a boyfriend holding you like the softest most delicate flower worried if he wasn't careful your petals would fall and wither.

Simon maneuvers one of his hands from under you and sets your duvet back, he lays you down on your sheets, puts your head against a pillow, and watches you curl in on yourself with a sigh. He presses a lingering kiss on your forehead while his hands push your hair from your eyes to reveal your heart-achingly sad face before covering your body with your duvet.

He stares at you for a moment opening and closing his mouth trying to figure out what to say before he finally asks, "Need to move him... that okay?"

You don't answer, it's like your staring through him.

Simon sighs again but this time it's unexpectedly shaky, leaving the room he closes the door behind him and rubs a hand down his face.

Simon leaves the apartment with a box that has him feeling particularly empty but when he returns he's empty-handed and even emptier than before.

He feels heavy when he takes off his boots and locks the door. His steps are also heavier than he would normally let them be as he walks back to your bedroom. You're in the same position he had left you in before he moved your cat still staring at nothing.

Your boyfriend walks to the bed and hesitates on whether or not he should climb into bed with you despite desperately wanting to hold you.

"Si...?"

You swear your lover's head has never popped up quicker to the sound of your voice. The two of you make eye contact with each other and his eyes only leave yours when your arms reach out from the blanket towards him. He lets himself slip under the duvet wraps one of his arms around you and cradles your head to his chest. Your legs tangle themselves with his and your arms twist around his torso. You squeeze him tight like you're scared he'll disappear if you let go and he squeezes back holding you even tighter in his strong arms.

Simon pats the back of your head lovingly and it helps your shoulder sag and makes your hold on him loosen.

"I love you, dove," once again his words make your eyes water and your bottom lip quiver. He trips over his words a little when he speaks next a little worried they'll sound insincere, "It- you'll be okay, it'll be alright."

He's rocking you back and forth a little now and soon enough your breathing is evening out your lips parted from your cheek being squished against his firm chest. Your hushed cries and whimpering have stopped and the room is now silent but this silence leaves him feeling a little uneasy.

---------

A week later Simon stands behind you after just having buried your baby and he holds you all the way back to the car after you leave flowers on the fresh dirt.

[tehhyunie]

(리노) lee know.. suzy's flirting smile

inspired by this

 You and your boyfriend lay down on the couch— each other's limb entangling with one another. A snort casually coming out of your mouth whenever you scrolled past a funny video.

 "Bubs this is so us" you turned your phone towards minho, a video of two cats cuddling playing. He smiled at this "That's so cute— send it to me" you nodded and immediately send it to him.

 Meanwhile, minho's been peering over his phone— his boba eyes sneaking not-so-sneaky glances toward you. The same sound has been playing over and over on his phone.

 You raised your eyebrow at him, silently asking him what's up with you? Minho smirked before getting up, untangling his long legs from your own. 

 "Babe babe, you're a three cus you need two realize that I'm the one four you." you looked at him with your lips pressed together, unsure of what to say.

 Minho then proceeded to do the suzy's flirting smile— showing off his bunny teeth while blinking rapidly at you waiting for your response.

 You blinked back at him while processing that god awful pick up line.

 "Bro.. That shit was so cheesy. Do NOT do that again." 

 Minho's flirting smile turned into a sour scowl, staring back at you as if you just said something wrong. "Why are you staring at me like that?" you asked him genuinely confused.

 Minho rolled his eyes as grabbed a pillow to throw at you, "Do NOT call me bro ever again. You are not my bro. Call me bubs!" he said while throwing said pillow at you— it hitting you bullseye on your face. "Plus i spent a long time making that pick up line on the spot!"

 You groaned and grabbed the pillow, "Oh yeah? I've heard that pickup line five times already on my fyp!" —throwing it at him while blowing a raspberry. Minho smiled at this and grabbed another pillow, resulting in a pillow fight.

[keirawantstocry]

tubbo goodnight kisses....

i think they would get increasingly worse with doing normal couple things with tubbo like giving him flowers or dragging him to one of their houses to sleep in bed with them every night. one of them is redesigning a room in their house probably fit's and they start asking him what he thinks of certain furniture or wallpaper and he gets really confused because he hasn't realized he moved in with them a month ago

-🐍

helloooo anon i dont think ive had the pleasure of writing for. welcome :)

Tubbo cocked his head in confusion at the figure outside his door. “Pac?” 

The man in question grinned at him before holding out the bouquet of small white flowers. “For you!” 

Tubbo took them gently looking at the flowers in confusion before looking back up at Pac. “What are they?” 

“They're called baby's breath.” 

Tubbo laughed. “What a strange name.” 

Pac shrugged. “Pretty though right?” 

Tubbo nodded and murmured a sound of assent. 

Pac smiled a wicked grin. “Not as pretty as you.” With a wink he skipped off leaving Tubbo alone in his doorway, face flushed and jaw gaping. 

-

Fit would show up at all hours of the night, collapsing onto his bed and pulling Tubbo into his arms. Tubbo always squirmed, squinted at him and bitched. But the truth was he enjoyed it. It felt safe in Fit's arms and he hated being alone in a cold bed. 

Sometimes Pac would join them. Curl up on Tubbo's other side and interlock their fingers. 

He didn't know how to feel when he woke up and their fingers were still loosely entangled. 

And sometimes Pac came on his own. Pac was… more eager than Fit. Grabbing at Tubbo's waist and he came up behind him. Curling on top of him like a wet cat with sad puppy eyes. He could get anything with those eyes and he certainly tried. Fit evidently had more will because Tubbo knew the taste and shape of Pac's lips before the warrior did. 

-

“What's your favorite color?” Fit asked as he stared at the blank wall of the new room the three of them were decorating. 

“Uhhh, blue I guess.” 

Pac smiled at that as Fit nodded. 

The next time Tubbo visited the room was painted blue. A picture of Sunny was on the wall. There was a bed big enough for three people. They all started to sleep there. Out of mere coincidence of course. Right? he thought one night as he listened to their soft snores, their arms around him. Why would they make this room specifically for him? That'd be downright ridiculous. 

[vtoriacore]

✧ it’s giving . . . jealousy 

note: im back from the dead and bringing you leona content cause damn it he's so 🤬💓💓💓 also if you spot any mistakes in this, no you won’t /j but pls spare me i was writing this half asleep 💀

synopsis: in which you seem to be paying a bit too much attention to your kitten, and leona isn't a big fan of it.

    He glanced away for three seconds. Three god damn seconds. It was such a short span of time, ans yet that spawn of the devil had somehow managed to snuggle up into your lap and had the audacity to look smug about it too.

    "Tsk, why is this thing here again?" Leona, trying to hide his irritation and failing doing so in the process, rolled his emerald green eyes so far back he could practically see the stars.

    "This thing has a name first of all, for your info its Wolverine Junior the Second. Address him by his name please," you began to pet the tabby cat as he purred out in content before continuing your monologue like response, "and second of all, he is here because he was meowing outside to be let in after you so cruelly kicked him out."

    "You've gotta be kiddin' me, your stupid cat wanted to go outside. This little bastard is manipulating you and you're fallin' for it." The beastman leaned against the headboard of his bed as he eyed the cat, who seemed to be staring back with fake innocence.

    "Can you believe the nerve of this guy Wolvy Junior?" you focused your attention on the cat, not being able to resist the urge of speaking to your furry companion (the small one in your lap of course) in a high pitched, baby voice, "how dare he accuse you of that when you're such a cute widdle baby boy."

    With a prolonged meow, the kitten eagerly rubbed its head against your hand, shortly before giving it a small lick.

    Before Leona had the chance to make a sarcastic reply to your comment (and condemn the cat for even trying to play coy), your excited voice rang out throughout the room; "Leona oh my God he licked me! Can you believe it? I think I'm going to cry he's so cute! Why can't you act a bit more like him, hm?"

    "That's it. Either get this damn furball outta my room or c'mere and set him down." With a steady glare directed at the cat in your hands, Leona crossed his arms. You couldn't tell whether he was serious or not, but you figured you'd never get a chance like this again seeing as he'll probably permanently ban you from his room after this fiasco anyway.

    "What, are you gonna fight him? He'll beat your ass Leona, don't even try it." You had to stifle your laughter as your lover stood up in a record speed to approach your form, even the tabby in your hands looked somewhat pleased at what you've accomplished. Before he could get too close however, you got up from your spot on the floor with the kitten still in your hands and moved away from Leona.

    "Oh yeah? You wanna play cat 'n mouse with me? Fine. Don't go cryin' when you lose, 'cause I won't go easy on ya." Accepting your indirect challenge, the tan male quickly tailed your form as you tried to dodge his attempts at grabbing you. You only succeeded for the first minute however, as the tabby resting in your arms was slowing you down and Leona just had to have amazing agility and stamina.

    Before long, you had found yourself laying on your back on Leona's very comfy mattress as he firmly circled your waist with his hands. You quickly set the cat down next to you as laughter emitted past your lips at the fact that Wolverine Junior seemed to be pawing at your lover's arms in an attempt to get him off you; Leona however, didn't pay him any mind as his gaze focused solely on you.

   "Not so tough now, huh?" With a small smirk embedded on his face, the beastman leaned in close to your face until his lips met yours in a brief kiss. You couldn't help but reciprocate.

    "Oh shut it . . . You just got lucky." You smiled in content after he pulled away, entangling one of your hands in Leona's hair and petting the base of his ears (he would never admit it but the action always brought him comfort). You submitted your other hand to the small kitten who was still trying to defend whatever was left of your honour, melting at how quickly he gave up fighting Leona and settling his small head in your palm instead.

    "Oi, hands on me . . . " Your lover's voice came out hushed as he placed his head in the crook of your neck, silently nuzzling his nose against it as a sign of affection.

    "You need to learn to share honey." You pecked the crown of Leona's head with a small, playful eyeroll.

    "Like hell I will. I'm not letting that cat steal your attention away when it should be on me anyways."

    "I didn't know you were that jealous of him."

    "I ain't jealous of some stupid cat." You quirked your eyebrow at the response; the cat meowed as if it were mocking Leona. The beastman simply growled back. This was really turning into something straight out of a comedy show.

[bonefall]

I love the concept of MoleJay toxic yaoi so much. More weirdass chaotic romantic entanglement between the Bracken Four and The Three! The childhood crush of the teen who died young broke the rules of reality to save. His sister! A priest and a member of the heavenly body he's supposed to worship, except the priest has the power and the both of them keep pissing each other off. I named myself after the time I beat your ass in a fight, but that still means my name invokes our connection every time it is spoken. I tried to bring some meaning to my tragic death and afterlife by assigning myself this role of keeping you in line, and what I am outside of you? Just another tragedy? Better to be the man that stands in your way, better to be seen by you as a warden and source of irritation than just the guy who died of sickness and didn't get to walk out of heaven with you.

I think it's especially cool and funny when taking into account how you said that Moleflight's role as a character is "reflecting StarClan's general consensus and feelings towards Jay," because toxic yaoi really does reflect StarClan as a whole's weird love-hate feelings towards Jay. Like damn, this bitch is intimidating and frustrating and every time I talk to him he pisses me off. But. He is kinda cute tho.

Another aspect that crosses my mind a lot is that, when cats die young, StarClan quickly becomes more real than the brief life they had on the mortal plane. For most angels, death feels like a constant, lucid dream... but "cherubs" like Moleflight who received their full names in death didn't live enough life to differentiate it.

So if you think about it, Jayfeather IS his tie to the mortal plane.

Most cherubs quickly throw themselves into cosmic tasks that adult spirits feel strange about, very disconnected from mortality. Attending the founders, maintaining StarClan itself, lathering and polishing the stars that they may shine brighter. And yet, here is Moleflight, clinging to the life he could have known through being Jayfeather's obsessive guardian angel.

Like he doesn't want to move on. Like he wants to have something to miss.

Or maybe it is a bit of jealousy. Molepaw was the first to die in that outbreak and Poppypaw would have been the last. He watched from beyond the veil as Jaypaw pleaded for his sister to please, please come home. He didn't come for him. And without Poppy here with him, Moleflight was alone.

Inescapable. There is no separating them. Jayfeather's very name invokes Moleflight; and Moleflight has made it his mission to serve as a liasion between the stars and Jayfeather. Life and death divides them, and yet, they've never been apart. We are soulmates because we tangle our teeth and claws in each other's souls and refuse to let go.

[essektheylyss]

Ten Books to Know Me

@aboxthecolourofheartache reblogged her version of this from ages ago but she'd tagged whoever saw it and it sounds very fun and difficult so let's do it!

Tris's Book by Tamora Pierce - I had a habit as a kid of always picking up the second book in a series, so this was the first of Tamora Pierce's books I read. Emelan had an effect on me on a microcosmic level, I'm pretty sure. Anyway, the protag of a whole world of mine is named Tris now, in homage to Trisana Chandler, so. the particulate is still kicking around in my brain.

Ptolemy's Gate by Jonathan Stroud - Another childhood FAVE. This series as a whole started fucking with what I understood a book to be. Also the ending of it has a vice grip on me to this day, and it is probably why so much of my writing is very vibey and favors ambiguous endings.

Cyrano de Bergerac - This was the first assigned reading I had in high school that I utterly LOVED. I love this play so much, I love the tragedy, I love the quiet sorrow. This was also the first proper tragedy that I remember really loving.

The Opposite of Loneliness by Marina Keegan - This is a book of poetry and short stories by a Yale creative writing student who was killed in a car crash very soon after graduating, compiled by her professor after her death. I read it repeatedly in college; it is really quite lovely.

Underland by Robert Macfarlane - Apologies to Box who wanted reading recommendations, but she is who introduced me to this book if I remember correctly, and I have spent the two years since I read it habitually picking up Macfarlane's writing without even realizing it. Absolutely phenomenal writing.

Staying with the Trouble by Donna Haraway - @ professor Haraway I know you are a semi-retired scholar and also in the most expensive college town on earth but are you looking for research assistants cuz uh

The Mushroom at the End of the World by Anna Tsing - I actually read both Staying with the Trouble and this book on the same weekend in the start of 2021. I compromised on not including Entangled Life by Merlin Sheldrake, which I felt was very cliche of me, by including this book, which had as much of an effect. Read those three and Pantheologies by Mary-Jane Rubenstein and you will have some semblance of an idea of what the spiritual portion of my brain looks like. In the interest of not writing the same blurb four times I left the latter two off but know they make up a little microcosm of 'you could make a religion out of this' for me.

The Cat Who Saved Books by Sosuke Natskukawa - A Japanese novel about a cat who appears to a teenager after the death of his grandfather, a bookseller. I read it when I was very frustrated with trying to read contemporary fiction and it was a bright spot among that. (I am still very frustrated with the state of contemporary fiction and this book remains a light.)

Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer - Okay I read this one most recently out of this list (over the summer) but it had been on my list for a long time and it really does live up to the hype because it is just so luminous in every sense.

Annihilation by Jeff Vandermeer - I had to put this one last simply because HOLY HELL. Rewired my brain. This is the goal I aspire to, this is the dream I dream, this is the highest peak among the mountain range of writing aspirations that I climb. If I can one day write anything even akin to the Southern Reach trilogy I will be ready to die, but that is an utterly unachievable goal so God's just gonna have to let me live forever, I guess.

[deandoesthingstome]

travel the breadth of extremities

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia X Forest Nypmh!OFC (Fithra)

Summary: Your job is to ferry travelers through the dangers of your forest. Your charge isn’t used to needing someone else so badly.

Warnings: There is sex in this story. It’s pretty tame. Some oral (m and f receiving), some standard p in v positions (cowgirl, missionary, I think that’s really it but if you find something else let me know.) NSFW, +18, NO MINORS

Word Count: 6k

A/N: I listened to Hejira on repeat almost the entire time I wrote this story. The title comes from the lyrics. I hope what I felt about this tale translated to the page for you. I made up a bunch of stuff. Also, I don’t own Geralt of Rivia or The Witcher, but I own this OFC and the words here. Please don’t repost. Likes, comments, reblogs are amazing. 

"You should stay on your horse. And we have to keep to this path." I sighed heavily, frustrated at having to explain the situation yet again to this tall, silver haired man who had approached asking passage through the Faerlaith Forest.

We hadn’t spoken about much, other than his need to travel to the other side faster than a journey around the outer edges would take. I didn’t ask for a name because we have no need for that. And money wouldn’t be exchanged because it’s superfluous here. But from the moment we'd struck our deal, he'd already begun attempts to change the terms of our agreement. There weren't many, honestly. Stay on the horse. That was basically it. But this man, this witcher if my ken was to be trusted and it usually was, was not interested in being led along like dead weight.

“You’re sure we can't cut across the underbrush here? It'd be faster,” he groused, shifting to reposition himself securely in the saddle as I glanced over my shoulder with what I hoped was my best stink-eye as I led him along one of many paths with varying widths through the lush and dark greenery.

“You'd think so.” I’d already explained this to him at least twice since we set out from the forest’s edge, close to Gilgaard in what this man had called The Far Lands. To me, we were simply home. But this home was hostile territory to outsiders. Only the desperate and hurried ever bothered an attempt to cross Faerlaith on their way anywhere. Worn paths well clear of the forest would take any creature where they wanted to go, albeit hours or days longer than a trip through the forest. Usually.

“And I can't get down?” 

This question again, spoken with a gruff I was slowly getting used to.

“As I said from the outset, the ground in this forest is attuned to a certain presence and pressure. My footsteps and your horse will do you no harm. Your heavy gait would doom you.”

“I can walk lightly.” 

“Not likely,” I snorted, barely able to contain the laughter bubbling inside. I’d watched this man approach, reins of his steed in hand. He moved like he walked through honey, seemingly in no hurry, oddly enough. He was nimble, agile, stealthy to be sure. I could even imagine him cat-like. Maybe, wolf. But he couldn’t mask his weight when he walked no matter how quickly he might bound from foot to foot. Our land would not abide.

“Hmmm…” 

His low growl stirred an ember in the pit of my belly. One best left unattended, or so I’d always been advised. Passers-through were usually not of the ilk my kind cared to entangle with. But this man…

We walked on and I was grateful for the silence that settled over our tiny party of three. Of course the horse counted. How could she not? But the lack of grumbling allowed me to shift all my focus to the air around us, searching for telltale signs of danger, feeling for the practically imperceptible changes in pressure.

“So it's a certain gait that’s needed?” His voice caught me off guard for a moment as I realized he really would not let up.

“Mmhm.,” I answered, about to leave it at that. But maybe the conversation would be nice. It really wasn’t often anyone new came through. I decided to use his curiosity to my benefit, practicing the art of voice that wasn’t needed with my kind. “And pressure of step.”

“And you've mastered this gait?” he inquired.

“I was born to master it, so yes. Oh, and you'll want to be sure your horse...what was her name again?”

“Roach.”

“Yes, you'll want to be sure Roach doesn't try to feed or water along the way. I had you attach the leg guards in case the path gets too close or overrun with shrubbery. Her hooves are fine, but the skin should be covered.”

“The plants are dangerous?” he asked with incredulity.

“The water in the streams that lace through this land to feed them is, yes.” 

“Hmmm..” he growled again, the low throat reverberation permeating the air.

I hoped he wouldn’t ask how that came to be, that water flowing into the forest turned immediately toxic to anything not of the forest. That part of our heritage was kept hidden from all but the tribal elders. As if it would harm us to know why or how our land became so maleficent. In all my many years, though perhaps less than my somewhile companion, I was only taught how to hold the forest in high regard as I was nourished and sheltered, as well as to endure. I always considered it a wonder few ever left.

He seemed to consider it for a while as another silence fell and we walked further on into the depths of Faerlaith.

“Are you sure I can't walk myself? I’ve been studying the gait.”

“You've a hard time not being in control, don't you?” I laughed gently over my shoulder. It was amusing, this man who simply would not be told no.

“You like being in control?” he asked, a hint of something dangerous deep behind the words.

“Not especially. It's just what I do in this forest.”

“And out of the forest?” he asked.

“I could take it or leave it.” I honestly hadn’t spent much time out of the forest, so I’m not sure what those words were meant to convey. But I’d heard them once before, from a group I’d led through the bitter land and I liked the way it sounded.

“So I'm to sit here, on my horse, while you lead me, how far is it? Through the forest?” 

“We're about a third of the way through now. And yes. You just sit.” I turned my head to glance at him with a small smile over my shoulder again. “On your horse.”

“And watch.” I nodded in answer and he returned another low hum.

He was only silent for a few more moments this time.

“You can't teach me this walk?” It was definitely becoming amusing. I had a sense this man wasn’t verbose under normal circumstances, so I found it oddly endearing he couldn’t help himself here, where words were rarely necessary.

“It's the weight, too,” I replied.

“But I'm on the horse,” he countered.

“The ground doesn't know that.” 

He gave me another contemplative hum before continuing.

“It's a nice walk.”

“You've taken notice?” I was grateful he couldn’t see my eyebrow arched in curiosity. Why, I couldn’t say at the moment.

“I've had nothing to do but notice. It's...pleasant to see.”

I was about to ask if was sure he was talking about the walk when I spotted a Wrythe up ahead. The spirits were as dangerous as any other thing about the forest, save my tribe. The fact that this one had made itself known in enough time for me to turn back on our path to locate another route to the other side was puzzling. But it also meant I was distracted, and that my attention had faltered from my duty. 

“Why are we backtracking?” he asked as I carefully maneuvered Roach around in a wide part of the path.

When I was sure her hide was clear from the surrounding shrubs, I turned to answer.

“Don’t look back, but it’s gone now anyway. Still, there was a danger up ahead and now that this path for this journey is known, we have to find another way.”

“But we have to be already half way through. How far back must we go and how much longer will it take?”

“Honestly, I couldn’t say. I had hoped we could take the most direct route. I usually don’t have this kind of trouble. But I was sensed. And for now this trail is closed to us.”

Like a fool, he looked back.

“I don’t see anything.”

“I’m ignoring you for now. If you want to take your chances, be my guest, but I struck a bargain to ferry you safely through this forest. I’m going to keep moving and it’d be great if you stayed with me so I could finish my task.”

“But you’re going backwards.”

I didn’t respond. I had to recenter. Something was off. Could have been my balance, with all that twisting and turning as I attempted to view the witcher both surreptitiously and obviously, when our conversation warranted. Could have been the conversation itself. Something about the way he admired the gait. My gait. Had that caused me to falter?

We traveled back in silence again as I scanned the forest floor for the next fork that would allow us to turn back toward the exit location he had requested. Once I found it and had traveled a ways along the narrower line, I felt grounded enough to make another attempt at conversation.

“Can I ask, since I didn’t before? How is it you made it to Gilgaard without knowing about this forest or its dangers?” I called out, hoping the sound would travel over my shoulder and back to him without a turn of my head or body.

“What makes you think I come from the direction we’re headed?” Either my voice carried well or he had better hearing than most outsiders. “And you don’t have to shout.”

“You mentioned The Far Lands. Only someone not from here would call it that. And you don’t seem particularly aware of the specifics of Faerlaith.” I kept my gaze scanning the terrain in front of me, seeking out patterns or disruptions thereof. “You also don’t appear to be from around here and I had assumed you’d simply gone around us on your travels East. But usually those who choose to travel around us know why they are doing so.”

“Fair enough. I’ll admit these lands are completely new to me. I’m decidedly unaccustomed to being this unaware of my surroundings.”

“How did you even know to come this way?” I asked, always curious about why a new traveler chooses this direction.

“An old man, who come to think of it, may not have actually been an old man, heard me ask around the tavern about the fastest way back West. I’m already several weeks past due as my business in The Far Lands took longer than expected. This was his suggestion.”

“And what was your business?” He was silent and I took that to mean his business was off limits. “Alright then, how much did he tell you about where you were going?”

“Only that I’d need to seek an obvious inhabitant and strike a bargain. He mentioned the paths through were difficult, but I thought he meant twisty or hard to follow. He didn’t mention anything about poisonous water or vegetation, or spirits that turn you back when you’re halfway through.”

“Odd. Most folk who know about the need for a guide, also know exactly why. What a wonder he didn’t apprise you. Are you sorry you followed his advice?”

“It’s been a pleasant enough journey so far. If we can make it out by the end of the day, I’ll take the win.”

We walked on in what had become a comfortable silence. I could feel my belly begin to rumble but I felt rude eating when I couldn’t offer any of my food to my charge.

“Have you brought provisions with you? Any food, or water?” I asked, realizing I should have done so before we stepped into the tree-line. It would have at least given him the opportunity to go back for supplies. But when he told me where he wanted to exit and I calculated the crossing, I didn’t think we’d be stuck this long. 

Another lesson learned in my lifetime apprenticeship as a forest attendant. I’d been given so little instruction and I couldn’t help but wonder when I’d actually lose a visitor because no one had told me a key piece of information. 

“I have enough for the evening. And something for Roach. I suppose I’ll need to give her my water, since she can’t drink from here.”

“It would be best. I’m so sorry about that. Usually travelers know what they’re getting into. I really should remember to ask next time.”

At exactly that moment, another Wrythe appeared in the distance. Still far enough away that I had time to consider where to turn around or turn off next, but certainly in my intended path direction.

“What is it?” he asked, as if he could sense the shift in tension I held.

“We have to change route again.”

“What happens if we just move forward? I have a hefty sword, I could just…”

“You couldn’t.” I knew that for a fact. 

The bargains we struck for these passages were usually fleeting in nature. A favor to be curried later. Nothing truly tangible in the moment. Rarely, a brash young satyr would demand a weapon as payment. I always avoided such items, as it felt in direct opposition to the balance our kind struck with this forest to survive. But sometimes the outside trappings enchanted our kind. Those foolish young ones would find themselves face to face with a Wrythe, brandish a sword they only thought they knew how to wield, and end up missing limbs at best. The Wrythes were not to be trifled with.

“But I am an expert swordsman,” he responded, after listening to my tale.

“Good sir, I’ve never had anyone tell me anything with so much certainty. The Wrythes cannot be defeated. Only avoided. No one who has ever attempted to destroy one has escaped unscathed. And the Wrythe continues on.”

“There must be something…” I heard him mumble to himself. I had acute hearing as well.

We had just turned off to a new path, one I was sure would actually swing back around to meet up with our original route, a short distance past where we’d encountered the first Wrythe, when a third one made an appearance, though luckily off to the side and only audibly. But any more attempts West at this point would be deadly and I couldn’t risk it.

“We are not getting out of here tonight.” I tried to remain calm, but this had never happened to me before. I wasn’t sure what the next choice was, other than that I couldn’t go forward. And I needed to think. Something had disturbed my highly developed orienteering skills. “Please, no more talking.”

I eased Roach back around and up a short hill to a tri-fork. Glancing down each path, I caught a welcome sight and chose to follow the left-most branch. A short while later, a small clearing appeared along with an ancient dwelling surrounded by a raised walkway. Enough room for a man to dismount a horse without disturbing the earth. 

“I’ll have to check the provisions, but there should be a pail inside you can pour your water into for Roach. And you’ll need to tether her up here. Now that you’re dismounted, her weight will betray her. And she can’t graze besides.”

I handed the promised pail to the man and hopped off the porch with the other larger tub I had also found. Though it wasn’t the way I’d hoped to finish the day originally, luck had shifted to my side when I noticed the shelter and my mood was turning away from annoyed again. I set the vessel on the ground in the middle of the clearing and turned to see my companion wondering after me with a curious glance.

“If you have any magic powers,” I called playfully as I made my way back, “you should pray for rain tonight. Anything caught in that tub will be fresh and unburdened by the canopy of the forest. So it’ll be of value to you in the morning. Come inside,” I offered, squeezing by the horse and entering the small shack.

“Do you?” he asked.

“Have powers? Some. Though I don’t have the divining powers. I can cast a short blinding spell, to hide if I’m in the open. And I can speak through the roots. Not all of us can.It’s taken a long time to master, but I still have plenty to learn.”

I set about building a fire to keep the hut warm for the evening, then sat across the table from my guest. I studied his visage. His strong, square jaw roughly covered in a day’s growth. His cleft chin and full bottom lip. His brows furrowing towards his golden eyes.

“Since we’re stuck here for the night, could I ask your name?” 

“You didn’t need it before, when we struck our bargain,” he quirked an eyebrow at me.

“True. And I don’t actually need it now. But I thought it would be nice to know, since we’ll be together at least the night and well into tomorrow. I’m Fithra.” I wanted to extend my arm, to bind against his in greeting, but I hesitated too long and now he was answering me.

“Geralt.”

“Geralt. That’s a strong name.” I pulled my food from my pack and watched as he prepared a small feast from his. He was guarded about it before, but I wondered if sharing a meal would loosen his reserve. So I let curiosity get the better of me and asked. “What do you do, Geralt? For a living?”

“You don’t know?” he asked, seemingly surprised.

“I have an idea. But to be honest, the stories were all told as somewhere-else tales. I never knew they were true.”

“Many might wish they weren’t.”

“Are you a witcher then?”

“I am.”

“Must be maddening for you,” I conjectured, taking a small bite, conscious of the way his eyes seemed drawn to my mouth.

“What’s that?”

“Well,” I swallowed and dared a small lick of my lips, “if the tales are true, it must be torture that you aren’t able to use your powers to defeat the Wrythes. Since they can’t be defeated.”

“Everything can be defeated.” He took a bite now, and gave me an opportunity to gaze as he had.

“No one here knows how. And we’ve lived with the Wrythes for, well…since forever.”

“It’s usually true that when a people don’t know how to kill a thing, they name it unkillable. I’ve met plenty of beasts like that in my time. They don’t exist anymore.”

I fell silent with his words, unsure how to respond. I considered everything I had ever been told about the Wrythes, which amounted mostly to how to avoid them. What to do when I encounter one. Everything was some variation of “stay away” and not one piece of advice about how to harm them. Because we couldn’t.

“Do you know how they came to be?”

“Pardon?” I was shaken from my ruminations by his deep intonation.

“The Wrythes. Do you know how they came to be? Everything comes from somewhere, or something. And its destruction is often found in that detail.”

“No one ever said.” I sat dumbfounded. Suddenly, with a chill I hadn’t felt before, I remembered kin who had left the forest for good, searching for something more. What more, I could never say. “There are some who may know, but they keep the secrets.”

“What need do your people have of secrets?”

I thought about his question, even if he didn’t realize what he was asking. He couldn’t possibly know at this point that my people don’t communicate through words at all. We simply know what others are thinking and they in turn know what we are thinking. It was generally helpful in all areas of forest life, including coupling.

And as I considered what it would be like the next time I coupled with someone who knew exactly what I was thinking, I also began to imagine what it would be like to actually teach someone what I wanted. And to learn what they wanted also. I wondered if it would feel as exhilarating as learning my forest powers. If each time a discovery was made, I’d feel a fresh tingling, not better than the known, just new. 

But before I allowed myself to drift too far down that desire, I also realized this must also mean that not everyone can know everything everyone else is thinking. The elders had kept this from us. This origin. This danger. They kept the lore hidden and didn’t share and somehow I’ve allowed myself to believe what they said because why, but more importantly, how could they lie?

And yet they had. They had lied. They knew and we didn’t and they were able to keep it from us. It felt as distant and unknown as each power I might learn to strengthen my place with my people, in this world. Something to uncover.

Geralt watched me with steady eyes as I went through all the emotions that arrived with each passing thought. I wondered if he knew the moment I almost allowed myself to think about him learning my secrets. And I realized this is how they keep secrets. And I didn’t want that.

“I don’t have a need for secrets. My people may, though they pretend not to as well. It’s making me feel curious.”

“What are you curious about?”

“Why they keep the secrets. But also about you.” He wasn’t shocked or surprised. As if he was expecting it. Or perhaps hoping.

He licked his lips as he closed his eyes, shutting his light away from me but giving me a small look at what it might be like to make him shut his eyes with pleasure. The kind of pleasure that shone right through every fiber of a being so that even with eyes shut, the power and the energy might still break through.

I was eager to feel that with him and so I asked him if he would join me in the bed. He came without hesitation, grasping my shoulders to turn me toward him and leaning to press his lips against mine with an urgency I hadn’t expected. This was his desire as much as mine. I hadn’t enchanted him and for that I was grateful, because now I would be able to show him exactly what I needed and I could ask him to show me what he needed as well.

It would be brand new and exciting because there would be no expectations. Everything would be unfamiliar and all we could do was let each new touch, new caress, new kiss, take us deeper into the evening with one another. He undressed me, not as slowly as I would have preferred, and soon I lay naked before him.

“Would you like me to help you as you helped me?” I asked, eager to see him as naked as I was.

“I would like you to touch yourself for me.”

It wasn’t the answer I imagined but it was exactly the answer I was waiting for. He wanted me and he wanted me to prepare myself for him. There was no great need to add to the moisture I already knew was building up between my legs, but I felt an overwhelming desire to let him watch my tongue trace around the tips of my fingers..

The groan he let escape his lips at the sight told me how right I was. I teased my forefinger and middle finger and let him imagine exactly what I was thinking, which was how much I wanted to do this to his cock if he would finally release it from his clothing. As he moved to unbuckle and unbutton, I shoved my wet fingers right into my cunt, glistening before his wolfish gaze.

He didn’t linger on his clothes. If I thought he undressed me a little too fast, it was nothing compared to the speed with which he removed each artfully tailored article of clothing. His armor was admirable and clearly crafted by a skilled artisan, and yet it paled in comparison to the sculpted body beneath it.

I watched his muscles ripple with every movement and the sight of him made me press into my core faster and deeper with each new feature I was graced with. His shoulders, wide and commanding. His arms, bulging. His chest, taut and sprinkled with curls that begged to be combed through. If I wasn’t otherwise occupied, I would have reached out to stroke him,

I could only imagine his hips thrusting into me; his cock, enlarged and springing from between his tree trunks of thighs. I wanted him to sit so I could rub myself along them, leaving trails of slick in my path.

When he was finally naked, he dropped beside me in the bed and kissed me hard again. 

“Mmmfff. I cannot believe that a mere twelve hours ago you were but a stranger to me and I was promising future assistance and now we are here together in this bed. It seems apparent, but I feel I must ensure you are as welcoming of this as I am.”

“Welcoming?” I scoffed. “This is more than mere welcoming, Geralt. This is a promise fulfilled.”

He paused for a moment and I froze, worried he didn’t believe me. If he thought I was tricking him and would demand another promise in the morning, he would be wrong, but I couldn’t identify what he was thinking. That mysterious mind was now turning slowly to enemy and I understood why we had to keep everything in the open. Secrets make enemies.

“This is no trick. You made the promise of a promise. You didn’t know what it might be, as neither did I, but you agreed to the term and accepted my guidance. Now I am asking you to pay your favor early. To trust that I would never consider this the end of my agreement with you simply because you’d fulfilled your promise before I did. Tomorrow does not bring another bargain. This bargain endures, until I see you safely on the other side of Faerlaith. On my honor. Now, please. Speak to me as you would your lover.”

“It will require no great imagination, as I already wish this myself.”

He proceeded, then, to tell me exactly how to keep pleasuring myself for his amusement. And once he had shifted his body in between my legs, he admitted that placing his tongue dead center to nip at and lick at my not-so-more-hidden flower was making him unbearably hard. He endured for as long as it took to make me cry out his name, and I held a firm grip on his white hair as a rush of wet heat poured over his face.

When I attempted to move away and turn to place my head close to his engorged member, he stopped me. “I do not wish for that.”

“Ever?” I asked, sure I’d misunderstood.

“Just right now. Just for right now, I desire your weight lifted above me. I want to lay back and watch you slide down my cock. I want to see the pleasure on your face. It couldn’t possibly make you any more beautiful than you are now, but I want to know if I’m wrong”

He helped me find my balance and then watched rapt, exactly the way he had as I had touched myself for him. At first, he allowed me to move myself up and down his shaft, and side to side, grinding my hips into him when I could manage a full descent. Once he was sure I had experienced another wave of never known before pleasure, he began to thrust and rut up into me. I managed to remain upright for as long as I could, eventually succumbing to an errant buck and falling forward against his chest. He held my mouth on his and kissed me deeply, keeping our lips sealed against one another even as he began to turn me to my back.

Every move was almost exactly as I would have wished it. Every touch, every kiss, every press, every pull. They all felt so familiar and yet so foreign at the same time. He took every cue I gave and translated it into the way I wanted him to put his hands on my body, and even though he didn’t find the spot I thought I wanted him to find, he found another. And the trembling I felt begin in my bones was nothing compared to the cry of ecstasy he drew from me before he roared with a final thrust.

It was as late in the evening as the early morning hours when I woke to find him seated at the edge of the bed. The fire embers were still burning low and I wondered if he thought we needed another log of slow burning knup wood. I was startled when he spoke.

“I can hear them.”

I was about to ask him who when I, too, heard the Wrythe’s cry. How had he not heard this before? In the woods, when my hearing had allowed it. I thought our senses were well matched.

“Is it always like this?” he asked.

“Like what? What exactly do you hear?” I countered, realizing I couldn’t be sure if he was hearing what I was. His answer confirmed it though. And as we listened to the low, mournful wail, circling the clearing knowing it couldn’t cross the open field to find us, I draped myself around him, legs across his lap and arms encircling his shoulders. I melted into the cradle of his arms as he reached up to hold me close.

“But you don’t hear what they are saying?” he asked.

“What? They don’t speak words.”

“Oh they absolutely do. They’re speaking right now.”

“Geralt. You’re saying you hear words in that low moan that you couldn’t hear not more than three hours ago?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

I waited longer than I felt I should have had to.

“Well, for ‘leith’s sake, what are they saying?”

Geralt proceeded to translate a tale that both saddened and angered me. These Wrythes, the spirits that would not let us defend a wayward traveler without injury, these forest menaces, they were protecting us. They were the ghosts of wayward forest kin, end met too soon in a hateful or violent manner, returned to their home. Cursed, as in life, with no voice as well as no unspoken connection. That skill had disappeared with the life. The ghost instead returned with moans. Or so we thought, apparently. Or had been told.

Geralt, and who knows how many others, had the ability to hear the words. If the elders knew and this is what they were keeping from us, I had even more questions than before. I slowly eased myself off Geralt’s lap to settle back against the wall and drew my knees to my chest.

“They are saying that there are still others, as far as they know, who remain outside the forest.” He turned to face me, drawing one knee onto the bed. “That they are only exceptions, souls who were killed in crime at the same rate as any other people in the world. They want you to know, there is no reason to think this would happen to everyone who entered the wider world for good, not just to make a trade.”

“But then why do they harm us when we ferry men, or sorceresses, or elves across?”

“Pure coincidence. The ones they appear around are most likely to do harm or evil to your kind.”

“But they appeared for you?”

“Ah yes. They appeared because they knew my hearing would pick up the vibration, but only after you and I laid together.” 

I blinked and took in the words, as well as the small smile on his face. The Wrythes had played matchmaker. That was why I couldn’t get across the forest this time. But then would Geralt have ever agreed to this if not for the interference?

“Yes. Yes I would have.” He seemed to know exactly what was going through my mind, but it was my clear voice hanging in the air that assured me the question had been asked out loud. “As soon as we were clear of the trees, I would have asked you to accompany me to the nearest inn for an evening before I continued on my way. I still may yet.”

I was surprised to hear such an unabashed confession and felt a swell in my heart. Even though our coupling had created a connection, it appeared to only allow Geralt to hear the Wrythes. It did not afford him the ability to speak without words to me. And he had chosen to speak his mind to me with no uncertainty.

“It pleases me to know this. In fact, it makes me want to return under these covers with you right now.” He gave a wolfish grin and joined me.

In the morning, I convinced Geralt to give me one last coupling. It was slow and lazy as he made his way up and down my body with kisses, tasting and nipping here and there, paying attention to what made me squirm and then repeating the motion a few more tortuous times. He found a way to make me almost release with just his tongue on my nipple. And he didn’t mind at all as I pressed against his chest and gently eased him onto his back so I could seat myself between his legs and press my lips and tongue to his cock before I slid my mouth around and down the shaft. 

I moaned around his girth and recalled how it felt to have him buried inside me last night. When I could no longer bear the memory alone, I eased off his cock and leaned back, beckoning for him to shift his body forward and over me so he could slip his dick back inside and make me come for him again and again.

It was worth the late start, especially because it had already been determined I would not be accompanying Geralt to the next inn. This one night, and now morning, would have to suffice. I was leaving the forest, for sure. The paths were still treacherous to outsiders, though as long as they stayed on horses and did not stop to water or eat, they could make it across without delay now. And without a guide.

I was no longer needed and so, yes I’d be leaving the forest to see if making my way in the wider world was of worth. But Geralt would not be joining me on my journey and nor could I join him on his. He was on his way to Kaer Morhen and late as it was. The route would be treacherous, the roads beginning to cover in snow. It was not a suitable place for outsiders. 

He turned to me with gratitude as we reached the forest edge and began to say our parting words.

“I will never forget you, Geralt of Rivia. I am glad to have met you along my way and happy it was through knowing you that the curse of my people was lifted. I am fearful about what this change will bring to my home, though. Maybe more of my kin will die at the hands of travelers.”

“The land will surely still protect you,” he spoke as a sage “And I have no doubt our paths will cross again someday. It has been my experience that once a kindred soul is met, nothing but death will break the bond and they will re-meet over and over. Surely, you and I are kindred. And I look forward to the day we draw near again.”

After a final kiss, wrapped in his embrace, we finally broke free and parted ways. I headed south and he pointed north. I turned on my toes from time to time, pleased to see him peering back over his shoulder every now and then until the distance between us was so wide and he began to drop down over the hill so that I could no longer see even the top of his head. 

I turned south again to make my way to meet my next fate.

Taglist:

@sillyrabbit81 , @kittenofdoomage , @mayloma , @kebabgirl67 , @fvckinghenrycavill , @geralts-yenn , @beck07990 , @itsrubberbisquit , @feelmyroarrrr , @sweetdreamsofgelato , @liveoncoffeeandflowersss , @alexakeyloveloki , @marantha , @aireraume , @angelmather1 , @lizzystuffsthings , @enchantedbytomandhenry , @omgkatinka , @littlefreya , @avengersfan25 , @thesaucynomad , @just-chirpin ​

Also, if you want this? @dadralt @hope-to-hell ​ maybe?