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hier--soir · 9 months

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a lover's pinch | three

joel miller x f!reader

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

Thursday.

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

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

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

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

It had been a tiresome couple of weeks.

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

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

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

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

Him who you were hellbent on impressing.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

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

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

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

And it seems today was that day.

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

The pin on his shirt is blue.

Not cerulean, or baby, or steel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you try to listen, you really do.

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

Birthday, birthday, birthday.

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

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

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

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

“Somethin’ to add?” he clips.

The smile slides off your face. “Sorry?”

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

“Oh,” you blink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The thought has your thighs pressing together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That can’t happen again.

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

Happy Birthday Professor x

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Funny?” you reply, mouth suddenly dry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you,” you gasp.

“Hmm?” he hums dangerously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then Joel surprises you.

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

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

“Liked your essay.”

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

“You’re only saying that becau—”

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

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

“Happy birthday, Joel.”

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

Friday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, Pete. Cool, they are not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You fucked her once,” Ian interrupts.

“—Rita—"

“Rose.”

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

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

“What do you think of that?”

“Of a potential God’s potential suicide?”

“Yeah,” Henry grins dopily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The rest?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then a text appears.

Are you drunk?

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

yes

that wasn’t for you

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

Doing okay?

tired

ate bad food, drank alotta wine

Probably time to go home.

cant drive

thought you hada phd? telling me to drunk driev

bad profeseor

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

Where are you?

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

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

“How are you getting home?” he frowns.

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

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

Be there in 20.

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

“Get in.”

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

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

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

“Hey."

“Were you in bed?”

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

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

“Who was?”

“Pete’s friends.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he asks, voice too loud.

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

“You feelin’ okay?” he murmurs.

“Mm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can do it.”

“Just let me help you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh fuck,” you blurt out.

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

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

“M’not.”

“You better not.”

“I won’t.”

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

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

“What’re you—”

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

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

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

“Seventy, right?” you tease.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus.” He’s still frowning.

“Brown-eyed girl,” you sing—slur.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s warm enough for you.

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

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

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

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beomboomboom · 2 months

Text

Carrying your Love

genre: fluff, fwb to lovers, drunken confession

pairing: Wonwoo x reader

summary: What's harder, carrying a drunk Wonwoo home, or carrying your love for him that you know he'll never reciprocate (or will he?).

warnings: mentions of drinking and alcohol, a little bit of swearing, mentions of sex, suggestive

note: Not me staying up until 2 am to finish this fic- 😭. This fic is part of an ask for drunken confession fics. Enjoy reading <33

Wonwoo has carried you more times than you can count.

From carrying you because you complained about your feet being tired, to carrying you to the bedroom after seeing you in a tight fitting dress that made his mind go into shambles.

But you never would've expected the roles to be switched.

"Wonwoo," You mutter, only to let out a groan in disappointment when you realize he's completely knocked out. "C'mon, wake up please. I don't want to have to drag you all the way to your house."

Wonwoo had asked you to go with him to Mingyu's birthday party. But you, knowing how most of his parties ended in everyone completely wasted, opted out because of your doctors appointment the next day.

Plus, you knew how getting drunk with Wonwoo at a party would often end in fucking in the bedroom, and to say your feelings about that have been complicated as of late would be an understatement. Yes, at first getting to release all your sexual desires while also having a friend seemed like a win-win situation. But you couldn't tell why you wanted to be more than that now, more than friends who fuck.

Ironically, you ended up going to Mingyu's party anyway. Not to party, but to bring Wonwoo's drunk ass home.

"Wonwoo," you repeat while shaking his shoulders, trying to wake him up so that he could walk on his own. "Wonwoo, wake up."

Sighing, you admit defeat and begin to hoist Wonwoo's legs around your waist so that you could piggyback him.

And no amount of weightlifting and going to the gym could have prepared you for the moment you started walking with a 139-pound man on your back. With each step you took, it felt like it would be your last.

But somehow, you miraculously made it to Wonwoo's house. Panting and breathless, but alive nonetheless.

"You better repay me for that," you mutter in between gasps of air as you drop Wonwoo onto his couch.

As you're grabbing a drink of water in the kitchen, you can hear Wonwoo as he slowly stirs awake. "ugh...," you hear him groan from the kitchen.

"Do you want me to take you to your room?" You ask, concerned when you see Wonwoo try to stand up, only to fall back on his butt.

Replying in a quiet nod, you go over to Wonwoo's side to help him. As you wrap his arms around your neck and piggyback Wonwoo once again, you can't help but notice how intimate the whole thing feels.

Wonwoo's chest pressed right against your back, his head resting on your shoulder, the small breaths he lets out as you enter his room. Suddenly, you feel Wonwoo lift his head from your shoulder to whisper in your ear. "I...I think I love you."

Shocked, you freeze in place. But something about stopping seems to cause your limbs to lose their strength, and before you know it Wonwoo is on the floor and groaning in pain.

"Ohmygosh, I'm so sorry Wonwoo. I was just so shocked-," You ramble, panicked as you try to make sure Wonwoo isn't hurt at all. "I really didn't mean-" You start to ramble again, before being interrupted by Wonwoo's soft lips on yours.

"It's okay, let's just go to bed. My head hurts so much," Wonwoo says as he tries to stand up, only to fall again on his butt.

"Here let me help you," you offer as you help Wonwoo stand up before leading him to his bed. Tucking him in, you let out a fond smile and give him a peck on the forehead. "Let's talk about your confession tomorrow when you're sober, okay?"

As you turn to leave you feel an arm shoot out to tug you back to the bed.

"Stay. Stay with me tonight."

#seventeen fluff #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #wonwoo fanfic #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo x y/n #wonwoo x you #jeon wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo imagines #jeon wonwoo fluff #jeon wonwoo x you #jeon wonwoo x y/n

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writingwithciara · 4 months

Text

It's The Little Things ~Nico Hischier~

summary: y/n is unaware of how nico feels about her, until quinn brings it up

word count: 3.3k

pairing: nico hischier x reader

notes: nico is so precious and doesn't get as much love as he deserves ❣ so here you go nico girlies. hope you enjoy! [jealousy & some mention of sexual content at the end]

masterlist

y/n met quinn in the library at school. quinn was the only one there who didn’t judge y/n for constantly studying and trying to keep her grades up. he was also the only one who would stay and help her when the rest of her study group decided to ditch whatever they were working on to go to a party. no matter how many times she told him to go, he insisted on staying.

he became her best friend and she was his biggest supporter, on and off the ice. so when he was drafted to play for the vancouver canucks, they were both devastated. y/n still had a few years at school and couldn’t join him, but she was proud of him nonetheless. she promised to stay behind and look after luke when he decided to attend the university of michigan. and although she graduated the year before luke was drafted, she still stayed in town to keep him company.

when he was picked 4th overall for the new jersey devils, y/n went with him to newark where they found an apartment that was an affordable price for the both of them, with luke working off his hockey salary and y/n pitching in with whatever she could from her job as a waitress.

after almost a year of living together, they both decided that in order to save a little more money, that they would both move in with jack. and that was fine, for a while. but then the pandemic hit and they were spending too much time together. the boys started getting into more and more ridiculous arguments and it culminated with y/n deciding to find a new place to live. they all agreed that it was for the best, as it would save their friendship.

and it was convenient because their teammate nico was looking for a roommate. y/n didn’t know him very much but she moved in with him anyway.

3 years later, and nico was her favorite person. she felt bad for replacing quinn but he constantly assured her it was okay. he also tried to convince her that the main reason she preferred nico was because she had feelings for him, which she denied every chance she got because she truly did not have feelings for him. there was no reason she needed to have feelings for him.

until there was.

after quinn tried to convince her the last time, y/n started noticing all the little things nico did for her. he would bring her back her favorite snacks after practice and he would run her a bath when he knew she had worked a double shift. he would leave her surprise notes all over the place and he would send her motivational texts whenever he could. when he was on the road for away games, he would call her or facetime her whenever he had a chance & if he couldn’t, he would send her a text to check in.

he bought her flowers ‘just because’ & he made sure she got the best seats at any of the home games.

she may not have had feelings for him but it was starting to feel like he had them for her.

---

“so what did your boyfriend do for you today?” quinn chuckled as soon as y/n accepted his facetime request.

“he’s not my boyfriend, quinn. we're just roommates.” y/n rolled her eyes. “and he doesn’t do these things every day. just when i'm having a particularly tough day. well that’s how it used to be. but lately, it’s been happening more and more. i'm starting to think that nico might have feelings for me.”

“yeah, probably. he asked luke about you when you guys met but luke didn’t give him the information he wanted.”

“what did he ask about?”

“he wanted to know what your status was. if you were seeing someone or not. but luke wouldn’t tell him.”

“if luke knew all of this, why did he and jack think it would be a good idea to live with him?” y/n set her phone down and looked at the apartment door. nico was supposed to be home shortly and she wanted to make sure he didn’t hear any part of the conversation.

“because they’re idiots, obviously. maybe they were hoping you guys would get together by now but it doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen any time soon.”

“he’s my best friend.”

“ouch.”

“okay he’s my alternate best friend.” y/n smiled. “what do you think of me being with nico?”

“i honestly think you guys are good for each other. it's like you’re each others missing piece or something.”

“quinn, i obviously love him. but it’s not like that. maybe we are soulmates, but i believe it’s only on a platonic level.”

“call it what you want but i do know that your dynamic with him is way different than your dynamic with me.”

“how so?”

“he does things for you and i just don’t.” quinn chuckled.

“that’s because you just suck, hughes.” y/n smiled. she heard the door open but before she could hang up, nico appeared behind her.

“hey quinn.” he waved and then turned to the table behind him, producing a fast food bag.

“i'll talk to you later. bye huggy bear.” y/n quickly hung up and turned to face nico. “what’s the occasion?”

“nothing special. just thought you’d be hungry & i know you haven’t had a good burger in a while so i stopped by that diner you love and got you a burger and some fries. oh and one of those specialty milkshakes and a slice of cheesecake for desert.”

“it’s from tops?”

“yes ma’am.” he smiled, knowing he had just made her day.

“you are the best roommate ever, nico!” y/n threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

“i know.” he hugged her back just as tightly and was reluctant to let go but he knew he had to let go eventually so she could eat.

that was the night that y/n started seeing nico differently. she stopped seeing him through her ‘platonic glasses’ and started seeing him with the ‘heart glasses’. there was no way she could tell quinn though.

the next few nights were lonely since nico had to go to a handful of away games. the apartment was empty, quiet and it lacked nico’s presence. y/n couldn’t stand it.

just as she walked into his room to look for his favorite sweater, her phone rang in her pocket. she picked it up and immediately answered when she saw his request for a facetime.

“hey. how's the trip?”

“it’s nice. we won last night’s game.”

“i know. congrats on the goal, by the way. i screamed so loud when it happened and i think our neighbors hate me.”

“that’s impossible.” he smiled. “nobody could hate you.”

“miranda might.” y/n heard jack say somewhere in the background.

“who’s miranda?”

“she’s a girlfriend of one of the guys. she's not very big on any of the single players hanging out with a girl. she doesn’t believe that a guy and a girl can be just friends.” nico chuckled, suddenly seeming tense. “i gotta go but it was nice to see your face, love. i'll call you tomorrow afternoon, okay?”

“okay. good luck tomorrow.” she smiled and when nico ended the call, she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. something about the call seemed a little off and she needed to get down to the bottom of it.

it was another few days before y/n heard from nico. she sent him a bunch of congratulatory texts after the team won 3 games in a row, with nico scoring at least once in all of them. she even tried calling him but it went straight to voicemail every time.

on the night the devils were set to be back at home, y/n got ready in her custom hischier jersey and the coat he got her for her birthday. luke called her just as she was about to leave.

“hey lukey boy. what's up?”

“just excited to see you. i miss you.”

“awe. well i miss you too.” y/n smiled. “can you put nico on?”

“i would love to but i have no idea where he is right now.”

“okay. just, um, let him know i called and wished him luck tonight.”

“are you coming to the game?”

“of course.” she smiled again. it was hard not to smile with luke. he was sunshine. “gotta cheer on my 2 favorite players in the league.”

“hey, i heard that!” jack shouted from behind the camera. he suddenly appeared but he had a smile on his face, meaning her comment didn’t offend him. “i'm sure quinn wouldn’t be too happy to hear that either.”

“i can have more than 1 favorite player, jack.” she shook her head. “but seriously. good luck to all of you tonight. can't wait to cheer you guys on.”

“can’t wait to see you.” jack waved goodbye before disappearing off camera. luke just chuckled and looked back at his phone.

“we gotta go. see you shortly?”

“you bet. bye luke.” y/n hung up and grabbed her keys. the arena wasn’t far and the weather outside was nice so she decided to walk to the game.

when she got to the arena, she showed her id to security and they let her in, shielding her from fans. she made her way to her reserved seat and noticed a brunette sitting in the seat beside hers. the girl looked up at her and smiled.

“hi. i'm miranda.” she held her had out and y/n shook it before taking the seat next to her. “are you here for luke?”

“no. well, yes. but not just luke.” she watched as the players began skating out onto the ice to practice. she waved to luke and jack as they passed by the glass.

“oh. are you jack’s girlfriend then?”

“what? no. just a former roommate and really good friend of some of the team.”

“oh. that’s awesome.”

“who are you here for?”

“my boyfriend is on the team.” miranda watched the players until she found the one she came to see. y/n watched as the all too familiar 13 skated by them. he waved to miranda and caught y/n’s eye before looking down and skating to where jack and luke were. “that’s him. isn’t he so cute?”

“yeah. totally.” y/n watched as nico kept glancing up at the 2 of them.

down on the ice, luke noticed nico’s change in attitude. “dude, what is going on with you lately? first you ignore y/n for days with no explanation then you have your girlfriend attend the game, knowing full well that y/n would be here & also knowing that miranda doesn’t like her already.”

“she’s not my girlfriend, luke. just a fling.”

“a fling for what? what’s the point of breaking 3 hearts at once?”

“you know why i need this.” he glanced over to the stands and only saw miranda. she smiled at him and blew him a kiss but he just waved back. “what do you mean 3 hearts? the only hearts that are going to be breaking are mine and miranda’s.”

“in case you haven’t noticed, y/n has feelings for you. i can guarantee you’re breaking her heart and making it worse by ignoring her and keeping secrets from her.”

“yeah right, luke. there’s no way. y/n and i are just roommates. she's made that point about a billion times.”

“believe what you want, but we have a game to win, nico.” luke skated over to the bench while nico took his spot on the ice. he constantly looked over at the stands to see if y/n was there. she was but he noticed she was wearing a different jersey than the one she arrived in.

after seeing nico interact with miranda, even if it was brief, y/n suddenly felt wrong for wearing his jersey number while sitting next to his girlfriend. so she went and bought a 43 jersey instead and quickly changed into that, shoving the hischier one into her bag. when she returned to her seat, miranda looked at her.

“cute jersey.”

“thanks.”

at the end of the 2nd period, the devils were up by 2 and they were playing really well. y/n looked down as jack and luke looked up at her. nico waved to her but before she could wave back, miranda was waving instead. nico smiled and looked at his teammates. y/n pulled out her phone and pretended she was just checking her messages.

“hey, i gotta head out. can you tell nico that something came up and that i'm sorry & i'll see him when he gets home?”

“yeah of course. it was nice meeting you.” miranda and y/n waved goodbye to each other as y/n left the building. the air was a lot cooler than it was when she walked to the arena. thank god her coat was able to keep her warm.

she walked into the apartment and quickly turned the game on. the game was almost over and the devils were now down by 2. y/n suddenly felt bad for leaving, having been told by jack, luke & nico that she was their good luck charm. but nothing could make her stay at the game.

when the final buzzer went off, signaling the devils had lost, y/n clicked the tv off and headed to her room to change. she would normally do something to comfort nico after a loss but she figured that since he had miranda now, he wouldn’t need her to do anything to cheer him up.

about an hour later, y/n was in her room when she heard the door slam shut. rapid footsteps could be heard in the hallway before they stopped outside her bedroom door. y/n knew it was nico just by the gentle knock.

“come in.” she set her book down and sat up straight as nico walked in.

“why did you leave?”

“it didn’t feel right being there. your girlfriend doesn’t like me and even though she was being nice, i could tell it was fake.”

“so you left? since when has one person not liking you ever stopped you from doing something?”

“when the person is dating my best friend & doesn’t like me, that’s where i have to draw the boundary line, nico. keep my distance as much as possible to convince her there’s nothing going on between us.”

“she’s not convinced at all. she yelled at me after the game because she didn’t get the right vibe from you. she also asked me to ask you to move out.”

“you’re joking right? unbelievable. un-fucking-believable.” y/n got off her bed and grabbed a bag.

“what are you doing?” nico approached her and tried to slow her down but she kept throwing clothes into the suitcase.

“what does it look like i'm doing? i'm giving you space so you can keep miranda. in the meantime, i'll just stay with luke and jack. no big deal.”

“yes. very big deal.” nico grabbed her wrist gently and halted her movement. she dropped the tshirt she was holding and looked at him. “i don’t want to be with miranda. i made sure to tell her after the game & that’s when she yelled at me. assumed it was because of my commitment to you.”

“there’s no commitment. we're just roommates, nico.” y/n went to grab the packed bag but nico stood in her way.

“before you go, i need to ask you something.”

“what?”

“do you really believe we’re just roommates? or do you feel a connection too?”

“no idea what you’re talking about.” she went to move around him but he held her in place by placing his hands gently on her shoulders.

“why is this so difficult for you to grasp, y/n?!”

“what are you talking about?” y/n sighed.

“i’m talking about the fact that i have been in love with you for the last 2 years and i thought i was making it obvious when i would do all those things for you. like, what type of roommate buys flowers for the other person for absolutely no reason? what type of person leaves notes for his roommate to find? what kind of guy would draw a bath for his roommate after she got home from a double shift? what kind of person would drop a significant other if they even said one bad thing about their roommate? a person who has no idea how to express his feelings with words, that’s who. i am that type of person, y/n & i need you to believe me.”

“why couldn’t you just come out and tell me how you felt, nico?”

“i told you. i’m not good at using my words when it comes to feelings. but i like you. i like you a lot. and admittedly, using miranda as a way to get over you was the stupidest thing i've ever done because it didn’t work.” he looked down at y/n and sighed. “earlier at the game, i think i felt my heart break like 4 times.”

“what do you mean?”

“well, the first time my heart broke was when i saw you looking upset when you met miranda. the second time was when i saw you had changed out of your hischier jersey and into a luke jersey. made me feel like crap for some reason. the third time my heart broke was when luke scored, you cheered louder than anyone but when i scored, you didn’t get as excited. and the fourth time was when the team lost. i looked up at the stands to see your reaction, only to find that you had left. you never leave the games and when miranda told me you were gone, i got upset and she yelled at me for caring more about he fact that you were gone more than the fact that she was there.” nico reached for y/n’s hand and sighed. “i am so sorry for everything, y/n. miranda meant nothing to me because whenever i was with her, i was thinking of you.”

“i love you, nico. and i’m sorry for not noticing the underlying reason behind all the things you did for me. i thought it was just what a good roommate would do. and i didn’t do anything for you. which i now realize makes me a terrible roommate.”

“you’re not a terrible roommate, y/n.” nico placed his hand on her cheek and smiled. “you’re always there for me when i need you & you always do something to cheer me up if my team loses. you're the best roommate, whether you believe it or not.”

“but you lost tonight and i didn’t do anything for you.”

“you just being here is enough, trust me.” his eyes flicked down to her lips before traveling back to meet her gaze. he didn’t waste anymore time. nico closed the gap and placed his lips firmly on hers. y/n kissed back quickly and pulled him closer.

as the kiss deepened, all of their jealousy was swept away.

nico placed his hands on her waist gently as he laid her down against her mattress. he hovered above her and she tangled her hands in his hair, biting his bottom lip in the process.

his grip on her waist tightened and a low groan came from his mouth as she gently tugged on his hair.

“how do you always look so hot after a game?” y/n asked as she broke the kiss to take a breath.

“only after a game?” he raised his eyebrow.

“oh shut up.” she smirked and pulled him back in. she flipped them over so she was straddling him and nico gazed up at her with he most amount of love he has ever had. or was it lust this time? he didn’t care as he pulled her down for a night neither of them would never forget.

------

taglist: @worldlxvlys @heavenlyhischier @chrisloyalgf @lhughes43 @ijustreallylovethem @captainboomaray @eberles

#nico hischier #new jersey devils #nico hischier imagine #nico hischer x reader #nhl #hockey player fic #nico hischier fic

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another-random-paradise · 12 days

Note

Hello! I noticed your account has open requests and I've been searching for a while to find some twst writers lol! I really hope you don't mind this request and I like your works :3

A request about Leona and/or Ruggie realizing that this “naive“ m!reader is actually the king of sunset savannah's entertainer/court jester (you know how kings hired court jesters to entertain them in parties or whatever, I haven't done much research). They can insult Falena and the guards wouldn't beat his ass (since it's literally part of his job) PLUS it pays REALLY GOOD. The beastmen just recently found out because of the reader saying a comment about the King, saying something like “His hair reminds me of a tomato.“ “King Tomato Furry (Falena) said that I'll get a raise lol“ just randomly and went back to work.

I HOPE IT MAKES SENSE PLEASE 😭

A lovers Jest

Your brain is so big, anon. So very big, I love this request so much, you don't even know!! In Leonas part the M!reader is mentioned, but in Ruggies it isn't exactly mentioned, since i didn't want to unnecessarily cramp it in, I hope that's okay! Also Leona finds out during a festival, since i thought it would be funny- Also, I'm sorry this took so long, and thank you for the kind words!! Hope you enjoy :) There are way to many "Also's" in this Intro-

---------------------------------------------------------

Finding out their crush is the Royal Jester

Characters: Leona, Ruggie

Format: Headcanons

Warnings: None that i can think off

Leona

-How did he not know earlier about you being his brothers Jester? well, the man was to busy sleeping to partake in any of the royal festivities

-How you could be so seemingly naive was a mystery to him, it really stunned him at times, but nonetheless you seemed to grow on him, so, you two started to hang out often

-He liked how, behind the closed doors of his room, you're even willing to joke and make fun of his brother. Falena is usually held in high regards by citizens of Sunset Savanna, not that he really minded. That is definitely why you two started hanging out so much (definitely not because he is slowly developing a crush on you, nuh uh)

-He would tease, how, as the second prince, he could report you to his brother and the guards, because of your jokes, only to get a laugh in response for from you. Truly, how naive could you be to not take threats seriously? let alone make jokes so carelessly about the king?!

-Well, he was quick to find out, when he eventually was forced to go to a royal event! It's Chekas birthday, and the little man was very insistent about having his beloved uncle there! So, reluctantly, he went, no matter how little he wanted to. He did show up late though

-And when he did arrive, he almost immediately sees you. Well, the prince's birthday was commonly celebrated by the entire kingdom, he supposes it wasn't to weird you're here.. But why is there a crowd around you? and why are you standing so close to his brother?! And then, once he got a bit closer, he could finally hear what you were saying

-"Why, your majesty, King of tomatoes may just be a better fitting title for you!"

-Oh. Oh no no no no no- he just came to terms with having a crush on you, and now you practically throw yourself into prison?! He knows you're naive, but to openly insult the king?! Even as the second prince he won't be able to save you from prison!

-Leona is panicking to say the least, just as he is about to try and intervene and stop you from being thrown into prison for the rest of your live, he suddenly hears his brother..laugh? The guards stand in their place, a few people in the crowd giggling, as his brother and his sister-in-law are full on laughing.

-He just stands there shocked, till Falena finally notices him. "Leona! how nice of you to finally grace us with your presence! I believe you have yet to meet my Jester?" Jester?! It would explain the situation.. "No, we have met before.."

-respond to his intense stare with a smile, and suddenly he is looking away and blushing ever so slightly

-Suddenly your 'naivety' makes so much sense. You aren't naive, you just love your work so much, you continue to do it outside of working hours

-The rest of the night he spends silently observing you, while having to deal with chekas antics

-You best believe, that the next time you two hang out, he'll be confronting you, very much wanting to know why you didn't tell him- You probably thought he already knew, since, y'know, he's part of the royal family and all

-This, along with his crush on you, gave him a great Idea. As a second prince, he isn't required to marry a woman, since he doesn't need an heir.. So not only is he free to marry you, he would get to take his brothers favorite Jester from him. For once, he'd be the one to take something from his brother, instead of the other way around!

-Of course, that isn't the only reason he wants to marry you, dear reader, this lion is head over heels for you- he's just to stubborn to admit it :)

Ruggie

-You and Ruggie have probably already been close for a while, maybe you even have already gone on a date or two!

-And yet, he has yet to know what you do for work. But he does know that you make A LOT of money! He wouldn't just like you for the money, but if you're the kind of person to use at least a small amount to help those in need like himself by giving to charity, or paying for the meals he takes back home for the kids of the slum during the holidays, then that is a definitely one of the reason he fell for you

-He did notice how openly you insulted the King, and he can't say he minds, that man has so much money, and is supposed to take care of his kingdom, and yet there are still kids growing up the way he did.

-Nonetheless, he usually stops you when your 'naive' enough to Joke about the King in the open, he doesn't need you going to prison, you pay for so many of his meals! He is genuinely in love with you, but just like Leona, too stubborn to admit it

-Until one day, he once again stops you from Insulting the king in public and you reply with a simple "Why? King Tomato-head even said I'd get a raise for that Joke!"

-"Wait what? What do you mean by that??" - If you translated Ruggies expression into words

-"Oh yeah, I'm the Royal Jester! Did I never tell you that?" No, no you did not- but it does explain a lot to Ruggie, why, no matter how much you joked in the open, the guards never went after you, why you were willing to insult the king at all.. You weren't naive, you were just doing your job!

-...Do you think you could also get him a job as jester? He knows a court usually has more than one Jester, and apparently it pays well!.. But that would mean he would spent his holidays at the castle instead of with his grandma and the slum kids. Yeah, he'll leave the Jesting to you

-But suddenly, instead of stopping you from telling your jokes, he'll help you come up with them! He knows, that the funnier a Jester is, the more they'll get paid, and you best believe he's making sure you bring home that bag!!

-...Also, maybe if you have a holiday off, you'd be willing to come with him to the slums and perform for the kids? He can only imagine how exited they would be to see the performance of an actual jester.

-If you say yes, he'd literally be willing to marry you on the spot, he's already picking a venue

Tbh, not that proud of Leonas part, the words didn't wanna word- But I'm still pretty proud of myself nonetheless ngl

Also, two posts in one day, I feel so productive-

I hope you enjoyed! Feedback is welcomed, just be nice :)

Have a lovely day/night!

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #headcanons #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst headcanons #writing #leona kingsholar x reader #twst leona #leona kingscholar #leona x reader #twst ruggie #ruggie bucchi x reader #ruggie x reader #ruggie bucchi #x reader

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koolades-world · 20 days

Text

one of my besties had me watch the madison beer mv of make you mine and it's actually such a good song. i love that the entire thing is jennifer's body themed. you know it's bad when i think of fictional characters while i listen to the song haha. sorry if mephi's dialogue seems a little ooc, not super familiar with his speech patterns yet

i'm really bad at giving things titles as you can see haha. highly recommend giving it a listen or listening while you read this <3

also i just learnt mephisto has an undercut? it's actually black so is purple not his natural hair color? he'd look really pretty with black hair but part of me wonders if he dyed it purple to look different from lucifer

anyways sorry this is so late! got busy hanging out with friends and the thing i had originally wanted to post wasn't ready, and i just really wanted to post this haha. enjoy :)

make u mine (mephisto x reader)

Mephisto had never meant to end up in such a compromising situation with the human exchange student, of all people. Not that it being anyone else would have made it better, but at least You looked absolutely ravishing in your party wear, and despite everything in him telling him to look away, he couldn't tear his eyes away from you. Had you placed a spell on him?

It all started with a few words overheard in a conversation between Diavolo and Lucifer. Of course, he hadn't meant to overhear what they were saying on purpose. He could thank the journalist inside him unconsciously picking up on many side conversations at the same time, and that one in particular happened to catch his interest. Listening to Mammon and Asmo talk about the latest party they were going to could wait. His attention was fully captured when he heard the phrase "exchange program." That phrase always meant a scoop was just around the bend.

He had no clue that this "scoop" would slowly consume every waking moment he occupied.

Once the time came that for the program to start, he didn't expect to be greeted with two very different humans. One was a powerful sorcerer he knew rather well, from a distance of course, and the other was a seeming nobody. He thought it was odd, but he wanted to interview you nonetheless to get your thoughts on the program. He was interested in learning about you. It started as the beginnings of an article he knew would perform well, and morphed into personal curiosity.

Getting you alone proved difficult. One of those pesky brothers was always with you, and they seemed very insistent on keeping you two apart. They must've received some kind of instruction from Lucifer, as even Satan seemed intent on staying between the two of you. He had been sitting the the RAD newspaper room, alone, pondering over this exact dilemma, when his problem resolved itself when you came barreling the room, slamming the door shut behind you.

"Hey." You were out of breath. Your hair was a mess and a half smile on your face. Your back was pressed to the door. The moment he made eye contact with you was a moment he couldn't quite put words to, despite being excellent at that. He found it hard to look away from you.

He was speechless at first at the crazy coincidence, as if his thoughts had summoned you. "Ehem. How may I help you?" He raised an eyebrow at you.

"Will you do me a tinsy little favor and hide me? Pretty please?" The way you batted your eyelashes at him made his heart immediately cave to your demands, but he knew he had a reputation to uphold.

"Will you agree to do an interview with me if I do?" He spun the question around on you. He had wanted to ask anyways. He wasn't one to pass up an opportunity presented to him on a silver platter.

"Deal. Quick, Lucifer probably wasn't far behind me." You rushed towards him, taking his hand. This shook him for the second time in less than a minute. Hurriedly, he shoved you behind the printing press that occupied one side of the room and turned it on to cover up any noise you might make. No sooner than he had done this, Lucifer threw the door open.

"Didn't you hear me knocking?" The demon looked just out of sort as you had, but angry rather than amused like you were. He hadn't seen anyone get such a rise out of Lucifer in a while. He was interested in hearing your story. Lucifer's eyes scanned the room in search of you, but only grew more irate upon finding nothing out of the ordinary.

"No. I'm busy." Mephisto turned his back to Lucifer to conceal his growing grin.

"Mc isn't in here, are they?" Lucifer remained in the doorway.

"What do you think? This a writing sanctuary, not a daycare." Mephisto picked up one of the papers printed, pretending to look busy. Lucifer huffed, annoyed.

"Watch yourself, cocky journalist." With that, Lucifer spun around and left the room. He left the door slightly ajar, making Mephisto the most annoyed he'd been during that entire interaction. After pushing the door shut, he called out to you.

"He's gone. You have quite the story to tell, hmm?" He grabbed his notepad and pen, beckoning you to take a seat on the couch beside him.

"Turn off the noisemaker, then we can talk." You sat beside him after coming out of hiding. With a playful sigh, he got back up to shut it off so he could really begin to talk to you.

That was his first real conversation with you without one of the brothers present, and he suddenly understood their desire to keep you to themselves. Thankfully, after that day, he had his foot in the door and you were more than happy to speak to him despite the brother's protests. The scowl on Lucifer's face from over your shoulder as you happily chatted with him was worth the world to him because Mephisto knew that Lucifer wouldn't try anything; not with you with your hands all over him, anyways. He adored being the center of your attention despite the fact that several brothers were watching closely. You often slipped away from the brothers and escaped to the room you knew he'd be in. He didn't know if what you were doing was intentional or not, but he began to grow conditioned to seeing you laid out on the plush sofa by his desk, or parked on the desk itself, waiting for him with a smile and open arms. It got to the point where he was certain he saw more of you that any of the brothers did.

He was unsure about how to feel, but he welcomed you into his life readily. It became more than just being with you to make Lucifer mad. It became being with you just to be with you, because he enjoyed your company. However, he always felt as if he left something to be desired when he thought about you. You always left his heart aflutter with your touches, even though he wanted to assume it was just how you behaved normally.

A hand on his shoulder, a hand on his arm, a hand on his. Sometimes, a hand on his waist, fingers looped through his belt loops. A hand on his chest, playing with his tie. A hand on his face, thumbs gliding over his cheeks. A hand on his thigh, hidden under the table.

They all drove him insane.

It was then he realized he harbored some sort of feelings for the human who'd initially started as just the topic of an article he was writing. He craved your attention and wanted to be as close to you as possible. He knew that went past what he'd initially thought about himself. While you were simply a human, you were a human who'd managed to capture the affections of the seven demon lords, and beyond.

A party at his place was what finally unraveled everything. Despite it being his party and therefore, the center of attention, he was only interested in one person. He knew you'd gotten ready in his bedroom as an effort to prevent the brothers from stopping you from going. They, of course, weren't invited, but he wouldn't be surprised if they showed up always once they realized where you were. He knew at this point, he should just give you your own room. It wasn't like he couldn't afford it. He had many empty bedrooms and could easily make one into yours, but he loved sharing his space with you. Something inside him loved seeing your things intermingled with his, and he didn't want to part with that.

But, he hadn't seen you since he went downstairs to begin greeting guests. His eyes scanned the room, searching for you. He thought he saw the flash of a familiar blond head of hair, but he swept past that. His gaze soon settled on the person he was looking for: you. You were chatting with another guest, but as soon as you noticed his stare, you excused yourself from the conversation to make your way over to him. He began to think about you, and how much happier he'd be once you were by his side. He greeted you enthusatically and told you how amazing you looked. You naturally slotted into his side, hands on his shoulders.

In his haze, he failed to notice someone behind him. They bumped into him, causing him to spill his drink all over you. He quickly turned to reprimand them, and to catch their face, but they had vanished into the crowd before he could. Mephisto clenched his fists, but there was nothing he could do. The perpetrator had been swallowed by the evermoving crowd of people. Instead, he went back to you, and decided to help you get cleaned up. You seemed nonchalant about the entire situation, and were happy holding his hand as he dragged you up the stairs to his room.

"Mephi, there's no need to be so worked up. It's a simple fix. If the stain doesn't come out, it was only twenty bucks anways." You kept pace with him.

"It's a matter of dignity. Whoever that was embarrassed me, and now I look like a total moron." He couldn't look at you. His face was most certainly red.

"Not to me you don't." Those words quelled the inner calamity he had a little.

"Well, either way, the stain will set in if we don't do something about it now." He pulled you into his room and locked the door behind you. The last thing he wanted was some nosy demon wandering in after the two of you. If you didn't care what they thought, why should he? But, he didn't want his time with you to be interrupted.

He peered into his closet for something for you to wear. Usually, you had clothes here, hung up, something he was rather proud of, but everything but a couple R.A.D. uniforms were gone. Earlier that day, he'd instructed his staff to wash all your laundry, clean or not, with a new detergent that the both of you quickly fell in love with at the store. It had become both of yours, in a way, and he went feral over the idea of the brothers constantly being reminded of him even when he wasn't around through you.

"Do you want to go back to the party?" He leant out of his closet to yell to you.

"Depends. Anyone important down there?" You responded through the shut bathroom door.

"Not really. Lord Diavolo couldn't make it tonight." He already knew what you were going to say in responce.

"Then we can just get ready for bed. My RAD bag is in here somewhere, so I don't technically have to go home. If you'll let me stay, that is." He heard you laugh through the door. He chortled to himself at that too. You didn't even need to ask anymore. You slept in his bed with him, for crying out loud. You even had your own D.D.D. charger for his house at his side table, right next to his.

"Are you alright with wearing my pajamas to bed? Yours are in the wash." He riffled through his wardrobe to find a very nice pair for you. He eventually settled on one of his sets of black silk pajamas. He wasn't sure if the pants would fit you, but at least you'd have a shirt.

"You know me." You extended your hand through the cracked bathroom door, to which he tossed the clothes into your open hand. You caught them, and snapped the door shut again to put them on. "Mephi, the pants are a little big." He heard you say through the door. Just as he thought. He'd never actually seen you in a set of his clothes before, so he silently prepared himself to feast his eyes. Despite this, he was not ready for you when you stepped in from the bathroom. The blank pants were draped over your arms, and the black button up top fell to your mid thigh. "Just hang these back up. No use in trying that." You put them back into his hands, and threw yourself down onto his bed. He did as you asked, and sat next to you.

"Are your other clothes still in the bathroom?" He studied your side profile.

"Yeah, on the counter." You answered his questions.

"I'll be right back. I'll give those to one of my staff, who'll get the stain out and get it looking brand new." He moved to get back up, but was stopped by your hand reaching out to him.

"Not yet. Let me enjoy a little time with you first." You whined. He couldn't help but chuckle.

"I'll be quick." He moved to get up again, but this time, you got up before him and pushed him back down onto the bed. You straddled him, hands on both of his shoulders, pressing him into his bed.

"You've got no choice now." You triumphally smirked down at him. He knew he could easily get up, but he knew he wouldn't. You knew that too.

"Mc..." He was rather amused, but he couldn't stop from thinking about his feelings for you. Most of his confidence went out the window with that thought.

"I win." With that, you draped yourself over him fully, and Mephisto basked in your attention. As he thought more, while he really didn't want to, his heart told him now would be a great time to tell you how he felt. With the thought of now or never echoing in his brain, he opened his mouth again.

"Mc, I have a confession." He was nervous, more than he'd ever been. But, he was too deep in now to back out.

"Hmm?" You didn't sit up, and remained with your head on his chest.

"I think I'm in love with you." For someone usually so eloquent with his words, these were raw. Thankfully, they seemed to strike a chord with you. You perked up. He studied your face closely for any sort of negative reaction, but none came.

"Can I kiss you?" He was almost stunned by your reciprocation. He wasn't quite sure exactly how you felt yet, but that could wait until after his kiss.

"You may." Spilling that drink on you may have been the second best choice he ever made, the first being deciding to write about you to begin with. He was one lucky demon.

(end was a little rushed cause i'm sleepy haha)

#obey me #obey me!#obey me x reader #obey me satan #obey me lucifer #obey me mephisto #obey me mephistopheles #obey me mephisto x mc #obey me mephisto x reader

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vickysaurus-art · 9 months

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One paleoart for each period since the Cryogenian

Thanks to the timeline on my walls that I've been trying to fill in with my art, I have now reached the point where I've done paleoart for every single period of the Phanerozoic, plus the Ediacaran and Cryogenian! That is to say, every period of the last 700 million years. So with that milestone, I thought it'd be fun to go through those periods in order and show off one paleoart of mine for each!

Cryogenian

In the Cryogenian, the Earth completely froze over. Twice! Life wasn't much to look at yet, but I enjoyed drawing what our planet might have looked like at the time. The girdle of lakes at the left is the equator, which may have had ice-free patches.

Ediacaran

When the ice retreated, animals first began to blossom into their endless forms most beautiful. Ediacaran life was strange and quite unlike the creatures that would come later, but it was nonetheless an incredibly important chapter in life's history. Here we see the Ediacaran weirdos washing up on shore after a storm.

Cambrian

The Cambrian explosion brought much more recognisable creatures. But one thing that's easy to miss is that they were all tiny! All of them? No, Anomalocaris was, with a length of about 40 cm, the dragon of the Cambrian.

Ordovician

Life continued to diversify in the Ordovician, and among this diversity were the cephalopods. They produced the largest animals yet to exist, the orthocones, who hung vertically in the water column and decended upon their prey like a claw game.

Silurian

Although fungi and bacteria had already made forays onto the land deep in the past, things began to get busier there in the Silurian. But these horseshoe crabs, and their larger cousins the sea scorpions, have not come to the shore to stay, but to mate and lay eggs. Unfortunately for the horseshoe crabs, they have come to the very same shore.

Devonian

Our own vertebrate ancestors, like Tiktaalik, were pretty late to the party, only taking their first steps on land in the late Devonian. That's no knock against them - there was plenty to do underwater! This Tiktaalik is busy guarding his eggs while his mate is busy hunting, for example. Who has time to step on land?

Carboniferous

The end of the Carboniferous saw some quite large bugs, like these two Mazothairos chasing off an interloping Meganeura. They're representatives of a pretty interesting group of basal insects called the Palaeodictyoptera, who have a set of weird little extra wings on their thorax.

Permian

Among the many fantastic creatures of the Permian were our own cousins, the synapsids, like these lovey-dovey Moschops. As you can see, this picture and the previous one are done in coloured pencils instead of watercolour, because they're the oldest images I'm including in this post. I only very rarely used watercolours before this year. I think it means I should do some more Permian art, it's such a cool and underexposed period.

Triassic

One mass extinction later, the archosaurs are diversifying all over Triassic Pangaea. Here we have the three main groups of them: Paratypothorax, a pseudosuchian in the background; Peteinosaurus, a pterosaur on top of the cliff; and Procompsognathus, a dinosaur climbing the cliff.

Jurassic

I had three different option for Jurassic paleoart to showcase, so I picked the most experimental one. These backlit insects are not butterflies, but kalligrammatids, a group of large-winged neuroptera, some of which even mimicked maniraptoran dinosaurs like this iridescent Caihong with their patterns.

Cretaceous

The Cretaceous featured some of life's most gorgeous crescendos of diversity, like the Yixian formation, where a Psitaccosaurus wants to visit the favourite tree of a group of Sinosauropteryxes, who are having none of it. This is still one of my favourite pieces I've ever drawn.

Paleogene

The Paleogene featured some of the highest global temperatures of all time, leading to tropical climates all over the planet, including at this lake in what will one day be Messel, Germany. Darwinius, a close cousin to our own ancestors, is having a staredown with the lizard Geiseltaliellus.

Neogene

The world turned colder and dryer in the Neogene, leading to the spread of large grasslands, like these South American ones. Phorusracos, a large terror bird, has caught a Thoatherium on the edge of the forest they both live in. South America was an isolated continent for the duration of the Neogene, leading to a quite unique fauna.

Quaternary

The Quaternary, our current period, is marked by the cycle of ice ages regularly freezing the northern hemisphere. But even during the ice ages, spring would come to the mammoth steppes, and these steppe mammoths are happy to celebrate its coming with a bath in the river.

#paleoart #my art #palaeoblr #timeline #no i am not gonna tag everything in it #the pictures should all work as links to the individual posts of these pieces #cw: animal death #cw: bugs #cw: parasites #cw: blood

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gracie-gloom · 6 months

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He's Mine

Rhea Ripley x Female Reader (':

TLDR - Rhea gets jealous over your friendship with Dom, little does she know that you've got a massive crush on her instead. A forced confession leads to some....if you know what I'm saying.. LMFAO ok enjoy I'm going to scream into my pillow now for writing this! <3 (I'M SORRY IF IT'S REALLY LONG?? LOL)

You've been working alongside Rhea's team for several months now but she was still the one you were most distant with. You were a designer and made custom stage outfits and what not for some of the wrestlers. Though you felt welcomed by everyone, there was always a shift in the air when you and Rhea would be in the same room.

You knew she didn't like you, but you couldn't recall anything wrong that you'd done to her so you spoke to her as a friend nonetheless. You'd grown closer with Dom as the past weeks have gone by, in a way it made you feel close to Rhea since she made it clear she didn't want you around.. Even before joining the team she was always the woman that stole your attention away from everyone else. She was amazing, she was everything you were looking for, and you hated yourself for the fact that she would never see you as anymore than an annoyance.

You came down late one morning, grabbing some breakfast while the others were in the basement watching sports and being rowdy as ever. Thinking you were alone, you hear the shuffle of clothing slowly coming down the stairs, it was Rhea, and she did not look happy.

"I know what you're doing,"

"I'm sorry? Did something happen or..?"

Rhea walked towards you, stopping just inches away from your face and looked down at you,

"Stay away from Dom, he's mine."

You stepped back, letting out a small laugh,

"Rhea it's not like that I think you're mistak-"

"I said stay away from him." Rhea dragged out the words in a low tone, she then left, walking past you and roughly shoving you out of her way. At a loss for words, you grabbed the remains of your breakfast and left to finish up your work.

The following night, there was a celebration party going on, not of your particular interest but you attended out of courtesy. The team was currently travelling so you were all staying in a beach house together for the time being. You weren't complaining though, it was practically a mansion and there was a great view. The party was coming to an end, while you and Dom were sharing laughs over a drink, you missed Rhea coming in and you froze inside when you locked eyes with her.

"Hey everything okay?" Dom asked, seeing the sudden change in your demeanor,

"Yeah I'm fine, I just.. uh, it's getting late and I have a ton of work for tomorrow, you guys enjoy the rest of the night though." you said, getting up with a smile and putting your glass away.

Your room for the time being was on the top floor, grabbing some undergarments and a silk robe you headed to take a shower before being interrupted by Rhea standing at your door frame.

"I thought I told you," Rhea slowly walked toward you, glaring you down.

"And I told you, it's not like that, now if you'll excuse me I'm going to shower, or would you like to stalk me there too?"

"You can stall all you want, this conversation isn't done, I've got a lot of time." Rhea said, giving you a sarcastic smile.

You ignored her, continuing on with your nightly routine, at least now you could relax a bit. Indulging in the hot water and heavenly scents, it'd be a lie if you said the way Rhea spoke and acted towards you didn't hurt. But she only seemed to care about Dom, they were bestfriends after all, a relationship you wouldn't ever think to get in between.

Heading back to your room, your hair was still slightly damp, and sleeping attire was usually just undergarments since you liked the feeling of the fuzzy blankets against your skin. Closing the door and slipping your robe off, you were left in a simple lace thong and bralette set. You turned around to see Rhea sitting on your bed giving you a sinister wave,

"Why are you still here?!"

"Didn't I say I had a lot of time?" she responded maliciously. Letting out a sigh and rolling your eyes at her, "You're impossible," you muttered.

"I mean I had a pretty simple ask of you girl, but it seems you'd prefer to disobey me."

Now, you were angry, climbing onto the bed and getting all up in Rhea's face as she had done with you yesterday morning when you were eating,

"Okay fine, you win, you want to know the truth Rhea? If you wanna know soooo bad I'll tell you okay?" always having a calm and collected aura, Rhea was taken aback by your sudden outburst towards her, but she was impressed either way. Propped up on your side now, almost touching her, it was time to come clean.

"You know at first.. I thought maybe you saw through me, maybe you knew already. I always assumed you were just teasing me about the stuff with Dom. Because.. you don't even know, the amount of dreams I've had where I'm laying next to you just like this," moving her arm so it was around you now, you laid your head on Rhea's shoulder. "But you never look my way, and yeah Dom is great of course, talking to him makes me feel closer to you, since, well.. it's no secret I'm not your favorite person here. I'm sorry, it was never my intention to steal him away from you or whatever, I just can't look you in the eyes or hold a conversation with you since I get so nervous and you don't help the fact either.."

Rhea was silent the whole time, had she really missed your feelings this entire time? She started to feel a bit guilty in the way she treated you now.

"Anyways, it's just a dream, then I wake up and remember you hate me.." trailing off with yours words, you moved to the edge of the bed, your legs dangling off the mattress.

"Is that so?" Rhea questioned, you could hear her moving towards you now, happy to get your feelings out of the way, though your heart was practically beating out of your chest. You felt warm hands on your shoulders, slowly sliding the straps of your bralette off,

"What are you doing?!" you asked in a sharp tone, eyes wide open,

"What? Shouldn't this be something you want?"

"It's.. it is but it's wrong,"

"What part of it? You're single, I'm single," she whispered in your ear while reaching down to your clit, rubbing it ever so gently over the lace fabric. You couldn't help yourself and had let a few moans escape your lips. Rhea smirked knowing she was in control now.

Helping you slide off your thong, Rhea moved you and herself to a better position. Teasing your clit with her tongue she finally gave in and was eating you out better than you'd ever had. You wanted her to stop but something about it felt so right at the same time, how did she go from hating you one minute to wanting to fuck you the next.

"That's all it really takes for you to be dripping wet for me huh," you felt her fingers teasing you once more before she inserted two of them inside you, quickly pumping in and out while you struggled to catch your breath and not get too loud for the others to hear.

Too embarrassed to look down at Rhea while she pleasured you, you knew she was enjoying every minute of it making you squirm like this. Her tongue felt magical, she was rough but loving at the same time. Rhea quickened her pace, now fingering you with 3 fingers while still eating you out, her free hand roamed and grabbed at your body while you lay in bliss, taking in every moment of this.

"Rhea please... I'm gonna cum," you said in between moans, a few short moments after, you finished. You felt as if you were floating, Rhea got up, patting you on the head before leaving your room, disappointed to say the least, your heart sunk that she just left. But Rhea returned with a warm wet cloth to clean you up instead, only for her to then say goodnight to you while getting up to actually leave this time.

"Rhea.." you called out by instinct, following after her quickly before she could open the door, "won't you stay tonight?"

"Hm.. well, I suppose I could since you were so good for me," she said with a laugh. It was the first time she had actually smiled at you, and was kind to you. She would deal with the questions about her whereabouts from the others in the morning, but for now it wasn't a dream. You were so comfortable and could fall asleep any second with Rhea holding you, softly brushing a hand through your hair.

"You better be here when I wake up,"

"I will be, don't worry." Rhea said, tenderly kissing you before the two of you fell asleep.

#fanfic #fem #rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley #female reader #fanfiction #fluff #smut

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cuntycheol · 10 months

Text

To You :)

Happy Birthday Seungcheol!!!

WC: 744 words. We must protect this man :(

Hand in hand, you sat comfortably on the couch with your beloved baby Kkuma, and your husband, Seungcheol. Time usually races to midnight, but when you're eagerly awaiting its passage, it seems to drag. Nonetheless, you embrace the virtue of patience and immerse yourselves back into the movie that both of you had been thoroughly enjoying. The silence and occasional glances to the clock from Seungcheol made it evident he's anticipating something. It's hard for him to remain discreet about something he's excited for, or he's eagerly waiting. However, you pause the movie because of how boring the plot gets, and switch off the TV. "Kkuma's asleep, so is my leg" you whine. Seungcheol grabs her and lays her comfortable on her bed, while you slowly get up and get in the kitchen.

"Where to?" He inquires, voice deepening with the amount of seriousness in his tone. "Oh just for some water. I'll be quick" you take out a bottle from the fridge. He stands for a while, as you glance his figure from the corner of your eye, hoping he goes in the room. Soon he does, and you quickly take out your prepared cake, with the candles and lit it. Unable to control your ecstacy, you hold your gift, and party caps, and slowly get in the room. Seungcheol, who was seated on the bed with a huge pout, legs crossed by the ankles, immediately lightens up in a huge, huge smile.

"Happy birthday Husband! Looks like another year of putting up with me is in the books" you chuckle. He laughs a little, and you proceed to sing him a birthday song. Kkuma who tends to be awaken by slight disturbance, rushes into the room and jumps onto her dad's lap. You put the cap on his head, and take some pictures to capture this simple moment. Calm has always been the aesthetic of the two of you.

"Well, they say practice makes perfect. Thanks for giving me so much practice then! But seriously, I wouldn't have it any other way. Thank you so much, love" he pulls you on the bed, and blows on the candle. You rip out a piece from the corner and feed it to the birthday boy himself and he swipes a fluffy peak of cream on your lips to help himself on the sugar rush. He couldn't be more happier.

You pull out the gift you've prepared for him; the perfect watch for a man who holds luxury. "Hopefully you'll keep track of time when you're late" you sneer. He holds the watch in his hands and thanks you, "oh darling I have all the time" and you share a chuckle. Smiling, you look in his eyes and ask him, "what did your dad call your grandfather?" He looks at you, confused but proceeds to tilt his head and say "well he'd call him dad or father"

"And what did you call your dad?"

"Tch, Aunty" he scoffs "ofcourse dad"

"And what if someone else calls you dad?" You ask, your heart now racing in your chest.

"Honey, who would call me da-" he stops mid sentence, to look you. He raises his eyebrows, surprise all over his face. You finally take out the ultrasound sonogram and hand it to your surprised husband. He puts Kkuma on the bed and gets up, pacing back and forward in the room, texting his friends in his groupchat, absolutely frenzy with happiness.

"I'm going to be a dad? Me? Father? Oh my god" he picks you up and twirls you around. "Oh my- Cheol stop I'll fall!!" Laughter filling the room, he's on the moon right now. Nothing could bring him down from his peak of excitement.

"Thankyou so much for giving me the BEST gift ever" he slowly gets teary-eyed, hands on your belly as he hugs you from behind. You hold his hands, feeling every inch of his warmth onto you.

"You know how you're always worried about being late? Well, get ready to be 'late' for diaper changes and feeding times"

"Wait, are you saying we're starting a new trend of fashionable lateness?"

"Exactly! Our little one is going to set the trend for parents who arrive fashionably late to everything."

"I guess I'll have to update my wardrobe to match our baby's schedule then!" Seungcheol laughs. Safe to say your child will have the best parents in the world, and quite an interesting father.

════════════════════

Thankyou for reading this and giving so much love to my fic!!

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anincompletelist · 2 months

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feb + march recs <3

[other rec links below the cut!]

y'all know the drill! as always, please remember to leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed the fic or show support in other ways, and be kind! mind the tags and if you come across something you dislike, please kindly (and quietly) move on.

I had quite a few recs to catch up on - and am STILL catching up on - as I have been MIA with physical/mental health shenanigans as of late (so please excuse the fact that these are a bit angsty skjdhkjhd). thank you as always to these authors and their beautiful words for being a comfort! I love having a full 'to-read' list! :D

see you again soon, and happy reading! <3

I've Always Loved New York, Since Garlic Aioli | KingCaspianX | E | 12k

Alex would say that this date is going really, really well. It hurts to admit because he now owes Nora a six-pack of beer, but he’ll happily swallow his pride if it means he gets to spend as much time as humanly possible with the cute librarian with the elbow patches who’d asked him out last week. The cute librarian, Henry, is not wearing any elbow patches this evening, but is instead dressed in cream linen pants and a soft blue oversized shirt. There’s a slight sheen of sweat on his skin, on his collar bones, down his neck from the balmy New York air but instead of being gross, the way Alex probably is, it’s sinful. He’s glowing. Alex wants to lick his throat. Jesus, he could have sworn he was straight a minute ago. Or, Henry asks Alex on a date. Alex, straight, accepts.

Henry's an Asshole (I Want to Kiss Him) | anarchyat4am | T+ | 7k

At the NYE Gala, Henry starts feeling the hazy edges of anxiety and an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. It takes him longer than it should to take notice of the feeling, and even longer to realise that the cause is likely the binder he’s been wearing all day. He escapes the party, Alex gets him upstairs to his room to change, and the rest of the night goes far differently than Henry could have expected.

getting good now | Standinginmoonlight | M | 20k

Alex sighs and balls his hands up into fists, digging them into his eye sockets until he sees stars, and then he’s speaking without his brain giving his mouth permission. “I can’t believe I’m going to marry someone British.” Or: the Love is Blind AU that no-one asked for.

cause you're classic and I'm reckless | @firenati0n | T+ | 5k

“I've, actually, uh. I've never done this before.” At this, Henry stops short, takes a second as his gaze moves up and to the left, trying to recall something. “I've seen your films. You most certainly have done intimate scenes.” Alex clears his throat. He hopes his nerves aren't completely obvious, the slight waver in his voice about to give him away. “Yeah, well. Never with a man, so. Not at this scale, anyway.” “Would it help to, er, practice?" Henry winces a little as he says it, which does not inspire confidence. But Alex is shocked nonetheless. What the fuck?

love was just an ocean (I would drown before I float) | srrafoxjournals | NR | 21k

There are moments in Henry’s adolescence, maybe even later, when he feels he doesn't belong to anyone. He is no one’s son. He is no one’s little brother. He is no one’s partner. He isn’t related to anyone at all. He’s just there really, just existing. Just an entity. Though he thinks he’s realistically always felt this, it doesn’t make itself known until he turns thirteen. Or: moments from Henry's pov

It's Not Rotten Work If It's You | a_stray_thief | E | 31k

After years of taking suppressants to hide his omega status, after the email leak and the election, after things finally settle, Henry and Alex spend Henry’s first heat together.

say you'll see me again (even if it's just in your wildest dreams) | @coffeecatsme | T+ | 21k

5 times Henry is too scared to come out to Alex and 1 time Alex gives him the courage. Or, 6 times Alex slowly falls in love with Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, for exactly who he is.

*I HIGHLY recommend this entire series! check it out here!

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Nora helps June achieve her first vaginal orgasm.

Bang a Gong (Get It On) | @cactusdragon517 | E | 11k

AKA ouroBROros, as dubbed by the Brownstone. The long awaited foursome fic. -- It’s late when they end up out in the yard, the fire from the firepit casting all of them in golden syrupy light under a dark sky. It feels like a night for secrets and Liam thinks it’s why he asks, Spencer’s hand a gentle pressure on his thigh.

cut | validvali | E | 12k

Holy fucking eyelashes. He’s all tan skin and bright eyes and charming smile— everything that makes Henry weak in the knees. Pretty brown eyes dart between the lineup and his clipboard, trying to put two and two together, but all Henry can focus on are those arms. Those hands. That arse. “Can I call you up, handsome?” Henry almost blacks out. [or, the five times alex and henry shoot a video together as (not so) strangers, and the one time they do as a couple.]

Silence & Sound | @nocoastposts | E | 2k

Alex tugs at his hair and tries to focus on choosing his next words. He knows that Henry will help him - that he wants to help him. He knows that all he has to do is say the word. Henry stands and steps closer, holding Alex’s chin firmly and tilting his head up so their eyes are forced to meet. “You need me to clear that lovely head of yours, hm?” “Please,” Alex says in barely a whisper. or: Henry helps Alex fill the silence before indulging in the sound.

Through All My Cards | @cactusdragon517 | E | 7k

Alex, preparing for top surgery, gives in when June suggests he not recover alone. Enter her friend, Henry Fox.

I love you (ain't that the worst thing you've ever heard) | coffeecatsme | E | 20k

Henry doesn’t doubt that, just as much as he doesn’t doubt now that Alex won’t have a single issue with him being trans. In another life, when Henry whispered it in the quiet hours of the night, he didn’t. In another life, when he kissed Henry anyway, he didn’t. In another life. In this one, when Alex meets his eyes, all there is left behind them is a cold glare that freezes Henry to his soul. One year ago, Henry had a whirlwind of a day with Alex after a chance meeting in a coffee shop, only to leave in the morning to protect his heart. He doesn't expect to see Alex again, until he shows up at June's wedding and finds out her brother is the same Alex he hasn't been able to get out of his mind for a year - and he's pissed.

Can You See Me? (I'm Waiting for the Right Time) | @affectionatelyrs | T+ | 7k

“Whose turn was it?” Henry asks while Alex is busy pondering the merits of throwing himself out their fifth-story window and hoping his boner doesn’t take anyone’s eye out on his way down. “Forgive me, but I am a bit tired. Do you think you could take it?” There’s no way that Henry’s not doing this on purpose. He makes words mean things when put in a certain order for a living, for fucks sake. Alex almost quips back depends on how big it is just to see how—or if—Henry would react. “Yeah, um, no problem.” There. Much more normal. He could steal Henry’s job at this rate. “Truth or dare?” [Or, Alex’s world gets flipped on its axis during a game of truth or dare]

At the end of a bar | @hgejfmw-hgejhsf | E | 9k+

Alex has a supremely shitty day at work and finds himself wandering into a bar where a mystery man catches his attention.

What do you have against color? | jumpsuit | E | 11k

Upon opening the hardcover of a found sketchbook to locate the owner's contact details, Alex discovers only this inscription: In case of loss, please return to: Instagram @henryfox.usk He, of fucking course, knows who Henry Fox is. That striking yet humorless, rude, and self-righteous British prick he met on the first day of the symposium. [Or, an AU where Alex and Henry are urban sketchers. A short story of how they get to know each other, fall in love and in bed within one day.]

Sunless Dusting Libraries | @itsmaybitheway | T+ | 7k

Henry should leave, he should wait until everyone is asleep and then silently leave, without a trace. As if he never existed in Alex's life, as if he never touched Alex's body, as if he never wanted only exist in his heart and mind. Because that is what Alex deserves. Alex deserves someone who can love him out and proud, someone who is not shamed for his existence, someone as bright as him, not the pale starlight gleam Henry is. But lying there on the pile of mattresses they piled together and called a bed- Henry can not even find it in himself to breathe, let alone get up and go. Betrayed by his own existence, once again. [or: what-If taken by a depressive episode, Henry can not leave the lake house?]

each time we touch / I wanna take too much | firenati0n | M | 1k

Alex keeps his head angled away from the couch, leaning his back against the base for support as he pretends to be engrossed in conversation with Pez on the floor; pretends not to shamelessly eavesdrop on Henry's conversation with some girl on the opposite end of the couch, a classmate in Henry's course on human sexuality and expression. He digs his fingers into the frayed edges of the shaggy rug, feeling the soft strands slip through his hands as he keeps his eyes on Pez. Keeps his ears on Henry, who's sitting behind him, his knee occasionally nudging Alex's back as he talks animatedly, his whole body moving as he gestures; all languid limbs, lithe body, loose lips, lazy smiles.

to repair a hollowed heart | coffeecatsme | E | 28k

Alexander Claremont-Diaz, the young ruler of the Underworld, the presider of souls that have passed away, has been banned from Olympus his entire life, on account of bringing death and destruction wherever he goes. His seat in the highest council of gods has been left permanently empty until someone sees all that he is and still falls in love with the man behind. It's been twenty centuries since the curse has been put upon him, and Alex has long since given up on finding the right person. [Or, a Hades and Persephone AU no one asked for]

back with more soon! see my other recs below:

vol i

vol ii

vol iii

vol iv

vol v

emotional hurt/comfort

kid fics

tag for all recs

#my fic recs #rwrb fic rec #red white and royal blue fanfic rec #firstprince fic #Henry x Alex

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gotta-get-back-to-hatchetfield · 1 year

Text

Here's what you missed on Hatchetfield...

Okay so Nerdy Prudes Must Die is happening in a month's time and I'm aware that lots of people who enjoyed guy who didn't like musicals and black friday might not have had time to watch nightmare time. While Nick has said this musical will be fully stand alone and no knowledge of nightmare time is required, nonetheless some of you might be curious about what we've learned that might come up

Presenting a tldr lore drop for nightmare time:

1) Wiggly has brothers (aka the Lords in Black)

You remember Wiggly from black friday? That ugly green little fucker? Well turns out he has brothers. They call themselves the Lords in black because they're pretentious little fucks and they all have different 'powers'.

Itemised list

Pokey (pokotho) - mind control type stuff, likes to make hiveminds

Wiggly (Wiggog Y'wrath) - idk you saw black friday whatever the fuck goes on there

Blinky (blinklotep) - massive eye, likes watching things

Tinky (T'noy karaxis) - fucks with time

Nibbly (nibblenephem) - massive mouth, eats shit

You've actually met Pokey before - remember the blue shit from guy who didn't like musicals? That's the same blue shit leaking out of the cracks in pokey's face in the picture above.

They also have a sister called Webby that I believe Hannah references in Black Friday. We don't know much about her but thus far she seems like a good guy

2) Grace Chasity is a nerdy prude

Remember the girl Bill is trying to set Alice up in guy who didn't like musicals because 'at least she's nice to him in church'?

Well turns out Alice was right. Grace Chasity is a nerdy prude. And also coincidentally one of the main characters of Nerdy Prudes Must Die (to be played by Angela Giarratana).

We meet her in nightmare time 2 (episode 2 part 2) which takes place at a religious camp designed to educate people about the perils of pre marital sex.

Grace Chasity is, well she's many things, but she is very much the stereotype of an American evangelical Christian. She even showers with a swimming costume on so as not to tempt herself into sin.

Despite all this, however, she is a devious motherfucker who will absolutely fuck you up

3) You remember Ted from guy who didn't like musicals...

Well not only are he and the homeless guy the same person (time travel, its a whole thing, blame the yellow guy from the Lords in black photo)

But also we learn that his surname is Spankoffski (because of course it is) and he has a 'nerdy little brother' called Pete Spankoffski who will be one of the leads in nerdy prudes. In nightmare time he's played by Nick Lang but in nerdy prudes he'll be played by Joey Richter

We meet Pete in nightmare time 2 (episode 2 part 2) but we've actually met him before in guy who didn't like musicals. You remember hot chocolate boy? The one who had very low blood sugar?

Yup you guessed it that is one Peter Spankoffski

(If you've been super out of the loop and are wondering why he was recast and for that matter where the heck is Robert anyway just trust that that is a whole thing im not going to get into and it's for the best he's gone)

4) Meet the Lauters

Two more characters who have been announced for NPMD who we met in nightmare time 2 are Stephanie Lauter (Mariah Rose Faith) and her father Solomon Lauter (Corey Dorris)

Steph is actually pretty nice and chill on the inside but definitely has a reputation for being a bit of a party animal/wild child.

This isn't helped by her father who is the mayor of hatchetfield and from what little we see of him will always put his career before his daughter.

Steph and Pete hook up in nightmare time so look out for a possible romance between these two

5) What the fuck is a Holloduke?

You may have seen the word 'holloduke' batted a lot around this fandom lately which refers to the ship of two characters that we've been introduced to through nightmare time.

While it's unclear if either of them will appear in nerdy prudes, given that both Kim and Curt are in the cast and they go a long way out of their way in nightmare time to show Kim's character getting a job at Hatchetfield High in set up for *something* a lot of people think there's a good chance she at least will be appearing.

The Hollo of these characters is called Miss Holloway although at the end of nightmare time she ends up ret conning herself and is forced to assume a new identity as Miss Holiday so if we meet her in nerdy prudes that will likely be her name. She is a witch who has a deep love for all things 80s. We don't know a huge amount about her but that might be because she's cursed(?) so that anything she reveals about her backstory will be instantly wiped from the mind of the listener.

Curts character is an ordinary social worker called Duke who among other things works with Hannah and Lex when they're having troubles with their mum. He's in love with Miss Holloway/Holiday, and it's reciprocated, but due to the curse(?) et al things keep not quite working out for them.

They're both absolutely wonderful people who deserve the world and are absolute OTP fodder

6) The Gift

We don't know a huge amount about this yet but we do know that some people in Hatchetfield, notably including Hannah from black friday have something called 'the gift' which gives them some loose powers

Most people grow out of the gift as they go through puberty, for instance Lex also used to have it, but they may be able to use it in some scenarios (such as manifesting a firearm from the black and white as Lex does in Black Friday)

People with the gift were historically persecuted in Hatchetfield by a group of people called 'the hatchet men' who may or may not have turned them into trees(?)

7) The Black Book

There is a book of spells called the black book which Miss Holloway/Holiday uses to do her magic

#starkid #hatchetfield #guy who didnt like musicals #tgwdlm #nerdy prudes must die #npmd #black friday #nightmare time

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devildom-moss · 11 months

Note

Hello, could you write a scenario for Diavolo and a chubby f!mc who's really shy and self conscious, in which he helps her be more confident, specially in bed. Thank you and have a good day/night!

Thank you for the request. I'm sorry this took way longer than I hoped. But, it is relatively long. I got too into the plot, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. I tried.

Diavolo giving chubby f!mc a confidence boost

(Diavolo x f!MC)

(NSFW) (NSFW tags: slightly sub!Diavolo, afab!MC, begging, praise, oral - receiving, multiple orgasm, face riding, overstimulation, mild foodplay why do I keep doing this to him??) (other stuff: plot heavy!, "my love" used on MC, negative body image and low self-esteem, food guilt mentions)

Word Count: +4,300

Diavolo had brought you to another fancy party. One of the nobles from out of town had invited him to a massive resort; they also provided a hotel room for each guest and their plus one – should they decide to bring someone. Diavolo was determined to whisk you away and ensure that you enjoyed your time with him. He even bought you an outfit prior to your trip. It was gorgeous (perhaps because Barbatos and Asmo had assisted him with procuring an outfit complete with accessories). Although the outfit was primarily black, there were hints of your current favorite (chromatic) color in some of the details. Diavolo had put so much thought into this.

So, you were disappointed in yourself when you changed and stared, dejected, into the mirror. Everything fit perfectly, but when you looked at yourself, it felt like maybe you didn’t fit them properly. It was too late to get another outfit, so you would have to stomach (poor wording – you didn’t really want to think about your stomach) walking into the party while feeling like this.

You let out a shaky breath and firmly placed a (figurative) mask on – this, too, fit you perfectly. So much so that Diavolo beamed cluelessly at you when you stepped out of the hotel room.

“You are stunning.” Diavolo grinned and pulled you against him by your hips. His hands were wandering lower than they should have in that hotel hallway, but Barbatos wasn’t there, and you indulged his eager hands while no one was around to see you two. It gave you a moment to stare at him in all his glory. He was so handsome, and his suit accentuated his broad chest and shoulders. You couldn’t admit it to his face, but the thought of getting him out of that suit slipped into your mind and eased some of the anxiety you were feeling.

When Diavolo finally let you out of his grasp, you told him, “You look even more stunning.”

“Impossible!” Diavolo protested. Still, he was happy you liked how he looked. He locked the door behind you and carried his grin all the way downstairs to the venue.

You noticed that Diavolo was turning heads with his presence – which wasn’t surprising. How sad and insignificant you must seem standing next to him. Eventually, he found the host of the party and greeted them. A small circle of nobles – the kind whose centuries of age came out in their mannerisms and ideology – who practically screamed “bitter old man” – surrounded you both.

One of them, who was particularly distasteful already, added to his poor first impression when he whistled at one of the incubus girls at the party. He leaned into Diavolo and said, “What a body on that one. She’s almost as sexy as Maddi. Speaking of Maddi, wasn’t she chasing after you for decades? You get attention from the most gorgeous witches and demons. What’s your secret?”

He had neglected to add humans into the category of gorgeous people Diavolo attracted. Even coming from a disgusting worm of a demon like this guy, it kind of hurt.

“I don’t know if I would say all that, but I definitely attracted a beautiful lover.” Diavolo smiled at you and held your gaze. “I don’t know how I’m this lucky.”

“Certainly.” The worm-demon waved off Diavolo’s affection for you with a single word spewed from his easy-to-mistake-for-the-ass-end-of-the-body mouth. Quite frankly, Diavolo couldn’t stand the guy, either, so he was eager to get you away from there.

Diavolo pulled you deeper into the party. You had only made it into what could be considered the foyer before you had stopped. The main course was in the following room. Well, actually, this party had skipped the main course and gone straight to dessert.

A sweet smell hit your nose seconds before you walked into the room. It wasn’t a cohesive sweetness, but a mixture of them colliding chaotically. Massive tables were lined with a variety of cakes in slices and small shapes – some more ornate than others. The waiters were wandering the room and tables, offering numerous, gorgeous-looking drinks. Beelzebub would love this – although he would ultimately ruin the party with his bottomless appetite. Asmo would be Devilgramming everything. Luke, Simeon, and Barbatos would probably enjoy this, too – although this was hardly a good environment for Luke. Still, this wasn’t what you were expecting.

“What kind of party is this?” you asked Diavolo.

“One of the executives for Madam Scream’s is celebrating a prosperous first half of the fiscal year. They’re showcasing some of the most popular flavors this year. They’re even offering a first look at next season’s new and limited-edition cake options. It was no easy feat to acquire some of the seasonal ingredients in preparation for tonight’s events. I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks, but I wanted to surprise you.”

You could tell from the outpour of information that Diavolo was excited about this. After all, Madam Scream’s success owed a good deal to Diavolo’s hard work to improve the Devildom (and also Beel’s stomach). It was impossible not to stare at him affectionately as he spoke.

“I was told by the host that they’ll be offering indignation cinnamon pudding cake. Apparently, you have pudding cake in the human world. It’s pudding and a cake in one dessert. Isn’t that delightful? We have to try some.”

You nodded. He looked so happy that you couldn’t focus on anything else – not even how you looked.

Diavolo led you to a secluded table off to the corner and encouraged you to sit while he went on a mission to retrieve the cake. Luckily, the awkwardness of sitting alone in a corner in an outfit you weren’t entirely comfortable in was interrupted by a familiar, grating chuckle.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite human.”

“Mephisto – my favorite,” you paused and stood to your feet, “I didn’t think this through.”

Mephisto took your hand and placed a kiss on your knuckles playfully. “I suppose you can’t call me your favorite demon while you’re dating the magnificent Lord Diavolo himself.”

“I don’t think you’d let me say that even as a joke,” you teased. Mephisto was one of those people who – once you got to know him – found a way to distract you from whatever you were worrying about. Perhaps because he wasn’t one to sit in silence for long. He always had some conversation starter tucked away in his back pocket.

“I’m a journalist. I can’t just let you lie to my face without fact-checking you.”

“So professional.” You rolled your eyes and pulled out a chair for him, leaving one empty seat for Diavolo between the two of you.

Diavolo returned, and his arms were loaded with different cakes. Mephisto’s eyes widened. “You’re going all in today, my Lord.”

“Absolutely. I’m not passing up an opportunity to try a bunch of cake with my gorgeous lover.” Diavolo placed the cakes on the table with a surprising lack of trouble before he placed a kiss on your cheek. “Have you tried any of the cake yet, Mephisto?”

“Yes, my Lord. The best so far was a Demonus cheesecake. It was coated in a chocolate Demonus glaze – absolutely divine. You could tell they weren’t using the cheap stuff, either.”

“I don’t think I grabbed that one yet. I’ll have to try it, but first,” Diavolo paused to place a forkful of the pudding cake he was so excited about in front of your face, “say ‘ah’ please, my love.”

You complied. Sweetness hit your tongue, and with it, a sharp sting of shame. It was so easy to indulge Diavolo that you were letting him feed you cake in public – right in front of Mephisto, no less. And there was so much cake there. You covered your mouth as you chewed. It felt as if multiple demon nobles were staring at you.

“How is it?” Diavolo asked.

“It’s good,” you answered unenthusiastically.

Diavolo shrugged it off as a personal preference and took a bite for himself. “Good? This is amazing! I must ask Barbatos to try to recreate this back at the castle.”

“Go ahead and eat the rest, then.”

“Are you sure?”

“You looked so happy after that first bite; of course, I’m sure.” Diavolo didn’t hesitate to take another bite. And another.

“MC,” Mephisto chimed in, sliding a light blue cake towards you as Diavolo enjoyed his pudding cake. “Try this one: blue hell rose milk tea tiramisu. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

“No, thank you.” You sensed even more judgmental eyes on you.

Diavolo pulled a glossy apple-shaped cake towards him and cut into it with a fork, revealing layers of spiced cake, caramelized apples, and mousse with vanilla bean specks. He brought the cake up to your lips as he had before. This time, you denied him.

“I’m not a fan of apples,” you lied.

Diavolo looked dejected and put the fork down. He grabbed another piece of cake and used the spare fork to bring this one to your lips. “What about this one? It’s black salted caramel cake topped with rainbow toffee bits. Isn’t that whimsical?”

You could hardly hear him through the feeling of demons staring at you. Something just snapped.

“I don’t want the damn cake!” you raised your voice and shot out of your seat. Mephisto and Diavolo stared at you, shocked and concerned. Embarrassed, you apologized and rushed out of the party and back to your and Diavolo’s shared room.

Diavolo stood up to go after you.

“Are you sure you want to leave, too? Maybe you should give her a chance to calm down before you intrude,” Mephisto offered his unsolicited advice.

“I have to go.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No, I have to. She didn’t get the key from me.” Diavolo held out the room key for Mephisto to see and walked away. Before he left the venue, he quickly grabbed a slice of the cheesecake Mephisto had recommended. He spoke to himself: “I’m just going to bring this with me.”

Besides, he was the prince of the Devildom. Even if he wasn’t supposed to take the cake upstairs, who was going to stop him?

Diavolo found you sitting in front of the room with your head buried in your arms. He kneeled down next to you.

“Hey, my love,” he called out before he placed a firm hand on your shoulder, so worried that he’d frighten you if he just touched you without you knowing he was there.

“Can you please just open the door?” you asked without lifting your head. This was so embarrassing.

He unlocked the door, but you didn’t move. You didn’t want to look at him; you must seem so ridiculous. You imagined the confusion and pity in his eyes as he was staring down at you. Maybe he was regretting even bringing you along. He could have gone with anyone else and enjoyed his time and his cake without you being self-conscious and ruining his night.

“You can go back to the party.” Maybe Diavolo could salvage a bit of his night if he left you to sulk and feel bad about yourself from the comfort of your hotel room.

“I did all the mingling I needed to do. I’d like to stay – if you’ll let me.” When you looked up, Diavolo was offering you his free hand. You took his hand, and that was all he needed.

Once the door was shut, Diavolo sat down on the bed, placing his cheesecake on the coffee table nearby. He pat the spot next to him. “MC, what happened? Do you suddenly hate cake?”

“I didn’t want to eat the cake. I know some of those nobles were looking at me. If I ate the cake, they were going to think, ‘oh of course. That’s how she got like that. No wonder she doesn’t have a nice body like that incubus or like Maddi.’ It’s humiliating. And this outfit doesn’t help. I feel so exposed.”

Diavolo’s heart broke. You could see it in his eyes. His face was stern as he told you, “Your body is divine.”

“You have to think that. You already like me.”

“Does my opinion not matter?” He sounded so hurt.

“It does, but it’s not enough to feel confident when I step into a room. And it’s not enough to change my opinion.”

“You know, most demons won’t compliment you because no one would dare admit how gorgeous you are in front of me. Believe me, I’m not the only one who lusts after your body.”

Diavolo kissed your hand – his eyes burning. He kissed up your arm. “Mephisto relayed some of their comments in the past – he actually recorded them because he was too ashamed to repeat them. Would you like to know what they’ve said?”

Diavolo’s hot breath hit your neck, and you shivered. You didn’t believe that any random demon – especially not the types Mephisto typically associated with – would look at you like that. Part of you was curious, but Diavolo refused to wait for your curiosity to get the better of you. He straddled your lap, and leaned over you so he could whisper in your ear.

“‘I would let her crush me with those thighs just to get between them for a minute.’” Diavolo repeated the words of another demon so seductively. He continued with a mischievous smirk, “‘she could try to asphyxiate me with my tail, and I’d still try to smash.’ Even more depraved: ‘I would let her break off my horns and fuck me with them just to eat her out.’”

You shook your head. “Perverts.”

“They are demons after all.” Diavolo pulled back and stared down at you. “I know it won’t fix everything, but let me show you how beautiful you are to me.”

“I don’t know. I have a lot I need to work on before I feel confident.”

“Please?” Diavolo begged. “Please. I want you so bad that I’m having trouble controlling myself.”

The realization hit. The dirty thoughts he had just repeated weren’t unlike the thoughts running through his own head. He started kissing your neck. With a low growl, his hot breath grazed your skin before he slowly sank to his knees and stared up at you, eyes pleading.

“Please, let me make you feel good.” The need in Diavolo’s eyes made the breath catch in your throat. You wanted him almost as much as he craved you – and the firm rubbing of his hands up and down your thighs wasn’t making you any less desperate for him.

“Can we dim the lights at least?” He could at least do you the favor of giving you something to hide behind.

“Please don’t make me. I want to see every inch of you clearly while I do this.” The affection in his voice was thick and heavy. You couldn’t deny him, even if you were nervous. Diavolo kissed up your clothed thighs. Even through the fabric, you could feel the warmth of his breath. Both of his hands squeezed the tops of your thighs. “Can I? Please?”

“Yes,” you agreed, swallowing any hesitation for him.

Diavolo rose and made quick work of stripping you down to your underwear (which had, fortunately for him, been picked out by Asmo). You looked so sexy. Diavolo took a minute to admire you. It made you feel anxious – as if he was appraising you. However, considering how much the sight of you turned him on, this was less appraisal and more awe. A content sigh left his lips before he leaned in, his body pressed against your chest. He quickly unhooked your bra, sliding one strap off your shoulder with his hand and pulling the other one down with his teeth.

Your shyness resurfaced, and you held the bra to your body, creating a larger space between you and Diavolo. He pouted and gently touched your forearm.

“Please don’t hide. I want to see all of your body.”

“Even if they aren’t –”

Diavolo didn’t even let you finish your sentence before his hands were on either side of your face and his lips were on yours. Despite his desperation, Diavolo made an effort to make the kiss gentle and slow. When he pulled away, you were so pacified that he got in the next words. “My love, they’re tits – your tits. I’m going to love them regardless. So, please show me.”

You hesitated, and Diavolo sighed. He removed his jacket and tie, tossing them on the floor, before he started to unbutton his shirt. “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours.”

“That’s hardly fair.” You held the fabric closer to your body. Diavolo was gorgeous and built.

“That’s true. You’re so much sexier when you’re shirtless than I am, but if showing you my body distracts you enough to let me see all of you, then I’m happy to feel like your eye candy for a bit. Besides, if you let me continue, I should probably be shirtless anyway. I want to make a mess of you.”

Maybe seeing how muscular Diavolo was didn’t help your self-esteem right now, but between his eagerness and that sexy offer, your horniness was winning. You put your arms down. Diavolo grinned.

“Thank you.” Diavolo repeated his gratitude between kisses down your sternum. He removed the bra completely and tossed it aside. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

Diavolo nuzzled against you briefly before his tongue found one of your nipples. He swirled his tongue around you and sucked gently, savoring every reaction. You were so pretty like this that he could hardly wait to skip to dessert. The shiver up your spine felt contradictory to the heat of his mouth on you. Your hands snaked into his hair, scratching his scalp gently and earning a sweet moan against your skin. Diavolo swirled his tongue around you gently once more before he slowly pulled away. Teasingly, he blew on your saliva coated nipple. The gasp he pulled out of you was intoxicating.

He continued to kiss down your body as he slid back on his knees. As his hands busied themselves by massaging your thighs, Diavolo gently bit some of the fat on your stomach.

“Don’t,” you whined. The pleasure he was giving you still fought with your insecurity. “It’s embarrassing.”

Diavolo stared up at you in confusion, “why?”

“I have rolls, and you biting them only makes me more aware of them.”

“Most people have rolls. I have rolls, too. See, when I lean into you,” Diavolo made a point to get so close between your legs that his lips were practically touching the fabric of your panties as he spoke, “I have them too.”

You could only see them slightly from that angle – not to mention how hard it was to even think straight with his hot breath so close to you.

“I love your body – so much. Can’t you let your adoring boyfriend kiss and bite your stomach a little bit? It’s so cute and soft.” Those sad, pleading eyes had returned.

Damn this man. He could get away with anything. You nodded, and with a smile, Diavolo placed a kiss on your stomach. He then lowered himself back between your legs. As much as he wanted to dig in, he couldn’t resist marking up those thick thighs he adored so much. Occasionally, as he had done before, when Diavolo pulled away from your skin, he would blow on the residual saliva.

With your thighs marked to both of your satisfaction, Diavolo wanted to give you what he knew you were craving. He noticed the wet spot forming on the fabric. Although he wouldn’t admit it to avoid embarrassing you further, Diavolo could even smell your arousal – and it only made him want you more. He looked up at you with those puppy-dog eyes again and begged, “can I, please?”

You nodded, but that wasn’t enough for him.

“Tell me what you want from me. You can even be a little bossy about it.” Diavolo smiled shyly. He was so cute, you wanted to indulge him as much as you wanted him to indulge you.

“Eat me out, Diavolo,” you demanded, snaking your hand into his hair and gently tugging his head back so he was staring up at you. A small surge of power and confidence jolted through you.

Diavolo grinned and sighed contentedly. “You are so fucking hot.”

Diavolo used his teeth to drag your panties down to your knees before pulling them off with his hands. You could feel the urgency as they slid down your calves. Diavolo licked his lips – the only sign of admiration his desperate lust would afford him.

Wet noises filled the room as he alternated between gently licking your clit and lapping up your juices – occasionally twisting his tongue into you. He felt so good that you couldn’t resist grinding into him, which only made him chuckle – sending vibrations against you. He loved knowing that he was making you feel good. Diavolo flicked his tongue over you. Panting, eyes squeezed tight, and nearing your climax, your hands found Diavolo’s hair. You pulled him closer.

“You taste so good. Cum on my tongue, please,” Diavolo begged while licking you. “Use me.”

The waves of pleasure overcame you, and the way Diavolo’s eyes darted up to stare at you – clouded with lust and affection – pushed you over the edge. You fell back against the bed, biting your lip to muffle your moaning.

You expected Diavolo to stop, but he kept going with the same eagerness as before. It wasn’t long before you were writhing. Your back arched off the bed slightly as that attentive tongue of his pushed you into your second orgasm. This time, you couldn’t stifle your moans. Still, Diavolo didn’t stop. You whimpered and pulled on his hair – less gently this time.

“Wait,” you demanded. “It’s too much.”

A low growl emitted from Diavolo’s lips as he reluctantly pulled away. He could have stayed between your legs for hours. His disappointment was short-lived as he remembered something.

“Can you indulge me a bit more?” Diavolo rested his cheek against your thigh and stared up at you. “Pretty please?”

“How so?” You narrowed your eyes.

Diavolo stood up and grabbed the cake. Confused, you watched him lay down in bed on his back and set the plate of cake on his stomach. You weren’t getting it, and when you didn’t move from your spot at the edge of the bed, Diavolo sat up slightly on his elbows, still balancing the cake on his abdomen. He looked at you coyly before admitting, “I want you to sit on my face. Let me eat you out while you eat this cake, please?”

You were worried and hesitant, but he begged so well. No one else could make the prince of the Devildom beg like you.

“Mephisto said it was divine. Just enjoy your dessert while I enjoy mine.”

You really couldn’t deny him. And you weren’t as sensitive as you were a minute ago.

You got up and positioned yourself over Diavolo, nervously. He thanked you and pulled you closer by the thighs, bringing his lips right up to your pussy.

“I want to make you feel good, so don’t you dare hover.” For once, Diavolo was making demands of his own instead of begging you. But with how good his mouth felt, you couldn’t fault him for being pushy.

Somehow, the fork had stayed on the plate with the cake even with Diavolo’s movements. You took a small bite, savoring the taste. This time, when the sweetness hit your tongue, there was no guilt or shame to accompany it. It was all pleasure. Mephisto was right; the cake was delicious. But if he wanted divine, he should try it while getting eaten out. You rolled your hips against Diavolo’s face, and you could feel him smile against you. Gently, Diavolo drew a heart on the side of your thigh, his nail dragging slowly along your skin.

He was being so good to you that you wanted to reward him somehow. You swiped two fingers along the top of the cheesecake, coating your hands in the silky chocolate Demonus glaze. You drew a heart on Diavolo’s abs and leaned over to lick it off him, earning a deep moan that shook you to your core.

You managed another two bites before Diavolo pushed you over the edge again. Your legs were trembling, and you could hardly sit up anymore. Yet again, Diavolo didn’t stop. You were starting to feel overstimulated again.

“Diavolo,” you cautioned him breathlessly.

“Please, just one more?” Diavolo’s sweet pleas reverberated against you.

It felt too good. You couldn’t even lift the fork to your lips to try to eat, so you pushed the cake aside on the bed. As he inched you closer and closer, all you could do was lean over with your chest flush against him. You were so close to the massive bulge in his pants. Maybe you couldn’t even sit up, but you could reward some of Diavolo’s hard work. You rubbed his crotch, feeling how hard he was just from eating you out. His grip on your thighs tightened enthusiastically.

Your moaning hit a fever pitch as Diavolo made you cum once more. With any luck, your neighbors were still down at the party. Left a panting, twitching mess, you barely had the energy to move. While you tried to regain some strength, Diavolo gently licked you clean – sending aftershocks of pleasure up your already spent body. By the time he finished, you could hardly roll over and collapse on the bed next to him.

Pleased with his work, Diavolo chuckled and crawled over you. He kissed you so you could taste yourself on his lips. The taste of the cake was still in your mouth. When Diavolo pulled back he smiled at you. “Somehow, I still prefer your cake to anything else I’ve eaten all night.”

You were too exhausted to roll your eyes. Diavolo laid next to you and held your hand, rubbing circles over your knuckles.

“You are so beautiful.” He caressed your face.

At least for right now, you believed him.

#anon #ask #requests #f!mc #diavolo #spice tier #fem!mc #obey me #diavolo smut #obey me diavolo #diavolo x reader #diavolo x mc #can anyone tell by now how much I love to cook just by how often I include really specific food in my fic #now to see if I can write all of Mammon's june fic at the last minute #Also sorry to complain in the tags but writing smut is so difficult when bad brain kills any horniness you can harvest for a week

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justpretendygood · 3 months

Text

Now I've joined this party really, very, awfully late, so I'm sure this has been said before. But I need to say it nonetheless.

Their outfirst are essentially made up of the same elements.

I mean, let's see.

• Jacket ✔️

• Waistcoat ✔️

• Shirt thingy ✔️

• Trousers ✔️

• A tie of some sort ✔️

• Belt ❌ – oh but wait. What is a belt maid for? To hold up trousers. So can suspenders be the equivalent of a belt? I think so ✔️

• AND while Azi is sporting a pocket watch, Crowley's got a wristwatch ✔️

Crowley's glasses should probably be mentioned. Other than hiding those serpentine eyes, they're also very good at hiding feelings, eh?

Well, here's Aziraphale's take on that:

Again, somebody probably already posted about this before, or it might just be obvious. Wasn't obvious for me, so enjoy.

#good omens #outfit #costume #analysis #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #hypothesis

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lovelykhaleesiii · 10 months

Note

CEO!Aegon having you sit under his desk and suck his cawk

Ughhh I’m in such a hot mood for Aeg right now, so the fact I went straight here doesn’t help HAHAHA

hope you enjoy this Bel, this had me in a chokehold xoxox 💕💕💕

Hardly Workin'

PAIRING: Chubby!CEO!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader [Modern AU]

WORDS: 1,818.

WARNINGS: mentions of an office romance/affair, male oral receiving, exhibition kink (?), slight reference to fatphobic comments, reference to p in v sexual intercourse, swearing.

A/N - I'm so sorry I made him chubby, but also not really because we all know that man would add a few pounds with a desk job and I couldn't help myself. ps I powered thru this because I just couldn't help myself. CHOKEHOLD.

To have a high-ranking employer that was devilishly handsome and blatantly licentious, was all in all, a dangerous game. Aegon Targaryen, with well awareness, knew the authority and the power he had over his meek, replaceable employees, could be used effortlessly to his advantage. In particular, when it related to work and sex.

Many of the women in the workplace, had whisper giddily amongst themselves of his overpowering demeanour, the way he'd often use his position to sate his own lusts, teasing, sneaking a grope, copping a feel, and yet, earning the full attention of the ladies, nonetheless.

Not to mention, Aegon had quite the larger figure... It seemed the sedentary lifestyle of the corporate world, along with the stress-eating, constant dining out to meet with clients, the late night take-out you'd order for him as he worked late hours into the night, and endless parties and drinking, all came at cost. This did not stop Aegon from claiming what was his. Even using his physique to his fullest advantage, finding himself "accidentally" pressing his swollen frame against your body in tight spaces, especially in the elevator. Feeling your tits press against his fat, rotund chest, always left a sly smirk across his face. Sated with himself, as he often found himself after gorging in a full take-out meal.

You'd heard numerous of times, many of the encounters a few of the "lucky" women had with Aegon: from little rendezvous' and scheduled dates, only to end with them lost, hopeful craving for more corporate cock, only to be met with a dead end.

Aegon did not pursue most, however his situation with you was... Different. You were the only one he found himself helplessly crawling back to, eager for more of your attention and tight cunt. You commenced as his personal receptionist/assistant less than a year ago, for the previous one left for unknown reasons.

The job was stressful and kept you busy, although the paperwork itself was a breeze, in comparison to having to resist Aegon himself when you had initially started. He was handsome nonetheless, his unique features that ran strongly in the Targaryen family, most of his siblings, cousins and father you would see from time to time. They looked completely ethereal in comparison to the rest of you mortals, with their lilac/violet orbs, and silver-blonde hair to contrast one another.

You did put up somewhat of a fight, in comparison to most of the other women, always making Aegon gorge more and in quite an aggressive manner, taking his anger out on other lower ranked employees, the more his frustration brew because of your firm resistance to his urges.

"Made me crave for you even more, but you drove me wild, Y/N," Aegon would openly admit, as his pudgy hands squeezed and dug at your bare ass cheeks, beneath your black midi skirt.

Regardless, once you had finally caved [in much to Aegon's relief], the relationship was layered beneath the disguise of a secret affair [not that Aegon was seeing or exclusive with anyone else, it would mean that he would need to fire you, as it was against strict corporate policy]. Aemond, his younger, much slimmer brother, was head of Human Resources, and if he caught a whiff of his older brother's shenanigans, he would not take it lightly. Aemond often found any excuse to humiliate Aegon publicly, especially if the family were there to witness. Any minor screw up, he would sniff it out like some bloodhound, and yet, with your brightly avid mind, you always ensured Aegon and yourself were a few steps ahead. Not to say you did not have a few close calls, Aegon's arousal often made him unpredictable, and this instance was no different...

"Such a good fucking girl. My very own obedient, little whore, aren't you, huh?" Aegon breathlessly mustered, leaning back on his grand, swivel chair as he bucked his plump hips forward.

Your mouth too full of his rigid, wet cock, the only response Aegon earned was helpless, feeble gags and moans from your gaping mouth.

"Th-That's it. Doing s-so, so well, taking my fat fucking cock like that, with that pretty, l-little mouth of yours-Ugh-" Aegon gutturally uttered, his breathing audible enough from above. Seated beneath him underneath his spacious desk, between his thick, sturdy thighs, squeezing your smaller frame between his legs.

"Mhmm, fuck baby-"

Your moist, stretched lips persisted with struggle trying to maintain his wide cock inside: your head slowly motioning back and forth, in a steady pace, as Aegon's hot seed oozed inside, coating your throat completely.

Without a moment to spare in intense, bliss silence, Aegon's desktop phone rang, followed by the familiar beep of the voicemail.

"Sir, your brother Aemond, has just arrived at the reception, and wishes to see you immediately, he's heading up right now- BEEP."

"Fuck!" Aegon seethed, as he lunged his mighty frame forwards in a haste and without warning, his cock buried itself deeper, harshly hitting the back of your throat with vigour, causing you to instinctively gag loudly.

"Sorry, m'sweetheart- That twat of a brother of mine is coming, gotta clean up now-"

As Aegon handed you his unspoiled, white handkerchief, you wiped off his fresh, rich residue off the corner of your mouth, as Aegon hastily buttoned up his pants. His stomach sated yet hardened and distended from a big lunch, he struggled to do the final button atop: from the looks of it, you gathered that his leather belt would not buckle, alternatively urging Aegon to remain seated behind the desk to hide the disheveled look, before his rage took over.

Just as you made the final attempts to help tidy his shirt, the sudden opening of the front door caught Aegon off guard. Instinctively, the feeling of his pudgy palm shoved your head aggressively back beneath the desk, as he shushed you before resuming his attention back towards the entrance to his office.

"Brother-"

"Aegon-"

"Pleasure to see you, as always-" Aemond teasingly insisted, as he comfortably sat himself down on the lounge, hearing the dull knock of his feet sprawled upon the wooden desk. You'd witnessed on many occasions, Aemond's egotistical presence, acting as though he'd owned the room upon which he had entered, scoffing that it was his cringe attempt of a "power move".

"The pleasure is mine. What brings you here so suddenly? Not even a call would suffice?"

"I like to make surprises, besides a call would be useless... That pretty, dumb receptionist of yours is nowhere to be found out there."

Aemond's targeted, back-handed comment infuriated you, though not to the extent to which it seemed Aegon was beginning to rile up. His fists clenched into a ball, his knuckles whitening, as Aemond's low chuckle echoed across the silent room.

"I'm only kidding, dear brother. She seems like a real sweetheart... And that figure, Gods did they take their time with her... You must really be enjoying work now, I bet... I know I fucking would."

Aegon instinctively slapped his heavy palm against his sprawled thigh, sighing in frustration, as he urged Aemond to speak.

"What exactly are you here for, Aemond? You do realise you're wasting company time...I don't think father would approve of that very much."

The tense silence had befallen the room once more, as Aemond exhaled defeatedly, before resuming the serious talk. His feet now flat on the floor, he instantly dropped what you presumed to be a dense folder atop Aegon's neat desk.

Aegon leaning forward, as his portly upper body leaned forward against the desk, the opportunity immediately presented himself, quite literally to your face.

His rotund stomach pushed through naturally, forcing his zipper to undo itself, as his stiff cock was practically begging to get out of its restraint. All it needed was a little assistance. Your lips curved cheekily into a giddy smile, your cheeks flushing scarlet. You knew Aegon would advise against this, although a carnal urge to finish what you'd started, desperate to ease Aegon's mind with his brother's tense presence.

Your tender hands moved towards, tugging at Aegon's tight pants just a tiny bit lower, as his stiff, girthy cock plunged forward. The sight excited you like it had the first time, and you felt Aegon's eyes hovering above with dreading suspense. One pudgy hand found its way down to his cock, poorly attempting to act as a barricade, yet you swiftly swat it away, before teasingly biting at his plump fingers. You mindlessly let out a little snicker, which thankfully for Aegon's quick instincts, was muffled with a sudden eruption of a cough.

"Uh- You okay there?" Aemond suspiciously enquired, as his unimpressed gaze pondered over his elder.

"Y-Yes, carry on-"

Your lips eagerly resumed once more, picking up the familiar pace it once ensued, as you coated and lapped at his thick cock. Your dizzy head bobbing up and down, side to side in a sensual motion, your keen tongue slurping at his hot seed pooling from the throbbing tip.

"M-Mhmm-" Aegon hummed, his breathing once more growing denser, as he evidently began to struggle maintaining normalcy.

"Aeg- Do you understand? We need these deadlines to be sorted ASAP. The team needs to reach the target budget or else we suffer a huge loss to our competitors... Those fucking Baratheons-"

"Y-Yep, gotcha. I-Is that all?" Aegon thickly heaved, taking a grand breath in, holding it for a split second to recoup his sense to persevere.

"You sure you're okay? You look a little tense... Did you eat too much again? You do know the food doesn't run away once its cooked, right, hog?"

"Fuck off, dickhead. Close the door on your way out-"

With much anticipation of Aemond's exit, the shutting of the door and your mouthful wonders, Aegon's warm, thickly coated seed shot rapidly down your throat, swallowing his bliss.

Aegon loudly gasped for air, as he slowly regained his senses, pulling himself out. The handkerchief he initially gave, still remained on your lap, reusing it to clean up his enamored mess.

"God, you needy, impatient little thing. You couldn't wait till he left, huh? So desperate for this fat fucking cock, you just couldn't help yourself to seconds, hm?"

"You have a conference meeting in 30 minutes, Aeg... I was simply just being time efficient," You innocently jested, as you comfortably sat yourself down on Aegon's wide, tubby thighs, his plush, meaty stomach pressed against your frame, almost trying to push you off. His pudgy hips pooled at his sides, as you poked at the dense adipose tissue beneath, yearning a sudden yelp from Aegon.

"30 minutes you say? That's plenty of time-"

"Plenty of time for what?"

"To fuck you stupid on this desk till your practically too useless to work for the rest of the evening...Does an early mark sound good, Princess?"

general taglist - @evenstaris @bel-bottoms @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @ilikeitbetterangsty @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylas-the-grim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider

Aegon ii taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @amiraisgoingthruit

credit for header - @/saradika 🤍

#aegon ii targaryen #tom glynn carney #TGC #aegon ii targaryen imagine #aegon ii targaryen imagines #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen fluff #chubby!Aegon ii #modern!chubby!Aegon ii #CEO!chubby!Aegon ii #aegon ii x fem!reader #aegon ii x y/n #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd imagines #hotd imagine

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violetmina · 10 months

Text

Chokehold - Ch. 10

Chokehold Masterlist

Accepting taglist requests!

Taglist: @roundroald @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @sexytholland @scraftsku35 @avastrasposts @missihart23 @ladyvillainous @elementress44 @haibara-ai-tsii @123passwort @sanscas @lulzbrokenbyfantasy @icantevenchoose @marksassybanana @a-rogue-tiddy-bot @itsyellow @lmarina2000 @d3adite666 @casualfansoul @missrandomheart @cvstle

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5,067

Warning: Swearing, adult themes, mentions of bodily harm, blood, and good ol’ Butcher himself.

A/N: Honestly, this chapter is basically a whole lot of whump and comfort. And despite my best efforts, Butcher might be a bit OOC for it. Nonetheless, I hope you guys enjoy.

"Jesus, Butcher!"

With a flurry of fingers you snatch your phone from the floor before you can step on it, discarding it on the counter to approach the bloody man. You turn on the faucet after seizing a washcloth from one of the drawers, your stomach clenching at the sight of so much red swirling down the drain. It's then you finally notice your first aid kit on the other side of the sink, already half gutted by your unexpected visitor.

He's awake and something akin to alert. But you can tell that Butcher isn't processing on all cylinders. It's not until you wring out the cloth and turn to him that he catches your intent. He bats at your hand when you reach to wipe at the left side of his face. "Nah, nah. Stop. Stop! I don' need fuckin' motherin'!"

"No, but you could use a hand," you quip with strained patience.

"I told ya, I got it!"

Both of you swear when he reaches for the first aid and his bloody hand slips on the edge of the basin, nearly sending him into the mirror. You grab his belt and begin to gently tug him back towards the toilet. "C'mon, Billy. Sit down, just for a min-"

"Fuck off! I can-!"

"Sit!"

He glares at you through his seeping war paint. He grunts when you give a good yank on his belt, causing him to totter before he begrudgingly slumps onto the toilet lid. The glare grows into a full-on man pout, and in any other circumstance you might have laughed. Instead, you nudge one of his boots to the side with your foot and stand between his knees. You begin cleaning at his temple, making quick but gentle work of trying to find the source of blood.

"I'd have done it me self just fine," he grumbles when you clear around his eye. "Wasn't expecting you home this early anyway."

"Early? Butcher it's late. It's been nearly twenty-four hours since you left the office."

The pout gives way to confusion. "Has it really?," he asks, more to himself than you. He smears blood from the face of his watch and squints at the time. "Christ. S'pose you're right."

"What happened, Billy? How'd you end up in my bathroom like this?"

"Well I let myself in."

The groggy smirk he gives you is a double-edged sword. You're not certain if it's an indication that he's fairly ok, or if he's using humor to deflect. You take a slow, deep breath before replying, "I can see that. What happened after you left the hospital last night?"

"What'd MM tell ya?"

"He told me about the girl. No one has seen you since then. I'm asking you."

The biting edge of worry begins to gnaw at your guts as you rinse the cloth and try to clean his cheeks, what you can dab out of his beard. What if his head injury is worse than you thought? How impaired might his memory be?

A look of concentration flits in his eyes before he finally speaks. "Tracked down the club she told us about. Paid their security a little visit. Was waiting to be led back to their surveillance room when I got ambushed."

"By whom? Vought?"

"Not Vought," he winces when you swipe into his hairline. "Couldn't've gotten there ahead of me like that. I think Walsh used Vought's squawker to stay ahead of the company lackeys when they went snooping. But now he's gonna know somebody else is digging up his side hustle. Bastards he hired looked like third party thugs."

You rinse the cloth again and begin gingerly sweeping through his hair, his wince your first clue of where his wound may be. Your free hand works at parting the thick, sodden strands. "You mean he's hired people not part of Vought, to cover his tracks, right?"

"Believe so. They didn't act like the usual company muppets. Fuckin' hell, love!" He hisses before sending you an annoyed glance. "Don't mind a hair-pulling kink but you're fucking scalping me here!"

"I'm sorry. You're clotting so bad it's matting. I need you to move to sit on the edge of the tub."

"What? Why?"

"Please don't make this any harder," you sigh, gripping his belt again to help him shuffle over to the lip of the bath. Once he's seated and balanced to your liking, you unhook the shower head and start a slow warm flow. "I have to get some of the blood out of your hair. I can't see your scalp."

"Should probably clean this one first," Butcher grits as he starts fiddling with his shirt.

You turn from the water with a frown. "Clean what one f-? Oh my god!"

A knot of nausea squeezes your belly at the sight that appears when he slips off the left side of his shirt. The rivers of blood trace from his fingertips up to just under the end of his clavicle. There in front of the socket is a lumpy, pocket-like wound just under the skin from which the blood oozes, a long gouge trailing back from it towards his sternum like a thin, shallow comet tail. As his fingers begin to prod about the lump you realize that it is a pocket, and in it-.

"You didn't tell me you were shot!" You drop the shower head and reach for some of the clean gauze still left in the first aid kit. When you turn back, it's just in time to watch him squeeze the pocket with gritted teeth and watch the bullet slip out. He fumbles with a pant of relief as it drops into his slick palm. Before you can even process, he gives it a feeble toss over your shoulder. It clatters in the sink.

"Least it wasn't a hollow point," he mumbles. "Woulda been real messy."

"No. Nuh-uh," you stammer finally. "I'm taking you-."

"Nowhere." Butcher manages a steely look in your direction. "Can't go to the hospital. They'll be looking for me."

"Ok. Maybe if I call MM then-"

"Not doing that either. We split at the ER for a reason." Then almost under his breath, "Shouldn't have even come here."

You dart forward, cursing as you press the gauze against the wound firmly. He manages to sneak his right hand under yours to take over. "Calm down, it was more of a graze. Superficial. Hardly needs packing."

"Calm down? Any deeper and this-!" You cut off at the realization; if it had entered a mere inch or so further back it likely would have torn through the top of his lungs, his lower windpipe. Not wanting to dwell on it, you glare at his reckless face before ripping through your kit for packing, a sterile q-tip and an ampoule of sterile water. You pry his fingers and gauze back long enough to clean around the shallow pocket, trying to rinse without saturating. Then follow suit on the graze. "Don't know how the hell you got so lucky," you spit as you place the miniscule amount of packing needed into the bullet hole once the bleeding had been staunched. "Didn't even know this was possible."

"Nah. Seen weirder in my bootneck days," he says with a lopsided shrug, holding the left side still as you apply a dry dressing.

"I don't wanna know." Again, you rinse the cloth, which now is tinted a stubborn pink and set to cleaning off his arm. When he tries to take it from you, you snatch it back. "You're going to let me finish. Now what did you mean? Why did you come here?"

"I shoulda gone to my place," he admits quietly, eyeing the cloth in a way that tells you he is not going to fully cooperate. "Just couldn't quite get there on foot."

His skin finally loses its sanguinous sheen and you abandon the cloth in the sink for a fresh clean one. Setting it aside on the edge, you reach back down into the tub and retrieve the shower head. He attempts to slip it from your fingers but you manage to evade. "I'm almost done, Billy. How about you chill for five minutes of your life?"

"I think I can manage washing myself," he snaps.

"Didn't say you couldn't. You need to mind your shoulder though." You maneuver back between his knees. "If it doesn't make you too dizzy, you need to tilt your head back. Let's see if I can keep from soaking your new dressing. I can't speak for your shirt."

"Oh God forbid you get me bloodstained shirt a little wet." Butcher slips the right side off with a shrug and dangles the shirt between you with his good arm and a bit of exasperation. He tosses it onto the floor, next to his jacket in the corner you realize, before trying yet again to snatch the shower head. He nearly falls off the edge of the tub in the process and you bite back an expletive when you help right him again with your free hand on the back of his neck.

"Please, Billy." It comes out soft, almost tired.

He scowls at you for a moment. You almost wonder if he had heard your plea over the water. Then finally he grips the edge of the tub and slowly tilts his head back.

You dive in before he can change his mind, moving your hand from his neck to his hairline to block water from running into his face. In mere seconds your bath resembles your sink, bloody water dripping in little streams from the back of his skull. There had been many times over the past couple months your fingers had itched with want to run through Butcher's unruly locks. But you never pictured it being like this, easing and crumbling clots from his hair, fingertips only ghosting the roots for fear of pulling at the injured scalp beneath.

Briefly there had been a moment where you thought he might be coming around. But you still catch glimpses of it in his eyes, the brain fog that rolls in and out like a tide. When he begins to lean too far back and blindly reaches out to catch at your waist instead of the tub, you don't comment. But your worry grows in the sound of the running water, then doubles in size at a sudden thought.

"Please tell me I'm not about to find a bullet here, too."

The corner of his mouth curls and the brain fog ebbs out of his eyes. Mischief replaces it. "Don't be daft. I'm not a zombie out for your brains. Those twats were piss-poor shots anyway."

"Your spanking new dressings say otherwise," you deadpan. A second after and you finally find it. A long jagged gash arcing just behind his left temple and back, stopping a couple inches before his ear. You lower the shower head into the tub again to inspect further. "Definitely not a bullet wound. What made this?"

"Dunno," Butcher replies. "One threw something, didn't see what. Clocked me right as I rounded a corner."

"Threw it at you?"

"Pretty sure his gun jammed just before. Fucking amateur," he says smugly.

You shake your head. "Whatever it was, it got you good. Luckily it's not too deep. Just made you bleed like a stuffed pig. And I suspect a slight concussion. Those steri-strip things would be best but I don't think they'll stay with all your hair. I should have some liquid bandage stuff in the kit though."

You pick up the clean cloth and start dabbing at the broken skin, trying to be gentle. Once it's a bit more dry, you slip back just far enough to turn and dip into your kit. After a bit of rummaging you find the little tube you're looking for. With the faintest tapping on the back of his skull, you signal for him to ease his head to forward. You start applying the gel on the wound, working from the back towards his temple.

If he notices the sting that usually comes with liquid stitches, he says nothing. As a matter of fact, he's rather quiet as the minutes pass. Enough to unsettle you again as you reach the end of the gash. Satisfied with your work, you discard the tube with a toss back into the kit before carefully dipping both hands into his hair. When he arches a brow at you, you reply, "Just checking for any other wounds. And making sure the rest of your skull is still intact."

Still he says nothing and allows you to examine him further. He's already got a hell of a knot forming around the gash. But as you tread your fingertips along his scalp, you find no further injury. When your fingers reach far enough to touch, lacing round the back of his head, he makes a small hum in his throat. You glance at his face, finding his eyes flitting just a bit, more foggy than before.

When you snap your hands back to hold his face, he comes straight back to alert. "Wha-?"

"Look straight ahead. Need to see your eyes."

He stares back at you, brow arching again. "The hell you doing now?," he asks dryly.

"I'm checking for nystagmus."

"Plain English, Nurse Ratched."

"Involuntary eye movements. Like when you look at something but your eyes keep ticking away then right back. Thought I saw it a second ago."

He surprises you with a chuckle, and it manages to smooth out some of your concern. "I think I'll live if I have a lazy eye for a minute, darlin'."

"Not a lazy eye. Nystagmus often happens if there's neurological issues. Surgical sedation can cause it. Or, you know, someone or something trying to bust your head open like a damn pinata. If you have it, I'm calling MM."

His hands on your waist tighten slightly. "No, you're fucking not. I'm fine."

"Shut up and keep your eyes open, William."

Both brows shoot to his hairline for a moment. But they settle and you continue looking into his pupils, waiting for any rhythmic twitching, or any indication of stroke. Long seconds pass and you sigh with relief. No sign of nystagmus. He's got issues for days but at least for tonight it's not brain damage.

"That was a first."

You blink at him, noticing his pupils dilate slightly. "What's a first?"

"You called me William." A smirk starts to form on his face, and your eyes linger a little too long on his lips. "Wasn't that serious, was it?"

"Oh." Caught off guard, you suddenly realize your position. Up close with a shirtless and damp Butcher, cradling his face. You go to drop your hands to his shoulders but remember the bullet wound, and they stutter to an awkward stop on his neck instead. "I was…"

Butcher cuts off your train of thought when he pulls on your hips and leans forward, bringing your foreheads together. "Relax, love," he breathes, still smirking as he flips the roles on you - now he's studying your eyes. "M'alright. Been in way worse shape than this."

"Billy…"

"That's better."

And his lips press against yours without hesitation. It's short, perhaps teasing. But there's that underlying note of tenderness again, and it pulls a smile and a small sound of contentment out of you. Prior doubt slithering away like the water down the drain.

His response to your smile is quick, eyes flashing before his mouth captures yours again, but much firmer. Warm, borderlining hot. When you sigh one of his hands slides up from your waist to cradle the back of your neck. Butcher's mouth moves slow but unyielding against yours, wiping your mind clean of any thought and leaving only awareness of this. A tug on your bottom lip between his teeth morphs your next sigh into a tiny gasp. But it's all he needs to dip his tongue just within, testing, just tasting.

His hand on your hip glides to the small of your back, pulling you till you're almost flushed with him. You give no resistance.

It's not until your shins hit the tub that you realize too late you probably should have. The next second you're both fumbling to catch your fall with a yell. Butcher manages to get one hand on the lip of the tub, and you wrap one arm around his shoulders. Your other hand shoots out to slam against the wall, stopping your awkward, tangled crash. But not before Butcher's head thuds against the faucet.

"Aw fuck me!"

"Shit! Hold on!"

It's a mess, but with a bit more cursing you both strain to an upright position again. Butcher's eyes screw shut with a hiss as he holds the edge with a death grip. "Well if I wasn't concussed before I sure as shit am now!"

Before you can reply a knock sounds from your front door. "Shit! I forgot about the pizza! Don't move, okay? I'll be right back."

"Hold on a tic-"

"Don't. Fucking. Move!," you hiss before darting out the bathroom.

You scramble about till you find a little cash, just enough for a tip. Despite your best efforts, you still managed to get a little blood on the hem of your shirt, tiny specks of it drying on your palms from cleaning up the reckless mess in your bathroom. If the delivery guy notices when you answer the door, he says nothing. Just gives you a bored look and equally flat "have a nice night" as you exchange him for the food, then leaves.

You secure the door and move quickly into the kitchen to drop the pizza on the counter. You snatch a glass and fill it with water then turn back to head to the bathroom for tylenol. Instead you find Butcher filling your bedroom doorway, rubbing the back of his head.

"Damn it! I said don't move!"

"I heard ya. And I'm starving. Gotta do something for this bloody headache." He shuffles to the counter as you slink past him.

"Hold on, just getting you some medicine right now. Give me a sec and I'll see if I can find you some food," you call back.

"It's right here, innit?"

You pop two pills into your palm, then remember you have yet to finish the graze on his chest. Washing your hands and grabbing a packet of ointment, you head back to the kitchen. "Yes, but that's probably one of the worst things for a con-" You let out a sigh at the sight of Butcher already happily halfway through his first slice. "Nevermind. Here."

"Much obliged." He takes the tylenol greedily between bites and washes it down with the whole glass and a wince. Once he takes the last bite of food you rip open the packet and approach him. He shakes his head when you raise a hand towards the graze. "Now hold on-"

"Your hands aren't clean. So hush." When he rolls his eyes you pause in applying to give him a pointed look. "Not going to let you undo all my hard work by getting an infection via pizza grease."

You make quick work of it, focusing on applying just the right amount of ointment to hold off the thoughts of his mouth on yours moments before, or the fact he's standing in your apartment still shirtless. It's hard to ignore, though, what with the planes of his long torso before you, and his broad chest under your hands. But you manage.

With a nod, you step back. "There. Done. I'm going to grab your shirt, maybe I can still save it with a wash."

"Don't bother, love," he replies, seizing another slice from the box. "A wash ain't gonna fix the bullet hole."

Oh no. You're not doing this to me.

"Fair enough. Umm. I might have something then? Give me a minute."

You turn back to your bedroom again, making a beeline for your closet. For several minutes you rife through your clothes and your thoughts. You have no complaints of the kissing, aside from the embarrassing tumble. But you do feel a twinge of guilt. He's not completely well, and you certainly don't want to make things worse. You finally find an old, oversized t-shirt. A dark blue, ragged unisex thing you had kept for housework and "just in case" situations like this, it's hem riddled with holes. It may just fit him.

When you return you find him on your couch, eyes closed, right arm draped lazily across the back.You can't help looking him over. You're not sure what you had expected under those tacky shirts all this time but it wasn't this. He's not chiseled, which you're actually glad for, pleased by the hint of lean muscle under his skin. He's built for useful strength, not showboating. The urge to map his large ribcage and where he's soft or firm with your hands makes your fingers twitch. And the lines of hips you'd only peeked before are now on full display, framing a thin dark trail under his navel, and sloping sharp into his jeans. You'd heard a couple different names for hips like his, Apollo's belt being one. The other was Aphrodite's saddle.

Fuck Aphrodite! That one is mine!

The man has been shot! Can we fucking NOT?!, you snap at the little voice.

You call his name softly and he opens his eyes. A good sign, all things considered. You toss him the shirt before stepping back to get some pizza yourself. "Full already?"

"Nah, just pausing before thirds," Butcher quips as he stiffly tugs on the shirt. Thankfully it's not too snug.

You give him a look when you sit down beside him with your plate. "You got nauseous, didn't you?" He shrugs dismissively but you know better. Not a good sign. After a hesitant bite you decide to switch back to the other pressing matter. "So this lead at the club is a deadend then?"

"Fraid so," he nods solemnly. "Even if one of the others goes back for it, that footage is good as gone now. There'll be another person like that girl, you can count on it. Just have to wait."

"She got lucky," you frown between bites. "We don't know how many others there have been that weren't."

"We can't do anything bout that. We'd be chasing our tails if we tried digging that hard, and Neuman will wonder why our other cases have slowed down all the sudden. Too risky."

You finish your first slice and sigh. Now your appetite is compromised. "So now what?"

Butcher's all too familiar smirk returns. "We do our day jobs as usual, and prep for that gala like we planned. But right now?" He shifts in his seat, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you into him. He hooks one of your thighs despite your protest and manages to pull you into his lap to face him. "I recall telling you last night that we ain't done."

"Seriously?" You scoff with a wry smile. "Even now?"

"Well no better time than the present, now is there?," he grins. When he leans up to kiss you, you press your fingers against his lips and the other hand on his good shoulder, and push him back. He gives an indignant look.

"As a matter of fact, there is a better time than the present." When he frowns you shake your head and continue. "Billy, you have a goddamn bullet hole under your collarbone. And you're concussed. Almost twice. You need rest, and the less stimulation the better. Not TV, not music, and definitely not getting to know you carnally."

"Stimulation sounds much more fun," he grumbles, still teasing.

"I'm not kicking you out. You can stay. As a matter of fact, I insist."

"Well I'm glad the lady insists."

"But," you press, darting around his flirtatious tone, "It's late. I'm tired. And more importantly, you are tired. Don't lie, I can see it."

"What? Don't fancy me bedroom eyes?"

"You need to heal, Billy," you intone, low but emphatic. "And that requires a quiet place and restful sleep."

He gives a bit of a pout, looking you over as his thumbs rub circles on your thighs. "No pizza, no TV, no sex. Fucking hell, you really are Nurse Ratched."

"You should be supervised for at least forty-eight hours. But you and I both know damn well you're not going to let that happen. Just let me keep an eye on you tonight and I'll quit being your nurse by morning. Okay?"

"No dice. You best have a better deal than that."

"Butcher-"

"How about…I pick some boring drivel on the telly, keep it real low…" His palms smooth warmly over your thighs. "...And you keep more on me than an eye, eh?"

"I keep both eyes on you then," you counter. "And I pick what's on the TV. Final offer. Otherwise, I'll cut the TV cord, kick you to bed and nap here on this couch-"

"You're not kicking yourself outta your own damn bed," he says with a bristling glare. The flirtatious tone returns after a beat. "And I ain't going near it unless you're in it."

"Well look at that, you being a gentleman," you tease. "So? Final offer?"

He stares at you, summing up the options. He's not pleased, obviously. But you can see the fatigue in his face, and you're determined that he makes it through the night without complications. His eyes narrow.

"...What you thinkin' of picking?"

"Something mild, kinda monotonous," you shrug. "Maybe one of those David Attenborough nature docs."

"Oh come off it!," he groans. "Bloody concussion won't kill me but you will bore me to death! I might as well just go to Bo-peep!"

"That's the point," you faux whisper.

He lets out a heavy sigh, minutely shaking his head. "Fuck me…Where's your remote?"

"Thank you," you beam before hopping off his lap. You snatch the remote before he gets any ideas, and set everything up, volume down to just audible. You grab one more slice of pizza from the kitchen, putting the rest away in the fridge, then turning off the lights. You set up an alarm on your phone for the end of the show, then a couple more about two hours apart to check on him through the night. The last would be your usual morning wakeup call.

You pad back to the couch where Butcher promptly pulls you down to tuck into his side. He throws an annoyed look at your triumphant expression, before finally easing back into the cushions, his eyes already heavy. You make quick work of your second slice as you feel his breath start to become rhythmic, ready to begin your watch…

It's not till the sound of the first alarm goes off that you realize you, too, had been lulled to sleep. You jolt, scrambling for your phone to quickly silence the alarm. You're disoriented to find that you're still tucked into Butcher but not as before. At some point you must have dozed a little heavier than him, allowing him to shift you both onto his good side. His left arm is draped over your hips, and when you reach for the remote to turn off the TV, it wraps a little closer.

"Billy?," you call softly over your shoulder. He stirs, giving a small grunt in response. Groggy but responsive, so far so good. You start to shift to get up. "I'm going to get you a blanket."

"No," he grunts into your shoulder. His arm pulls you back flush with him. You feel him wince at irritating his wound with the movement, then mumbles, "Don't need it."

Within moments his breathing becomes warm and steady on the back of your neck again, and his grip slowly softens as he slips back into sleep. You consider trying to sneak out. But honestly…this is more than you could've asked for. If anyone had told you not too long ago that you'd be cuddled by big, bad Billy Butcher, you would have told them to get their head checked. After all these chaotic, frustrating, dirty months this is the nicest thing you've experienced since joining the Boys. Then immediately after realize that this must be an even more rare moment of peace and comfort for him.

Smiling, you check to make sure the alarms are still ready on your phone, then set it aside on the coffee table. You let your eyes drift shut, determined not to take this for granted, soaking in the warmth, the silence…

^^^

Your eyes snap open, the room still dark. You sigh, waiting to hear your alarm. It doesn't sound. It's silent and you glance about, confused, why are you awake? It takes only a moment, the tingle of hairs standing on end, and you find your answer. The feeling is back. The feeling of something wrong.

You slowly raise on one arm, peering around. Only then do you notice something missing, warmth and weight. You turn your head and find Butcher sitting upright on the couch, your legs in his lap. You realize he must feel it, too. His face is turned from you, looking towards the windows.

"Billy?"

He turns his head at your whisper, his face a mix of brooding and alertness, all muddled with fatigue. The second you recognize it, the moment you realize it's the feeling of being watched again, it dissipates. His brow furrows.

"Billy, wh-?"

"Nothin'," he mumbles with a faint shake of his head. "Go back to sleep." He slides lazily back up the couch to reclaim his spot. You're on the verge of asking again but he hooks a finger under your chin. "Hey, what'd I say? I'm fine. It's nothin'."

He pulls you back in again, the solid weight of him behind you and the briefest press of lips upon the back of your neck both bring the tide of sleep over you, slowly but surely. You silence the alarm just before you close your eyes. When the next one wakes you, he's the one to shut it off.

You can't help but notice that his grip softens less in his sleep this time.

#billy butcher x reader #billy butcher #the boys fanfic

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