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#just wanted to give credit where its due
kawaii-kushami · 1 year
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‼‼‼full pic here!!!! 🔞🔞🔞
cropped/posted externally to try to avoid tumblr killing my account :')
once again ko/ito and tsu/kish/ima from go/lden kam/uy, and once again based on NameTaken's fic ❤
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jessamine-rose · 5 months
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/vent post/
#jessamine rambles#before i start. pls keep in mind that this is fully subjective and could just be a 'me' problem. i just want to get this off my chest#ngl i've been contemplating on whether i want to stop playing obey me. both the og game and nightbringer#idk i've been playing the game since its first month and while it's given me a lot of joy + memories + chances to befriend other ppl. i'm#pretty burned out. not to mention TIRED of my consistent disappointment with the game#the main story.....where do i start?? i actually enjoyed s1-s3 despite my qualms with the fillers and pacing but s4 disappointed me. i was#rlly looking forward to simeon's storyline and the new characters but ultimately. the devs tried to squeeze too many things into one season#not to mention that there is a notable difference in how the characters are written. i.e. beel's hunger and asmo's beauty#being watered down to running gags instead of the complexities explored in the old dg stories and chara songs#gameplay-wise. i was there when the devs raised the rewards price of the event urs and removed the demon ssrs completely#but nightbringer was the last straw for me. the amount of time it takes to grind for two games. knowing that the og app has essentially bee#abandoned by the devs?? not to mention that while the plot is interesting. i haven't touched the main story ever since the coma arc#i will give credit to the devs for improving the event stories by choosing to focus on 1-2 demons. but it has always felt like a quantity >#quality situation. esp if i were to compare it to my other fandoms#it also doesn't help that i'm currently at a point of my life where i'm questioning if i could use my time on obm for better things#seeing how the game is giving me less reasons to believe it is worth my time#idk this may also be a short-term phase since i DID get back into twst after a long hiatus and i recently got into whb#which btw has felt like a breath of fresh air despite my frustrations with the bugs and current gacha#but yeahhhh........as much as i love the obm characters and fanfics. i'm just tired#at this point i feel like the only reason why i still play the game is due to the nostalgia and so i don't waste the years of grinding#aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh#this is what i get for being the type of player who only plays a few games so they can rlly dedicate their time and passion to it#that's all
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moonsidesong · 8 months
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ive been groaning at aa spirit of justice's extremely over the top on the nose character names but i also just remembered tgaa runs around with a curio collector named. kyurio korekuta. so. maybe im being too harsh AHAHA
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devotedlystrangewizard · 10 months
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the corpse of king minos is very fucking big and Scary but you can parry his punches pretty easily and thats the easiest way i can explain how good ultrakill feels
#but even when the game is actually hard and kills me several times i dont feel like quitting?#i turn it off after 2 - 3 missions because thats the amount of time it takes for my body so get so Over Excited it stops aiming right#but i havent actually felt like ragequitti g#because the game just feels so good#i can ramble about how good ultrakill feels for HOURS bro#ramblings#switching between guns. the variants. coin tossing never gets old. accidentally exploding yourself with your own shotgun#fucking. SOUND EFFECTS#that too like when you parry. that sound?? makes my autism happy#THE SLIDING SOUND AOUGH#the fact that it does sound like ur made of metal but not in a bad screechy way that makes me want to cry#in a world where realistic movement physics are the norm having this much control. god#the witcher 3 is one of my favorite games ever. just as an example. but i DREAD playing that again knowing how walking around feels#yes sometimes in ultrakill you overshoot something because youre Fast but thats also just me needing to stand perfectly right for terminals#'look we have realistic physics' ok COOL BUT ARE THEY ACTUALLY FUN TO PLAY WITH#hyperrealism is impressive in videogaming YES but its also led to this monolith. in triple a#i do want to give credit where its due once i got used to the destiny warlock jumps (blink especially) that game felt really good too#but ultrakill doesnt force me to socialize and has a much more pleasant community so im fine where i am rn. actually#ive done all totk dungeons (I THINK) except for the final chasm and let me tell you. i dont want to fight any of those bosses ever again#why js that relevant? ive already beaten 1-4 twice and will probably go for my second 3-2 run tomorrow. THIS GAME. BOSSES. AAAAAAA#i love totk but those bosses were a fucking nightmare#thats gonna be a separate post
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hier--soir · 5 months
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a lover's pinch | five
joel miller x f!reader
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pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: you and your professor enjoy a day in new york. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, oral [m receiving], a smidge of cock worship, spoilers for antony and cleopatra by shakespeare lol, flirting, these fuckos kinda go on a date, prof joel is man of the arts idgaf, a tlou2 easter egg, oral [f receiving] and then oral [f receiving] again, sex acts in public, jealousy, sexting/nudes, unprotected piv sex, exhibitionism, dirty talk, light choking, overstimulation [f], pain kink, kinda dom!joel, describing men as pretty and beautiful because I LIKE IT, soft!joel. word count: 8.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: so this whole thing is almost entirely sucking fucking and flirting, and i hope you enjoy it before we encounter angst. all credit to willy shakes for the passage from A&C that joel reads in the opening scene. thanks king for inspiring the title of this series lol xo this is part five of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four.
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Sunday.
The sound of paper rustling wakes you. Muted scrapes of page shifting against page.
Through your lashes you can see a thin reed of sun streaming in the window, flaring across the end of the bed to warm your skin.  And there’s a dull ache between your legs; a rhythmic throb that dances and twists through your core, through the muscles in the inside of your thighs. The type of pain that is warm – soft in its caress, like the trail of a lover’s fingertips down your spine. A sort of remembrance, or celebration. And you welcome it eagerly; delight in the sharp reminder of how it felt to welcome his body inside yours again. The hot sting of every third second, the meticulous pulse and ache of flesh that you hope stays with you for days.
Another page turns.
 You tilt your head to the side, eyes open a mere crack, and smile at the secrecy of it. At the private sincerity of this man who lies awake, sporting nothing but the thin veil of a sheet, gaze fierce and focused on an endless stream of text that raps his attention. It’s a type of heaven for him, you realise. This resting place, as calm and tranquil it is. The only weight that bears down is in the place where his wrist bends, hand coiled around the spine of a book, fingers poised, flicking impatiently against the corner of a page, begging to turn it, to see more.
You take in every ripple of muscle, every dip and curve and freckle and scar. The jut of his elbow. The hard line of his jaw. Watch pink lips part and purr as he whispers the words on the page to himself, and think about how perfect that mouth felt between your thighs.
His fingers pinch the corner of a page, pressing it down into a dog ear before he moves onto the next. You wonder what piqued his interest, what collection of words made him want to mark it, to leave a trail for himself to come back one day and remember.
You break the silence finally. “What are you reading?”
Joel flinches, glasses jolting to the tip of his nose.
“You’re awake.”
“I am,” you hum. When he stares at you for a moment you just smile, snaking a hand out from the sheet to tap the page of his book. “Tell me.” 
“Shakespeare,” he murmurs, a faint blotch of red rising at the base of his neck. You want to kiss that blush—taste it. Want to know if his skin smells like you. “Antony and Cleopatra.”
“I love that one,” you yawn. “Where are you up to?”
 “Act five,” he says. “Cleopatra’s big scene.”
“Will you read it to me?” you smirk.
There’s an upward shift of an eyebrow. The spark of a curious glint in his eye. 
“Really?” he drawls, unimpressed.
“Please?” your smile softens into something kind, something honest.
With a sharp sigh, and a quick adjustment of his glasses, Joel begins to read.
“Give me my robe, put on my crown,” he begins slowly, as if unsure. “I have immortal longings in me: now no more. The juice of Egypt’s grape shall moist his lip: yare, yare, good Iras; quick.”
His voice is a low vibration, a honeyed sound that drifts through the air and has goosebumps raising across your skin. You watch his mouth shape the words, enamoured. Savouring every glimpse of his teeth, every slip of his tongue between them.
“Methinks I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself to praise my noble act. I hear some mock the luck of Caesar, which the gods give men to excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come. Now to that name my courage prove my title.”
His hair is a mess. A shock of greying curls that have flattened against his scalp after a night of being pressed into his pillow, threatening to spring up again. That dull pain flares in your core again and you rub your thighs together in an attempt to quell the ache. But something stirs there—low, prowling just behind the pain. Something wet and wild that whispers his name. 
“I am fire and air,” Joel continues obliviously, licking his thumb to turn the page with ease. “My other elements I give to baser life. So; have you done?”
Slowly, listening—hanging—you shift against the mattress. Allow the sheet to fall down to your stomach, exposing your breasts to the morning air. Your nipples stiffen, chest tightening as he glances at them from the corner of his eye. He pauses, mouth ajar. Swallows. Brown eyes return to the page, and he continues to read.
“Come then, and take the last warmth from my lips.”
Your hand drifts across the mattress, hidden from sight as it traverses the soft plains of the sheets, the blankets, and then the skin of his thigh. Bare, but smattered with soft hairs that tickle your palm and fingertips. Goosebumps tear across his skin and his breathing hitches; the faintest cracks in his calm façade. You surpass where you can see him hardening, fingers floating up his side to rest against his stomach. Gently, you feel across the soft slopes and curves of his tummy. Glide your finger over the dip of his belly button and smile when he clears his throat, legs shifting in a restless dance. And then your hand shifts down. Past his happy trail, past the dark curls at his base, to wrap your fingers softly around his length.  
“Farewell, kind Charmian,” Joel’s voice deepens. “Iras, long farewell.”
You lower yourself on the bed, dragging the sheets with you until they rest wayward and wrinkled around his knees. Your cheek nuzzles against his thigh as you stroke him, humming in delight as his cock stiffens in your palm.
Joel sighs. “You don’t have to—”
“Keep going,” you hush, glancing up. He watches you over the top of his glasses, gaze darkening. There’s still sleep in the corners of his eyes, and it’s so soft, so domestic, it almost hurts. You look down, simpering as you admire the sight of his cock, now fully hard and leaking in your grasp.
The head is swollen, a flushed shade so reminiscent to that of his lips that you want to kiss him. But his skin is warm and smooth, like silk as you nuzzle his length against your face. Feel his wetness streak across your skin, over the closed line of your lips, the apple of your cheek. “Joel,” you urge him quietly when he still doesn’t speak.
“Have I the aspic in my lips?” His voice is hoarse when he continues; wanton, rough with sleep and desire. “Dost fall?”
You lathe soft kisses against the tip, along the vein that pulses along the side of his shaft, against the tight swell of his balls, taking your time with him. You giggle when he sucks in a sharp inhale, the muscles in his thighs tightening beneath your cheek.
“Such a pretty cock,” you whisper, swiping your fingers over his weeping head.
“Yeah?” he exhales and drops the book against his stomach, fingers reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Gonna show me how much you like it?”
“Mhm,” you bat your eyelashes up at him.
Joel raises the book again, slowly, eyes unfocused and glassy but still watching—still devouring—the way your lips purse around his tip. His stomach tightens when your tongue leaves soft kitten licks against the slit, lapping at the salty precome that rests there.
“If thou and nature,” he murmurs. “Can so gently part.”
And it’s almost painful, the way he sounds. Exhalations of tragic Shakespeare mixed with soft gasps, with curses loosed beneath his breath. The occasional revered whisper of your name, spurring you on.
His free hand settles at the back of your head, thick fingers curling in your hair as your lips part to take him deeper inside your mouth. “Fuck,” he groans, hips shifting against the mattress. “That’s it, baby, god you’re good at that.”
You hum around the weight of him, stomach warming at the praise. Swirl your tongue generously around his girth, lathing saliva over his skin until it’s dripping down to his balls. You cup them gently in your palm, massage him as your lips drag to rest around his tip again, paying close attention to the way he gasps and sighs when the point of your tongue dances along the ridge at the underside of his head.
“Sensitive there?” you ask quietly, eyes flitting up to look at his face. His cheeks are flushed, eyebrows furrowed as he nods.
“S’good,” he confirms, fingers tightening in your hair as you rub that spot again. A fresh bead of precome oozes from his slit and you smile, fingers curling around his length to tap his tip against the flat of your tongue. “Jesus,” he mutters, eyelids fluttering. “Yeah, good girl.”
You shift down on him eagerly, letting the heavy weight of him slip against your tongue, inside the warmth of your mouth, until he’s pressing against the back of your throat and you can hear him moaning.
“Got the prettiest fuckin’ mouth, baby,” Joel whispers. “S’like a fuckin’ dream, seeing those lips on my cock again.”
You whimper and swallow around him. A tear squeezes out of the corner of your eye, trailing a shiny path down to your chin. In steady, measured movements, your head bobs up and down on his length, guided by the gentle press of his hand.
“Yeah,” he sighs. “Take it all, baby, yea—yes.”
You relax your throat and take him deep enough to feel your nose brush against the rough hairs at his base.
“The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch,” he reads, the cadence of his words stilted and breathy. “Which hurts, and is desired.”
Suddenly, his hips jut upward and you gag, throat constricting around him until your eyes are wet and blurry. He tugs gently on your hair, pulling you backward until you part from him with a splutter, messy strings of saliva dangling between your swollen mouth and his cock.
“God damn,” he swipes a finger across your lower lip. “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. So so good."
You think your eyes water more at that. Sweetheart.
“I want it,” you slur, lids heavy as you make eye contact with him.
“What do you want?” he pushes, cupping your jaw in his large palm. “Tell me.”
“Want you to come in my mouth,” your face warms and you lick your lips, fingers stroking him slowly. “Want all of it.” Everything.
“Okay,” Joel soothes, and then his hand drops from your hair so he can grip himself. Gently, he glides the tip along your bottom lip, trailing his salt across the skin of your chin, your cheeks, your nose, before finally pressing the head back against your tongue. “Take it, come on. It’s yours.” 
He presses between your lips, jaw tensing, and his eyes drift back to the book as you begin to move.
“Dost thou lie still?” he reads. “If thus thou vanishes, thou—Christ—thou tell’st the world.”
Your lips are tight around him, mouth sucking and moving in tandem with the strokes of your fingers, wrapped loosely around his base. Carefully, you shift to straddle his shins, forearms resting heavily against his thighs as you bring him to the brink of his orgasm. Yours.
“Fuck,” you hear him spit, and then he’s arching forward, the splay of his palm moving down the length of your spine until his fingers slip into the crevice between your ass cheeks. Gripping and squeezing the flesh there until you’re moaning too, the vibrations of your voice muddling with the wet sounds of your mouth against his cock. 
It doesn’t take much longer for coherent thought to evade him, Antony and Cleopatra flung to the wayside of the bed as his broad hands cradle your head, the tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat with every thrust. Your entire body is hot, slick with sweat, the musky scent of Joel filling your nostrils with every rushed inhale. The sounds he’s making turn rougher, deeper; raspy grunts and exhales that are almost animalistic in their intensity, and then—
“Fuckin—look at me,” he bites out, and watery eyes flutter open to meet his gaze. “Need to see those pretty eyes when I fill you up.”
And fuck you’re wet. So wet that it’s seeping onto the skin of your thighs, drooling out of you as you clench around sweet sweet nothing, cunt desperate and begging to be filled again. Tightening your fingers around his cock, you drag your mouth back to suck gently around the pulsating head, and when he comes it’s with a drawn-out, laboured groan that fades into harsh mutterings of your name and fuck and so fuckin’ good at that god damnit and that’s it, swallow it all baby, it’s yours, it’s yours, it’s yours.
You pull off him with a gasp, sucking in deep desperate breaths as you fall onto your back beside him.
Soft sheets stick to the sweat on your skin, and you close your eyes, vaguely aware of how the two of you breathe in sync; a high-strung cacophony of sharp inhales and heavy exhales.
After a few quiet moments you ask, “What time is it?”
“Eighty thirty,” he answers. The mattress jostles and tilts as his large frame shifts on it.
“Probably time to start the day,” you grumble, throat raw and tired.
But you can feel hands on your waist, nudging you backward until your head is slumped amongst the soft pillows again. And when your eyes peak open Joel is getting comfortable between your legs, glasses forgotten somewhere out of sight, hands pressing your thighs into the mattress to reveal your glistening sex to him.
And he says, “No,” shaking his head slowly, near-black eyes piercing as his lips lower to meet your cunt. “Not yet.”
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You were unsure, initially, whose idea it was.
Unsure of who spoke first; if you or him brought up the idea of the museum. Unsure if he mentioned the bookstore or you mentioned The Iliad. Unsure, unsure, unsure.  
But as you stand on the outskirts of Central Park—showered, dressed, sure—eyes scanning the front window of the shop, the glass overflowing with newspaper cuttings and novel covers and author profiles and ads for signings – you are certain that it was him. Certain that he asked what your plans were for the day, head resting on your thigh, lips and beard still glistening with your come. Certain that you mentioned going to the museum, and that those brown eyes lit up, mouth splitting into a smile as he revealed that he had plans close by. Certain that he introduced the idea of going together.
A bell tinkles and your gaze sharpens, watching as his broad frame slips out the door with a brown paper bag tucked under his armpit. Joel ticks his head wordlessly to the side and you fall into step next to him, two sets of shoes scuffing against the pavement in a perfect rhythm. 
“Can I see it?” you ask, eyes roaming curiously around the street.
“Sure,” Joel holds the bag out and you take it carefully, fingers peeling back paper so you can take a peak inside.
“The cover is beautiful,” you breathe, fingers tracing vibrant swaths of gold and red, the white lettering that spells The Iliad. You balance the spine in your palm, curious to flick through to the first page. To see the acknowledgements, her author photo, anything. And as your eyes skirt over the very first page your feet stutter to a stop, pulse increasing as you spot the black marker on the page. A messily scrawled signature.
“Joel.”
Joel says your name, pausing a few steps ahead before turning back to face you. “What’s wrong?” he frowns.
You hold up the page, brows lifted in awe. “She… how did you get a signed copy?”
“We’ve met a few times in passing,” he admits sheepishly, eyes glancing between the book and your face. “I’ve always admired her work, and she offered to set a copy aside for me here. She’s very impressive, the first woman to—”
“The first woman to publish an English translation of The Odyssey,” you interrupt. “Yeah, Joel, I know exactly who Emily Wilson is.”
“And now she’s published The Iliad,” he hums. You begin walking again, the museum in sight now. “I’m lookin’ forward to readin’ it. Especially now that I’ve heard all your thoughts about how women and men translate differently. I’m sure it’ll be on my mind as I go.”
The skin on your face prickles and tightens under his attention. You’re still smiling, a wide and satisfised flash of your teeth, when the two of you reach The Met. Still smiling when he pays for your tickets and leads you toward the Cloisters.
You wander together through the exhibit. Medieval, Bohemian, Byzantine. Jean Pucelle, Robert Campin, Tilman. You catch Joel staring at the Bust of the Virgin, one hand on his hip, knee jutted out as he admires her elegance, the tenderness with which her face was carved.
“You like her?” you tease.
His shoulders stiffen and then relax into a sort of indignant laugh.
“I like terracotta,” he smarts, reaching out to pinch your forearm. When he pulls his hand away you see his eyes dart over your shoulder – a quick glance around the room to see if anyone noticed.
“Oh of course,” you nod, a mock serious expression on your face. “Me too. Terracotta virgins.”
“You know,” he huffs, turning to face you head on. “You oughta start showin’ me a bit of respect. Where’s your reverence for an authority figure, huh?”
“Authority?” your eyes widen, smirking broadly as you take a step forward, the material of your jacket brushing against his. “And what authority might that be?”
“I could fail you,” he murmurs, glancing down at your lips. “Tell everyone you’re the worst student I ever had. Never does as she’s told, always talkin’ back.”
“Oh, Professor,” you whisper back, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt, your snark emboldened by his. “I hate to say it, but you’re not very convincing in your distaste.”
You don’t wait around to see his reaction, turning on your heel and heading into the next room. Your cheeks are sore from smiling at the end of it, eyes tired from reading, and then you reach the courtyard gardens. See the cloisters. See the Romanesque columns with their fluting grooves that lead into arches, see the vast green garden with its flowers of yellow and pink and purple. Herbs and flora border the walking paths, filling the air with the scent of thyme and rosemary, and you can’t help but grin.
“Not bad right?” Joel’s voice comes from behind you.
“Not bad at all,” you turn to smile at him. “Would’ve been cooler if they had some dinosaur bones around here though. A museum should always have a dinosaur.”
“A dinosaur,” he repeats, quietly amused. “Of course, you like dinosaurs.”
“I thought, uh,” Joel clears his throat then. Glances away for a second. “Thought you might like it here; that it might remind you of your time in Greece.”
The words make your chest go all warm and tight. He looks so handsome, so easy in the middle of it all. Dark features and broad shoulders softened by the smell of flowers.
“It does,” you nod. “A little bit.”
“What was it like?” he asks.
“Greece was…” you trail off as you remember it. White sand beaches, turquoise waters, boreks and Doric columns, seemingly endless nights spent translating sheets and sheets and sheets of ancient texts. “It was wonderful, really. I feel so lucky to have had the opportunity, and Professor Samaras was a phenomenal instructor.”
Joel nods, fingers looped and resting across his stomach as he digests your answer.
“Good,” is the response he settles on, finally. “I’m glad. You… you deserve that. You work hard, and your presentation was solid.”
And it’s been less than twenty-four hours, but those words bring you calm now, not frustration like they did last night. So you smile, and thank him, and don’t stop yourself from asking him something in return.
“Have you really never been?” you ask, eyes squinting inquisitively as you watch his face, searching the emotions that flitter across it – near impossible to decipher, as always. “You said you weren’t interested, that first night when we spoke about it… but I would’ve thought… I don’t know, maybe a semester abroad or… or a fellowship?”
“Never,” he looks away. “Always too little time, too little money, too many responsibilities.”
You nod slowly, watch him curiously. You wish you could peel back his skin and see inside of that gorgeous brain, that heart. Understand every trouble, every missed opportunity that weighs on his shoulders.
“There’s still time,” you offer. “You’ve got so much time, Joel.”
Joel looks at you and you can see in his eyes that he’s grateful for the words. See that the earnestness with which you speak brings him some kind of solace, some kind of hope.
His fingers graze the skin of your wrist, curling around it to hold you in place beside him. Your body stills, eyes training carefully on the garden; the green of the grass, the pink of the flowers that bloom amongst it all. One of his fingers searches the skin at the inside of your wrist, swiping and rubbing over the tendons and veins there until he finds where your lifeline pulses. And then he strokes that spot, a calm, meticulous glide of his fingertip, over where blood thrums and rushes inside your body.
The tickling sensation has a painful knot of want curling in your chest, but you don’t stop him. Don’t pull your hand away, don’t take a step back. And with every stroke against skin, you feel it as if it where between your thighs—the soft curling of a finger between your folds, against your clit. It feels feverish, like a steady flame that spreads across your skin, up your chest to lick at the inside of your ribcage.  
“Soft,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful. “You’re so soft.” And it sounds painfully like, you’ve got so much time.
And you look at him and he knows. Your face says it all.
Says, let your hands wander wherever they like. Says, if you touched me here—now—I wouldn’t say a word, wouldn’t tell a soul. Says, everything I have to offer is yours if you could only bring yourself to take it. Says, and if your hand won’t wander, won’t stray, I’ll take it in my own and show you where to touch.
So you lead him back inside. Quiet, discreet, slipping past patrons and staff and guards until you find a bathroom. Tuck him inside and smile at the snap of the lock shifting into place behind you.
Joel’s knees meet tile with a soft thud, and dark eyes hold yours as he peels your trousers down, as he drags the slick fabric of your underwear to the side, as he presses the soft cut of his mouth between your legs. He watches you, steadfast, cheeks ablaze and pupils blown as his tongue works you open, calloused fingers holding your left thigh over his shoulder. 
And after you’ve come, face pinched and hidden behind your palm, he pulls away. Skirts wet kisses down the inside of your thigh, against the shell of your kneecap, to the bruise that colours your shin.
And he whispers, “Does it hurt?” with his fingers tracing tender splotches of purple and blue.
And you whisper, “No.” with your fingers brushing the curls off his forehead.
Afterwards you walk through the park, pressing through streams of tourists and locals alike; a lively crowd that parts and flurries around the two of you as you push forward. He fields your questions about Emily Wilson, about the years he spent doing his PhD, parrying seamlessly with queries about the West coast, about your undergrad, your roommates.
The bubble doesn’t break until Joel gets the text. Cursing softly, he turns away from you, eyes focused on his screen.
“Everything okay?” you ask.
“Yeah, yes,” Joel says, fingers flying across the touch screen, typing out a response before he tucks his phone away. “I, uh, look I actually forgot that I have somethin’ I need to do tonight.”
“Sounds mysterious,” you smile, eyebrows raised expectantly. But your smile wavers when he doesn’t match your teasing, face relaxing as you wait.
“Rachel and I planned this dinner a few weeks ago,” he explains. “When we both agreed to attend the conference.”
“Oh,” you blink. “That’s nice.”
“It’s this thing we do,” Joel offers, shifting on his feet. “A tradition, I suppose. To celebrate another conference done.” And you remember, I’ve been to twenty of the damn things. His twenty to your one.
“That’s nice,” you repeat, and hold your smile when he checks his phone again.   
Hold it when he tells you he should go, that he needs to get ready to meet her. Hold it when he hesitates, staring at you for a moment. Hold it when he presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head, lips meeting your temple, the weakest point of your skull, before turning to walk away from you.
Only when you’re alone do you let the smile fall.
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After a lonely dinner, you find yourself back in your hotel room, thinking about Rachel.
Folding your blue dress into a neat square, and then a smaller square. Tucking it into your duffel bag, thinking about the rough sound of her laugh. The soft curve of her jaw, the sparkling greys that curl through her dark hair. You fold your underwear, pack that too, and think of her fluorescent toenails and her dangling earrings. Think of how sure she is; how intelligent, how charismatic. And then you think of yesterday – of her hand on Joel’s arm, soft fingers curling around the sleeve of his blazer, carting him around the conference. Leading him. Standing by his side, making him laugh.
And it burns, this hot feeling in your chest. Something dark green and scalding, fiery enough that you feel the need to sit on the edge of the bed and press your palm against the skin above your breast to tamp it down. Feel your heartbeat there, the rise and fall of your chest with each breath, and tell yourself that this feeling is cruel and unforgiving but that it is wrong. You lay out your clothes for the airport, wrap yourself up in the coarse hotel robe and push away the images your mind creates of them at dinner together. Push away the thought of her foot nudging his beneath the table, the thought of them sitting beside each other, thighs brushing like yours had on the bench last night. Because it’s wrong. Joel isn’t like that. Joel wouldn’t do that.
When Nora calls, you pick up on the second ring.
“How did it go?” she squeals, and you feel your shoulders relax at the sound of her voice.
“It was good,” you respond. “I feel good about it. Glad it’s over though.”
“You never answered my text—" the line crackles a little, muffling the last word of her sentence. “I was worried something bad might’ve happened.”
“Fuck,” you apologise. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that, I—I got caught up with something, I… I wasn’t looking at my phone.”
There’s a beat of silence over the phone. Another fried, crackle over the line.
“Oh you cheeky bitch,” she gasps then. “You could’ve just said you were getting some!”
“Nora—” you try, stomach dropping.
“Who the fuck was it?” she continues eagerly. You can almost picture the way her eyes would widen if she were here with you, hands clenched excitedly at her sides as she pushes for all the gory details. “Was it someone from the conference? Oh my god, was it someone from UNE?”
“No, no,” you rush, feeling an anxious heat rise in your chest. “It was just a random guy, we… I met him at a bar afterwards, it’s no one from Maine. No one from the conference.”
Another pause.
“And?” she asks finally. “How was it?”
You consider her question for a moment. Remember the way he undressed you in the dim light of his hotel room – slow, cautious. Remember the way he looked at you. Those dark brown eyes feasting over every inch of flesh, every mark, every freckle, every scar. The feeling of his hands on your breasts, his bare chest against yours as he pressed inside of you.
Quietly, earnestly, you say, “It was amazing,” and smile when she hollers down the line.
And this feeling is so much kinder, you think. The relief and the warmth that comes with being able to tell someone. To talk about him, even if you’re not really talking about him. Even if she can’t really know the truth.
You put her on speaker, still listening and laughing as she rattles off question after question. Did he go down on you? How big was he? Wait he was older?! You bitch! How old?! That’s hot. Fuck, I need to get laid.
“You really do,” you chuckle, laying down against the pillows and typing out a text to Joel.
Are you enjoying your dinner?
He replies within minutes.
Yeah, the restaurant is nice.
What are you doing?
“Hey Nora?” you interrupt. “I actually need to go.”
“Oh,” she huffs. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re gonna go get fucked again. Good for you bitch.”
“I love you,” you laugh, already typing out a response to him. “See you tomorrow when I get home.”
Well my bags are packed, and I just tucked myself into bed
You watch the text bubble appear, disappear, and reappear over three times before it vanishes completely. Minutes go by; maybe ten, maybe fifteen, and then—
Show me.
Grinning, you loosen the tie around your robe to reveal a flash of the skin across your chest; the curve of your left breast, the peak of your nipple. Take a picture and make sure he can see your finger snagged between your lips, resting against the softness of your tongue.
For a moment you worry. Feel a spike of fear in your chest that if you send it someone else might catch a glimpse of his screen – that Rachel might see it. But then another text comes through, and you feel that fear melt into a warm pool of liquid.
I know you want to show me, sweetheart.
So you do. You click send and wait, teeth catching against the nail on your thumb.
The response is almost instant.
Jesus.
Are you wet?
You know I am
Are you touching yourself?
No
Good.
Dinner finished early. Where are you?
You send him the address of your hotel. Call the lobby and tell them to let him up. And when he arrives, you’re waiting for him on the balcony. You hear the heavy pad of his footsteps crossing the room, and then the slide of the glass door. Feel the broad span of his chest press against your back; outstretched fingers that glide around the curve of your waist to settle over your stomach.
Joel doesn’t say a word, nosing at the frizzled kinks of hair at the base of your neck. One of his hands drifts upward, fingers curling beneath the neckline of your robe, just grazing the curve of your breast. You let your eyes fall closed and think this feels like coming home.  Think, if this moment could last for hours, for days, for ever, that would be enough, and I’d never ask for another thing. Think, where have I been all of my life, and why was it not here with him?
You say, “Let’s go inside,” as he touches your nipple, and feel him shake his head.
“No,” he says. Presses his hips against your ass, rough denim brushing the backs of your knees. “Want you here.” 
You start to say Someone might see, but Joel pushes you forward again and your stomach presses against railing. Your eyes dart down toward the street, the road. To cars and pedestrians and tourists. 
“You don’t want that?” his lips brush the side of your neck as he speaks, the softest pressure. He tugs at your robe, guiding it down past your shoulders, elbows, until it pools around your feet. “Don’t want them to see us together?”
“That’s not—” you gasp as his teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder, hot tongue gliding over already bruising flesh. “Fuck, Joel.”
He groans against your skin, lathing wet kisses past your neck to the top of your spine. His hands are on your waist and your stomach and your tits and his jeans chafe against your bare ass, zipper catching every now and then. But your mind is hazy, a blur of thoughts that can only focus on the feeling of teeth and lips, on something long and firm pressing through the material of his pants, rutting slowly against you. 
“You’re hard already,” you breathe, surprised—delighted.
Joel grunts, distracted. “Been hard since you sent me that picture.”
A shaky breathes leave your lips as his hand skirts down your stomach, your hipbones, until his fingers slip past the glistening seam of your cunt – tender and swollen and aching. 
“But that’s what you wanted, hmm?” he rasps. You whimper as his fingers circle over your entrance, collecting your slick and dragging it upward. A flinch rips through you when he touches your clit, the nerves fraught after being given so much attention throughout the day. “You like knowin’ how much I want you? How badly? You like that I’d leave dinner early just to come here and fuck you?”
Face on fire, you nod; caught out. And then he takes another step forward, bending you further over the railing and pressing himself against you, hard enough that you can feel his cock between your ass cheeks, denim scraping the sensitive skin there.
“That is how much I want you. All the fuckin’ time,” he says. “Get it?” 
“Joel,” you stutter urgently, voice almost a squeak. Your thighs shake, knees close to buckling as his finger rubs slow circles against your clit. “S’too—fuck, Joel, it’s too sensitive.” It burns, too much – but his touch only serves to stoke the fire in your belly until it’s a roaring, raging thing, begging for more of too much. 
“I know, honey,” he groans, and you think you can hear the sound of his zipper coming undone. “You sore?”
When you don’t answer immediately Joel’s fingers still, body straightening as if he’s about to stop, about to pull away.
“Don’t,” you say quickly. “Just—”
“M’not goin’ anywhere,” Joel hushes. “Does it hurt?”
You hesitate, stomach tightening when his fingers start to move again. “It’s… yeah a little, but it’s…”
“But you like it? Like it when it hurts a little?” he fills the silence, and you can hear the change in his voice. Hear how it deepens, a gravelly effect that has your cunt tightening. You cringe, turn your head to the side in the hopes that he won’t see your reaction. But he doesn’t let it slide. Of course not. “Talk to me.”  
“Yeah, yes, I like it,” you admit, exhaling a relieved sigh when you hear his belt hit the ground.
“Good,” he says, and then you can feel him, hot silken skin on your own, the wet glide of his cock against your ass check.
His knuckles brush against you as he adjusts himself, and the weight of his tip at your opening is not unlike the brush of his fingers along your bruised shin. Tender, careful – the touch of someone that would never hurt you. Not unless you asked him to.
When Joel rocks his hips forward, cock splitting you open around his weight, the stretch is long and deep. A sweet, searing burn that has you balancing on the tips of your toes, mouth hanging open as you grip the railing and take it. The night air is cool against your skin, but warm hands land firm on your hips, thumbs circling and rubbing away the goosebumps there
“God,” he grunts into the hinge of your jaw, teeth nipping at the muscle there. “You’re so wet, so needy. Want this cock all the time, don’t you?”   
You can only moan in response – a choked, whimper of a noise that scratches its way out of your throat as he bottoms out. His thighs are warm and thick against yours, body practically moulding itself to you as you squirm, cunt pulsing around the thick length of him.
He gives you a moment to adjust, waits to feel you relax against him, and then he’s moving. Slow, powerful thrusts that have you feeling him in your stomach, and wishing you could see his face. Wishing you could watch his nose scrunch up, his lips curl into a snarl as he fucks you. Wishing that everything you’re feeling could be reflected back to you in his face, the way it was last night.
“Thought about you all night,” he says in your ear, a dirty little confession, whispered only for you to hear. “You know how sick that is? At dinner with my colleague, my friend, and I couldn’t get this perfect cunt out of my head. S’drivin’—me—fuckin’—crazy.”
And it’s sick, it’s awful, but you feel your lips peel back, face breaking into a toothy grin at the words. That envy, that jealousy, that dark green sticky feeling - all of it for naught because you were right. Joel Miller is yours.
“Yeah?” you pant, pushing your ass back into him and smiling even wider when he grunts, blunt fingernails digging into your waist. “What were you thinking about?” 
“’Bout how tight you always are,” he kisses the side of your neck, tongue flicking incessantly against the skin there. “How perfect you felt around me last night. How you take it so well.” He bites down, sucking until the skin throbs, another mark left in his wake. “How, if I can help it, I’ll never wear a condom when I fuck you again.”  
You curse, head lolling back against his shoulder. The confession makes you ache. “Please,” you mutter desperately. “Joel, please.”
“Thought about fillin’ you up,” he continues eagerly. “Fuckin’ you so hard, so deep with my come that you’d feel it for days. And you’d be mine.” His hips snap forward in a particularly harsh thrust and you grunt, cringing as the railing bites into your ribs. Mine mine mine.
“I’m yours,” you moan as he fucks you, a steady smack-smack-smack sound filling the air as his hips collide with the meat of your ass, over, and over, and over again. “You know I am.”
And you want to know what he thinks of that, want to know what comes next, but the sound of laughter echoes up from the street suddenly, and you tense, eyes snapping wide open. Joel doesn’t slow down.
“Look at them,” he hushes, voice quietening some.
His hand raises to point somewhere over the balcony, but you don’t see where; eyes trained on his fingers, his skin, the blue veins that swell and pulse beneath it. Your eyes try to follow it, but you’re looking the wrong way, following the hard line of his wrist, the corded veins in his forearm, his bicep, trying desperately, shamelessly, to catch a glimpse of his face.
“I said look at them,” his voice deepens, an authoritative tone taking over as his long fingers grip your jaw, angling it down until you do as he says.
You can see three of them. Squinting, you try to make out their faces from four storeys up. Stumbling down the street, laughing loudly, bumping shoulders as they walk.
Joel’s hips press forward and you gasp, eyes rolling back as his swollen tip nudges the deepest, softest place inside of you.
“Wait,” you whisper hoarsely, body jerking forward with every practised thrust of his cock. Say again, “Someone might see.”
“I hope they do,” he growls, hand falling to drape over your neck.
His fingers press gently against either side, cradling your pulse point in the palm of his hand. Your brain goes foggy with the pressure, mind buzzing and blurring. The sensation of his broad grip against your throat mixes with the drag of his cock between your thighs and it’s intoxicating; a high that you’ve never experienced before, and never want to end. You don’t realise how loud you’re gasping, moaning, keening his name, until you hear him laugh. A rough, elated sound.
“I knew it,” he chuckles, and you tighten around him, fingers fumbling backward, seeking purchase at the soft flesh of his hips as he continues rocking into you. His hand drops from your neck to your tits, and he squeezes.
“Admit it. Admit you fuckin’ love it,” Joel pants, every word punctuated by a white-hot press of his cock and a heavy exhalation against your neck. “Dirty little thing—you want them to see. Say it.” 
“Fuck,” you cry, spine arching as you push backward, meeting the movements of his hips.
“Fuckin’ say it,” he snaps, all hints of laughter gone now, his rough drawl only offset by the fond way his hands play with your tits. Careful, kind; every pinch, every squeeze, every caress a generous and tender display.
“I want it,” you blubber, sight blurring into a mess of streetlights and skyscrapers and strangers on the street. “W-want them to see how you fuck me, how you take care of me.”
“That’s it,” he groans, and you can feel the way he twitches inside of you, cock jerking against your walls in hot fast movements.
“Want them to know,” you continue, and there’s tears streaking messily down your cheeks, your lips moving faster than you can control. “Want them to see us, see how good it is, how perfect.”
And it’s too much now, you think. Finally, too much of too much. The railing is bruising against your stomach. Every stroke of his cock, every graze of your nipples – Joel’s touch akin to the end of a frayed wire, sparking and spitting embers wherever the two of you come into contact. Your cunt is on fire, every inch of sticky wet flesh throbbing and smarting.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby, you gonna show them how you come for me? Gonna let them hear it?”
“I can’t,” you choke out, shaking your head numbly. Yours lungs are on fire, mouth dry as you try fruitlessly to suck in breath after breath. “Fuck, I don’t think I can—”
“Hey,” his voice calls. A rough finger wipes across your cheek, smearing the salty tears further across your skin. “You can, you can, I can’t—I fuckin’ need this, need it.”  
“It’s too much,” you gasp frantically. But your words aren’t matched by the desperate grind of your hips. Aren’t matched by the way you twitch and shake between him and the glass, abdomen tensing tighter tighter tighter with every thrust. “Fuck, I’m—I’m close but it’s too much, Joel, it’s too much, I can’t, I can’t—”
He pulls out quickly. You gasp wetly at the loss, at how your walls clench and suck around that empty warm space in his absence. Deft hands grip your waist, tilting and turning you until your back is against the railing now, and his mouth is between your legs, wet lips and tongue so soft in comparison, so soothing against that burn.
There’s no shying away now, no stuttering or whining – you simply melt, thigh softening around the curve of his shoulder, allowing him to hold you up as his tongue teases and coaxes you to the edge of your third mind-numbing, toe-curling orgasm that day.
And you don’t notice at first how his bicep shifts and flexes beneath your thigh. Don’t notice how he groans and sighs against your messy cunt, panting and muttering your name as he strokes his cock in tight, wet jerks. And when you come, gushing into his mouth, his eyes snap open, endless spheres of deep brown gazing up at you, desperate to see. Your legs tremble with the force of it, hands grappling for purchase on his shoulders, in his hair. And with your lips parted, tears drying on your cheeks, you watch the way his face crumples—wrecked. How eyebrows furrow and eyelids flutter shut. Joel’s mouth slips away from you, teeth sinking into the flesh of your thigh, something to ground him as he grunts, a low, ragged sound, before you feel him come in warm, thick spurts against your calf.
“Fuck,” you mumble deliriously. Can hardly hear yourself over the roar of your pulse in your ears. “So good, you’re so beautiful.”
Joel’s face is flushed, skin tinged with a deep red that settles across the highest peaks of his cheekbones and disappears into his beard. And when his eyes open again, drowsiness swimming beneath those heavy lids, you can see the way they shine. Glistening with something wet, something earnest. You thumb gently at his waterline, swiping away the tears like he’s done for you. 
His lips press a chaste kiss to the pad of your thumb, tongue snaking out to lick his tear from your skin, and you think you must repeat it, So beautiful, because he smiles. Breathing heavily, eyes wet, he grins for you. A flash of white that he quickly smothers against the skin of your leg.
After catching his breath, Joel leads you inside and helps you shower. Stands outside the glass door, hand gripping your elbow to brace your shaking frame as you glide soap over your arms, down your legs. His fingers dig in firmer when you slip a hand between your thighs, whimpering as warm water streams over the sensitive skin there. He doesn’t flinch or shy away when specks of water flick out and dampen his shirt.
“You okay?” he asks as he helps you out, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.
You nod, mind still foggy, and let him rub the coarse fabric over the skin of your arms, your legs, drying you off before he tucks you back into your robe. And when he leads you back into the room, helping you carefully onto the bed, a flash of concern splits across his face. He takes a step back, a step away, until his back is brushing against the wall.
You lay down on the bed, heavy limbs splayed haphazardly across the soft blankets and pillows. Your robe is open, the tie still forgotten somewhere on the balcony, revealing the skin of your stomach, your thighs, still dotted with warm droplets of water.
And Joel's not far, not really; tucked away in the corner of the room, unsure, arms hanging listlessly by his sides as he stares. Takes in every inch of you as if it’s the first time all over again. Perhaps, as if he’s worried it will be the last.
“I should go,” he says, painfully unconvincing.
“Yeah,” you agree quietly, eyelids heavy as you stare back at him.
Your lips part in a soft yawn as you scratch languidly at the skin over your ribs, and dark eyes follow the movement of your fingers. Watch how your skin smarts and pulls beneath your fingernails until you sigh in contentment, the itch disappearing.
“You gotta be up early,” he says.
“I do.”
“And it’s late,” his eyebrows raise.
“Is it?” you smile. Raise your eyebrows in return and laugh when he sighs, hands twitching at his sides.
“Are we really doing this again?” you ask, smile slipping when you notice his frown. The twisted furrow of his brows, the curl of his upper lip. As if all of the features on his face have pinched together in the middle. Something churns in your stomach; a sick feeling that rises to lodge at the base of your throat. Waiting. “Talk to me.”
“M’tryin’,” he admits quietly. “Tryin’… tryin’ to be good. I want to be good.”
Your heart drops. And then, driven by some emotion that you can’t name, don’t want to name, it climbs its way back up, lurching forward in your chest. It claws and scrapes and tears itself out through a crack between two of your ribs, flinging itself across the room at him.
“You are good,” you whisper. Feel your bottom lip wobble, unsteady but sure. Certain of nothing but this as the words slip out. “You’re good, Joel. We are good.”
And when he smiles you think you can see it in his teeth. Little fragments of your heart; the beating core of you, dark red and macerated in the cracks of his canines, the lining of his gums.  
Joel closes his eyes and repeats the word. A softly murmured, Good, as if the word itself confounds him, and you think you must be imagining the red smeared across his chin. Your blood seeping out past his lips, dribbling down to stain the skin of his neck.
“I hope you’re right.” He takes a deep, steadying breath. One that shakes the planes of his broad chest, makes it rise to its fullest potential before he sucks another in, shoulders relaxing, and walks across the room towards the bed.
Towards you.
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thank you for reading! x
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indigovigilance · 7 months
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A Nightingale Sang in 1941
This is my inaugural meta (yay!) Eventually I will learn how to add gifs and whatnot to make this more interesting but today, I give you a wall of text.
I need to give credit where credit is due to three existing metas that I’m drawing upon heavily here:
A speculative continuation of the 1941 story, which includes an almost-kiss while “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” plays on the gramophone,
A behavioral analysis of Aziraphale during the S2E6 finale (will find ref later if possible)
A meta-analysis of the way in which “coffee” is used as a symbolic equivalent for liberty and freedom of choice, a running theme of this show (will find ref later if possible)
I’m going to expand upon meta #2 and #3 and explain why I think there is are very compelling reasons to believe that #1 will be canonized.
At the end of S1E6, an instrumental version of “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” plays diegetically, but the lyrical version plays non-diegetically over the credits (we hear it but the protagonists don’t). So we the audience could plausibly say “that’s their song,” but as of the close of S1, we have no reason to believe that they know that it’s their song. Even Aziraphale’s S1E3 (1967) suggestion that they dine at the Ritz could be a reference that only he gets, or just a fancy restaurant suggestion.
So when I was watching S2E6 and Crowley said “no nightingales,” I was jarred. What does that even mean? We know it has something to do with dining at the Ritz, but what does it mean to them? The reference only works if they know it’s their song. But we’ve only ever seen them hear it together after the averted apocalypse; if this is the direct reference that Crowley is making, it leaves our 1967 reference contextless and twisting in the wind.
If we assume that there was a romantic story beat in 1941, wherein “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” (which, incidentally, was written in 1939 and saw the height of its popularity at the end of 1940, so timeline-wise it’s spot-on) became their song, then a lot of events get renewed interpretations through this lens, in a way that makes this story much more cohesive and the “no nightingales” comment even more soul-shattering than it already was.
Let’s presume that immediately after this became their song and just as they were discovering their romantic potential, they were forced back into hiding. Forever after, references to the song serve as a macro for “I’d like to pick up where we left off that night.”
The 1967 suggestion of “dining at the Ritz” now becomes a directly romantic suggestion. It also gives better context for “you go too fast for me.”
Actually going to the Ritz in 2019 is not simply a celebration or even a callback to 1967, it’s a callback to their almost-romance of 1941.
When Crowley says “no nightingales” in 2023, this isn’t to say “we’re not going to eat together at the Ritz anymore.” It’s saying that the romance that began that night, the precious, fragile romance, is over.
I’ll give you a moment to dry your eyes before we move on to metas #2 and #3.
In light that this is what has been going on - they know they want a romantic relationship but have gotten so used to hiding and denying it that they are more comfortable keeping the status quo static and quo-y then trying to achieve their ideal - a lot of S2 behavior can get a fresh view.
Crowley’s reaction to Nina isn’t a realization that he’s in love - he knew that already. You can only ask someone to run away with you so many times before you are forced to admit some things to yourself. No, he’s realizing that trying to hide it (which was justified by survival), hasn’t been working, but despite failing at being stealth nothing bad has happened. He’s realizing that it may finally be safe to show it.
Crowley’s confession, then, is not a revelation. It’s making the subtext text. He’s not telling Aziraphale anything he didn’t already know. He’s saying it now because he thinks he’s safe to do so. Pin in that.
Lots of people have lots of theories about Aziraphale’s motivations in the S2 finale, which can more or less be divided into 4 camps: the genuinely held belief, the coffee theory, the lie theory, and the mutual trick theory (some version of the body-switching at the end of S1). Let me start by saying that I love all the fans and all their theories and I find their analyses to be insightful. The genuinely held belief theory, while I believe it to be erroneous, has been incredibly conducive to so many wonderful conversations and I love being in a community that has those conversations. But I’m going to explain why I think the lie theory finds the most support in canon.
Re-watch the finale (when you feel like you can) from 35:18 to 36:19 and then from 40:45 to the end, paying very close attention to Aziraphale’s words and his eyes. Michael Sheen is telling us a LOT with his eyes, and in the back half of the finale scene, with pacing.
For 60 seconds of footage, this setup is doing a lot of work. If Neil Gaiman wasn’t doing enough to beat us over the head with how evil the Metatron is, that glare at Crowley at the end with the non-diegetic ominous horns should convey the message. But again, focusing on Aziraphale. He initially refuses to talk to the Metatron; he’s made his position quite clear. There is no hint of regret or wavering; this is not someone who’s aching to return to the fold. The Metatron ignores his refusal and functionally forces him to accept a “cup of coffee.” The coffee isn’t spiked, but it is a metaphor. It is symbolic of choice. The Metatron is going to force Aziraphale to make a choice. Meta #3 does a great job of exploring the idea that a choice between anything and death is never really a choice. Hang onto that thought.
Notice I had you start up again 3 seconds before “The Conversation.” That’s because it’s important to note where the Metatron is right now. He is across the street, staring straight in through those giant windows to where our protagonists are about to have The Conversation. He is watching.
When Aziraphale returns, Crowley begins his “let me talk” riff. Aziraphale ought to be interested in what Crowley has to say, since the preamble is pretty compelling. You’ll notice that Aziraphale quickly turns to the window and back, through which he (but not we) can see the Metatron standing there, watching them. Aziraphale is then doing his best to get Crowley to STFU without raising the suspicion of the Metatron, eventually having to cut him off.
Because unfortunately, Crowley’s entire impetus for speaking up now is that it’s safe to do so. Only Aziraphale knows that they are in very real danger (or at least, Crowley is, but I’ll come back to that).
You might take something from the fact that he’s shaking his head while talking about “incredibly good news,” and seems to self-censor his criticism of Metatron (or more specifically, he takes ownership of any criticism of the Metatron, censoring out Crowley’s role in that, with the emphasis on I in “I might have misjudged him”).
Notice in the flashback that he begins the conversation reasonably relaxed. The Metatron also says a series of things about him that not only are false, but everyone, including the Metatron and Crowley, know are false: Aziraphale is not a leader, he’s a defector; he’s not honest, he lies all the time, in fact this entire season revolved around his one huge lie of hiding Gabriel. Not only does the justification not make sense coming from Metatron, but it shouldn’t make sense that Aziraphale would accept these reasons and it shouldn’t make sense to Crowley either. So is Aziraphale including these details in his recounting to Crowley so that he will get suspicious and figure out the jig? Maybe. Let’s continue.
Immediately upon being offered the job of Supreme Archangel, Aziraphale says “but I don’t want to go back to Heaven.” This is direct evidence against the genuinely held belief theory. If returning to Heaven and making a difference was a genuine motivation, we would have gotten a different response at this moment. But then we get something more.
“Where would I get my coffee?”
This is a beautiful response for a number of reasons; coffee should be trivial compared to the opportunity to be a Supreme Archangel, so it serves to highlight just how little interest Aziraphale has in returning. Taken at face value, it’s the Aziraphale equivalent of “not even at gunpoint.” But remember that coffee is a metaphor for liberty in this universe and this season. So what Aziraphale just said, in the language of Neil Gaiman metaphors, is:
I don’t want to go back to Heaven, I would rather have free will.
What does the Metatron do next?
He brings up Crowley.
Watch Aziraphale’s eyes before and after the mention of Crowley. He goes from confused to eye-flicking panic in the space of two syllables. Aziraphale already understands that his “no” is not being accepted, and that bringing Crowley into it can only possibly serve as a threat.
So the coffee, the choice, is a false choice. No one ever orders death. The Metatron has forced Aziraphale into a situation that looks an awful lot like a choice (it comes in a blue cup, after all) but it isn’t.
We definitely have some reliable narrator problems here. I’m going to presume for purposes of analysis that these cut-outs are accurate but incomplete, and that a more explicit threat about what would happen to Crowley if Aziraphale did not return to Heaven was made.
If we assume that Aziraphale has been made aware of a threat and is trying to hide that from Crowley, the rest of this scene reads very differently. Aziraphale cannot say, “you are in danger but you will be safe if you swear your allegiance to Heaven” or “I have to go, no matter what, and the only way we can be together is if you come with me,” but nonetheless he now has to convince Crowley to do the one thing he ought to know Crowley definitely doesn’t want to do all through subtext. Which we’ve spent an entire season establishing that they can’t communicate well when they are allowed to use their words. Disastrously, this is not a magic trick that Aziraphale can make work when it counts. Their failure to practice good communication means that, right now, when it counts most, they are not going to pull it off.
We see that Aziraphale is very hopeful that Crowley will pick up on his cues and play along. Obviously, he doesn’t.
If the whole riff about Hell being bad guys and Heaven being the side of truth and light is taken as genuine, it discards a massive amount of character development that we’ve witnessed in Job, Edinburgh, etc. (again, to all the genuine belief subscribers, I think it’s a compelling argument but it simply doesn’t account for the evidence). So if it’s not genuine, why say it? Again, to alert Crowley that something is Off, because Crowley should know that Aziraphale doesn’t actually believe that. They saved humanity from Heaven and Hell. They hid Gabriel from Heaven and Hell. Crowley knows that Aziraphale knows that Heaven and Hell are just two sides of the same coin. Notice again that Aziraphale glances out the window while he’s talking up Heaven; he knows the Metatron is watching, he can’t not defend the position of Heaven. I think it’s also worth noting that Aziraphale forcefully glances and gestures off to Crowley’s left (away from the window) when talking about Hell, and then turns his head to Crowley’s right (towards the window) to try to get him to realize that a representative of Heaven is literally standing right over there, just look out the window please dumbass!
When Crowley is asking Aziraphale if he said no, and we see the back of Aziraphale’s head, again we can see him turn his head to glance out the window. This is also when he changes strategies, and admits that Heaven could use a little reform. Because now there’s a problem almost as big as getting caught, which is that he won’t be able to get Crowley to go with him.
Which unfortunately makes the next part of this so much more heartbreaking. Because when Crowley begins his speech about being a team, Aziraphale wants to hear it. He can’t bring himself to shut down Crowley again, even though it could get them both in massive trouble. Notice that he glances out the window again during this, and the look of panic on his face. He begins to shake his head when Crowley mentions that Heaven and Hell are toxic; this can be taken a lot of ways but I’ll argue for the interpretation that he’s trying to get Crowley to STFU and stop saying shit that could get him destroyed.
After Crowley puts on his sunglasses we are in the “back half” and Sheen is doing a lot with phrasing here, specifically pregnant pauses.
“Come with me… to Heaven!”
“We can be together… as angels!”
Based on the pacing decision I am thoroughly convinced that the first half of each of these statements is intended to be the message to Crowley and the second half is always a qualifying statement to satisfy the Metatron.
Unfortunately, these pregnant pauses are completely backfiring in their effect on Crowley. The sentiment gives him hope and the qualifying statement crushes it again immediately. He is being taken on a horrible emotional rollercoaster with these declarations which are only further amping up his instinct to run away.
The only truly genuine, unaldulterated statement I think we get from Aziraphale is
“I need you!”
When it becomes clear to Aziraphale that there’s been an irreparable breakdown of communication between them and the subtext is not getting across, he says:
“I don’t think you understand what I’m offering you.”
He means this literally. Crowley has not understood that Aziraphale is offering him protection from whatever threat the Metatron has made.
Which makes this part extra-devastating and also absolutely in keeping with a major running theme of this season.
“I understand. I think I understand a whole lot better than you do.”
Your understanding and my understanding are different understandings.
Crowley views the offer to return to Heaven through the lens of his trauma. He understands what life in Heaven would be like. But he doesn’t understand that Aziraphale is offering him protection.
But Aziraphale just heard Crowley say that he understood everything, and he’s still going to leave. There might be a little suspense of disbelief here to believe that Aziraphale really interpreted the statement this way, but we know that Aziraphale isn’t always the brightest battery-operated candle in the drawer. So under the assumption that Crowley did understand him and is still rejecting the offer, rejecting him—
“Well, then there’s nothing more to say.”
Please pay very close attention to Aziraphale’s body language for the next part. He’s active, agitated, turning side to side, arms swinging. This is a very fidgety angel.
“No nightingales.”
Aziraphale is now completely still. He’s feeling that feeling. You know it. The one where your entire body is getting sucked into the pit of your stomach. The aching paralysis.
This is their song, the one that began their romance in 1941, the secret code for all other attempts at flirtation. Crowley has walked out on him before, Aziraphale has been stubborn and obstinate before. But they always came back together, sometimes with an apology dance or other rituals that belonged solely to them.
But now the song is over.
By saying this, Crowley has broken up with Aziraphale. We can see in Aziraphale’s sudden transition from fidgety to paralysis that he has understood it this way.
Then he turns away from the window so that the Metatron won’t see him cry.
The kiss was heart-wrenching already. But we’re not done with this analysis.
During the kiss, Aziraphale has a choice to make between two very compelling bad choices. This is the Job dilemma. But worse.
If he doesn’t kiss Crowley back, he will let Crowley think that he doesn’t love him. He will have missed out on this (maybe/probably their first kiss?) and regret it forever.
If he does kiss Crowley back, in full view of the Metatron, they are in deep trouble.
He seems to do his best to split the difference. I would even go so far to say that the awkward arm waving is Aziraphale acting for the Metatron’s benefit, to try to portray that he doesn’t want this even though he absolutely does (just not like this). The anguish when they break the kiss is absolutely real, and the first thing he does is glance out the window. Through all this he has remained painfully aware of their spectator.
He wants to say I love you. He mouths it. He breathes it.
But the Metatron is watching.
He can’t tell Crowley I love you. So he has to say the only other thing that has always unequivocally meant “I love you” when he said it to Crowley. He has to hope that Crowley understands him now, even though he never has before.
Spoiler alert: Crowley doesn’t.
My forgiveness and your forgiveness are not the same forgiveness.
One more point against the genuine belief fans (I love you): if the offer to let Crowley back in is what changed his mind, then Crowley declining removes that incentive. Aziraphale should/would have consequently retreated to his last stated position of “I don’t want to go back to Heaven, where would I get my Crowley—I mean, coffee?” [post-publication nod to @theonevoice for a great little meta] It simply doesn’t hold up to scrutiny.
I think a lot of fans were already making these assumptions about the use of the nightingale song so this meta may not feel revelatory, however, it isn’t canon (yet), and I’m sure I’ll find company that agree that canonization of this connection would strengthen a lot of these story points, as evidenced by how it is already assumed by many fans.
If you made it to the end - omg thank you! Please leave a note and tell me your thoughts!
Bonus: somebody already made the song connection here
~~~
if you liked this, you may also like:
Book of Life and what it means for Crowley
The Erasure of Human!Metatron
Baraqiel and Azazel
~~~
Recommended related (lie theory) metas by other people:
making the subtext text by @theonevoice
Aziraphale's Decision Matrix by @yowlthinks
Nothing Lasts Forever: META by @phoen1xr0se
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crashtestbunny · 25 days
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Sore Loser (Ghost x F!Reader x Soap)
Rugby boy au? Rugby boy au. The six nations is on and there's only one thing the nations can agree on: We want England to lose.
Also credit where due! inspired by @ceilidho
Summary: Simon lost a bet to Johnny, now he has to watch as Johnny claims his prize. CW: cuckolding. Word Count: 1436.
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It had been all fun and games, Simon thought, telling Johnny he could have a go at his bird if he won the next game. Made them better, work harder, pushed them to actually fucking compete for the chance at a real prize: stuffing a puffy little cunt full of their cum while you wore the opposing team's jersey.
It was all fun and games. Simon had told you of their little bet while he held you firmly to the ground, dragging his cock out of your slick folds at an agonizing pace while the resistance band tempted to snap his hips back in just the way you liked. Told you he had to train harder to make sure that his was the only cock that would take the prize home. Then his hips snapped back in and his cock bullied into your cervix, bruising it with the force, "Gonna help me train, love? Make me a winner?" he would grunt with each delicious pull out as your pussy attempts to suckle him back in.
"Oh God, Simon, fuck, yes yes yes- yes! Gonna make sure you win-" you promised as the drool leaked onto the pillows and your eyes rolled back. His big, rough hand moves from your waist to your clit, thumb rubbing it in a desperately hard motion as he picks up the pace to make you both winners that evening.
So, it was indeed all fun and games, until it went tits up. Literally.
Laid out on the bench in the empty locker room, legs pinned open by strong Scottish hands while MacTavish lapped at your cunt like a dog, slick, slopping noises echoing around the room as he moans, savouring your pussy like the finest dessert. You're bent backwards over the bench while you're crying out in pleasure, white England jersey gathering at your neck to leave your tits exposed.
Simon sat on a stool at your head, his thick legs spread to accommodate the growing arousal in his shorts, the first and last thing your rolling eyes see as your hands grasp onto his calves, nails digging into the skin to anchor back to reality while Johnny delivers crashing waves of pleasure over you.
He pulls his mouth away, allowing the cold of the locker room to touch the warm, swollen slit, it flutters in response while he spreads the lips, "Such a pretty cunny eh, Simon? Real prize." his smile is cruel, thumb pressing into her clit and flicking it lazily, causing small spasms to ripple through your body.
"See tha'? Gonnae make her cum all over my mouth and fingers, gonnae take your bonnie little bird, Si." He grunts out as his thumb circles your clit, slow and languid in its pace while he lowers his mouth back down, tongue dipping into the hole and nose buried between slick folds.
Simon can't help himself, between the slick clicking noises when Johnny drags his tongue over your pink folks, the cries of ecstasy, and your nails digging into his calves, he's rock hard. The tip of his monster cock kissing his bellybutton and begging to be freed from his shorts. He rolls the waistband of his shorts and underwear down to release the length, his huge fist wrapping around it and giving it a few firm tugs as he grunts out, "Fuck love, if I didn't know any better I'd say you like watching me lose."
You gasp as your eyes roll back, the chord in your stomach starting to strain and that familiar knot forming, you see Simon's aching cock hanging over your face as he strokes it, a glob of cum leaking down onto your face as Johnny laps you up and rubs your clit.
"Fuck Simon I'm gonna- I'm gonna!" You scratch along his calves, pink streaks on the pale skin.
"Go on love, show MacTavish why you're a prize worth competing for. Show him that pretty little face, your sweet little scream." he moans, head tilting back as he strokes his angry red cock faster.
That's all it takes, the chord pulls on that knot and you see white, as your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth forms an O. You let out a scream of pure delirious pleasure while your hips grind down against Johnny's mouth, squirting down his throat while he holds your shaking legs apart, swallowing every last drop and leaving open mouthed kisses along your swollen pussy.
"Fuck lass, you're so sweet, that wee cunt just aching to be tasted everyday." He gives your thighs a gentle bite, sucking a purple hickey into them, "Does it like to be fucked too? Want my cock in you, bonnie? Let Simon see what winners get?" he whispers in a husky voice.
Simon grunts in annoyance, "You couldn't fill her like I can, MacTavish." his breathing is haggard as he watches you get bent over the bench on your stomach now.
Johnny gives your ass a firm smack, eliciting a sharp moan from you, "Now, now, Riley. I knew you were a loser, but not a sore loser. Bet's a bet."
You feel the spongy tip of Johnny's cock rub between your folds, teasing your clit before he sinks into your dribbling hole. Simon watches as your face contorts in relieved pleasure, as your gummy walls clench around his rival's cock and suck him in deep, snug, and warm, a little giggle heard in your moan. He's humiliated and seething, his jaw clenching as he reaches forward and pulls your hair, forcing you to look at him, "You better savor this, pet. When he's done with you we're going right back to training until I win."
It starts slowly, a rock of the hips that bumps you forward, his cock buried deep inside you and filling you up. Then he pulls out while your pussy attempts to pull him back in desperately, and his hips snap back in, the curve of his cock scratching that little spot along your walls that makes you see stars.
Johnny's huge hands bruise your hips as he rides you, his hips meeting your plump ass in a relentless manner, his balls slamming up against your abused pussy as you soak them, a ring of cream around the base of his cock and droplets of pleasure running over the sack below. Spurned on by the name 'Riley' printed on the back of the jersey as he fucks you.
Simon is still holding you by the hair, forcing you to look at him as he hisses at you, stroking his furious cock like a madman.
"Look at you moaning like a whore for that Scot's cock."
"You better enjoy it now, pet, because I am going to be brutalizing that pussy, show you who really owns it."
"Gonna cum? Gonna be a little slut and cum on a cock that ain't mine?"
Your mouth is hanging open as these two men use you like a sexdoll, one making you scream in pleasure as he pounds into your cunt, building up that familiar snap in your stomach again. The other promising such debauched things you can't even imagine the delicious torture awaiting you at home.
Your pussy begins to clench around the cock inside and Johnny hisses, "Fuck lass, I'm gonnae cum." he bends over you, broad, hard chest pressed to your back and covering 'Riley' up with his body, he whispers into your ear with a cruel smile, "Gonnae cum with me lass? Yknow what ya gotta say, right?" A hand wrapping around your throat as you look at him with delirious, hazy eyes.
"Scotland for the six nations. Go on lass. Look at Simon and tell him who you wannae win." He grunts, his pace becoming manic as he abuses that spot inside you, and you can feel it coming to a crescendo.
Simon looks at your lidded eyes as you stay focused on not rolling them back, his balls tightening as he watches you come undone before him.
"Scot-Scotland!" You scream out, your arms and legs giving way as your eyes squeeze shut, the orgasm rippling over you and causing full body shakes.
That's all it takes. Johnny does, one, two, three hard thrusts and then his warm, sticky seed is flooding your sopping cunt, while Simon is stood, using your hair to shove his cock into your wide mouth as he pours fat globs of salty cum in, and you're so fucked out you can't even close your mouth a swallow, so it drips down your chin onto the floor.
You hope that England loses another match.
a/n: I don't write smut. Like at all - I usually write overly descriptive fanfictions without a lot of dialogue haha... so if there's any criticisms or positives do let me know (probably not enough dialogue and too much descriptions lol). I had fun.
Extra note: One day I'll learn to format. It's just not today.
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A DC X DP #18
You want a taste of my brain? Okay, it's yours anyway.
Imagine dis…
This time I get inspiration from an A03 fic, and some of its parts just stuck with me and now I’m writing about it, if some of you want to read it go for it. If you are asking for the name don’t ask, I am not going to sell my soul to the devil to find it in my ever-growing history. If you do manage to find it, kudos to them.
TELL ME I AM GETTING DESPERATE OVER HERE
Credits to them as well. Also, as you’ve noticed I decided to post less, now it is due to a good old lack of inspiration. So, don’t go getting your hopes up on this one.
Ever since Danny Phantom had become the Ghost King he repeatedly entered the reincarnation cycle willingly to retain his morals when he was human. He still retained his ability to stay in the middle of life and death. But when he as the High King of the Infinite Realms gained immortality he found himself losing his ideals and values, he began forgetting. With Clockwork’s insistence, every few hundred years he would become human to experience a lifetime. Sometimes he would go another round in the same dimension, but only when he needed to finish an unfinished business.
Sometimes he is lucky sometimes he is not.
Sometimes he would be born into a loving family with either as the only child or him having siblings. He has experienced the life of royalty as the heir prince. He experienced the life of a knight who was known for his skills with the sword. He was born into a normal family which made him second guesses his every choice due to his lack of normality in his life. He was also born into some wild dimensions that of which could look like it came from a book. From wizards and sci-fi worlds, he never had the time to sit and be an extra.
But there were also times he was born far too unlucky. 
He was born in a salve ridden society, a parent who were core members of a rebellion so when his current parents died, he was expected to be like his parents. Born in a society where the rich trample the poor and he was forced into early child labor as expected in society to work at a very young age. Born where he and the people around him had never seen peace in a war-consumed country, a war that separated his family from each other not knowing whether one is alive or not, leaving only him and his siblings to stay alive. Being abandoned by a pair of druggies for his parents left alone inside a dumpster and died in the middle of the night, looking through the dimension he saw that some homeless people found his body and reported it to the authorities leaving his parents in jail while some prisoners seem to leave them at the near bottom of the hierarchy in prison.
It seems this time he was born in an assassin cult this time he wasn’t alone. A twin, an older sibling that was with him in the womb and both came into the world together. The moment he laid his eyes on his grandfather he can already tell that he is a major fruit loop from the way he both look at both of them. 
His name is too formal for his liking, Dylan Al Ghul, he already convinced Damian to call him Danny when it was just the two of them. Danny tries to downplay his abilities both ghost and human seeing that his grandfather is too power-hungry to the point of misusing ectoplasm that is corrupted but still ectoplasm to achieve some sort of immortality, he tried to give Damian a childhood in the form of showing him the stars whenever he could sneak him outside. He saw the absolute worship and awe Damian would give to their mother and their grandfather whenever they visit or supervised their training, Danny didn’t care for their approval nor their presence but seeing his brother seem to at awe and do anything to please the two made his heart shatter, his older brother never needed to prove anyone something.
Danny has repeatedly shown his disdain for the two most powerful people in the organization yet it is a miracle he still lives. It is because he is a spare, a spare yes not the heir but a useful spare one, twins one who specialized in stealth and espionage a twin who is a perfect copy of Damian aside from his eyes mirroring their supposed father. Both Talia and Ra seem to make it their life mission to drill his only purpose in his head, it may have never worked due to his adult mind but he pretended it would be as to not raise any suspicion.
The day Deathstroke attacked not only he dared to kill the demon head but also choose to kill the chosen heir, by removing an eye and some of his organs as a form of slow torture but also killing him as he made the organs unable to go back to their owner’s body.
Danny couldn’t look away from his bloodied brother, Talia slowly approached him from behind and put her hands on his shoulder, and whispered some honeyed words on how his role as the spare will be fulfilled at a much earlier date and promptly injected with a sleeping drug.
Danny was already awake when he noticed the cold metal bed behind him the lack of clothes as well the number of doctors seemingly in a rush to prepare for a last-minute surgery. He saw the unconscious form of Damian on the other side and suddenly heard the loud ticking noise of a grandfather’s clock. 
It seems that it was meant to be, Danny thought as an image of Clockwork flashed in his mind. 
He fell back asleep knowing that Damian lost an eye, kidney, a lung, some ribs as well an ungodly amount of blood, possibly more. Danny knew that this vessel of his wouldn’t survive at the sheer need and he already felt that he would not leave the room alive. So, he took one last peek at the sleeping Damian and promptly closed his eyes, the moment he opened his eyes once again he was back in his chambers in the Infinite Realms clutching his left eye in his face whilst looking at the mirror as he felt his eye be the first one to be removed.
It seems this time he died months before he and his brother celebrated their 10th birthday.
Damian woke up with a pounding headache being the assassin he is he immediately looked around seeing that his last memory is being tortured by Deathstroke.
He immediately took notice of his loose clothing and tried to walk towards the door but his knees immediately gave out. As he tries to gain his bearings, he noticed a scar right in the middle of his chest, it couldn’t be from the time when he was captured by Deathstroke as he noticed that this scar is too clean, too sterilized as if someone had just come out of a surgery type of scar. As he tries to loosen his shirt to take a better look at his scar when he noticed a mirror facing his way and noticed his eyes, instead of his usual pair of emerald eyes he was greeted with an emerald eye of his own and his brother’s icy blue eye in his left eye.
Damian remembered that Deathstroke took out his eye, as according to him it reminded him of the Demon head, and decided to promptly pull it out with his bare hands. 
Dread began to fill his very being and tried to go and look for his brother but deep down he already knew what happened to him after all, he is the heir while his brother his beloved younger brother is just a spare.
When Damian had met his father’s wards most of them commented on his heterochromia eyes and promptly greeted back with his sword in their faces.
The rest grumbled that Damian couldn’t take a tease or two, but immediately chased the demon brat as he chases each and one of them with the intent to kill.
Damian couldn’t tell them; another son was hidden from Bruce. Another son he had failed, another son who died before they could even meet him.
From the first few interactions he had with his father when he first met him, he knew where his brother’s bleeding heart came from.
Sometimes he could still see him, Dyl- no Danny, every time he looks in the mirror. The constant reminder that his brother was seen by the league as nothing but a spare. Whatever love he had for his mother disappeared the moment he laid his sight at his brother’s eye embedded in his supposed empty eye socket. 
The constant reminder that shows every time he looks at the mirror and the scar in the middle of his chest, Danny’s organs that were used on him to ensure his survival while Danny was left behind.
He was 14 years old when he went wide-eyed at the stranger across him and his brothers in a heavily populated area.
A teen looks exactly like him with a medical eyepatch on his left eye as he sits in a wheelchair chatting idly with an older man.
Damian heavily thought of a clone, did Talia, not mother never mother, make another clone after him after weeks of silence?
Damian still remembered the first time he encountered a clone with blue eyes, his running theory is that due to his new organs have bonded with him thus creating a batch of clones with blue eyes. Timothy had spoken up that since babies have a 50/50 chance of inheriting the colored eyes of either parent made a new branch of clones. 
Damian was already planning on disposing of the supposed clone when the said clone suddenly laughed exposing his neck that have a feign white line across indicating a scar. But that scar made Damian double guess, all clones he encountered are scarred free thus leaving him to have no trouble disposing of each and one of them but the existence of the scar he barely caught is something both brothers swore secrecy to it.
The laugh oh god, his laugh, only his brother laughs like that, Damian thought mournfully.
As he tries to look the other way, he suddenly faced the same doctor who was the assistant doctor that foresees his surgery years ago. He may have distanced himself from the League after he had fulfilled his debt but it was no mistaking that it was the same doctor that operated him that time.
A chemist they said, an insufficient man who is more cowardly than any other man yet his talent in poisons made him quite a gem in the League.
A clone who had broke out of their collective mind control? Possible, but why this clone? What made this look alike so special that this man dared to leave the League?
Robin began to follow the two, the other bats thought that he had a new case on his lap that requires recon. They didn’t question Robin’s new behavior as they have seen him do the same actions when he landed himself a case or when he was following a lead. Yet they couldn’t shake the feeling that something is not right, whether it is the fact that Robin refused any assistance or just the fact they have no idea what kind of case Robin is working on.
They should have listened to their guts then maybe they wouldn’t be surprised at the bat screen, showing a maternal and paternal match to a picture of a blue-eyed black-haired kid with a medical eyepatch on his left eye looking like Damian in a good day.
Danny was doing some paperwork when a flying thought passed by him about his last reincarnation. All memories from his adventures when he got reincarnated are usually put behind the back of his hand yet worries about the well-being of his brother made him distracted, and kept close a special one-way mirror to monitor his baby brother.
Danny felt nostalgic at the family drama and chaos that he can’t help but cackle at each interaction Damian has with their father’s adopted children and wards. He found himself majorly of his time watching for hours and hours, he can’t help but wish he was there. As if he was summoned Clockwork appeared in front of him and told him to go back, which confuses Danny since it was Clockwork who implemented that he cannot go back to the same dimension/ world if his body is too far gone to be revived by him, yet Clockwork told him to give someone named Alfred his regards and vanished. Looking bewildered at his mentor/ grandfather he tried to sense his vessel with little to no hope seeing that the League has his body, but surprises himself when he felt his own body submerged in a portion of the Lazarus pit. 
Going back, he was greeted by an assistant doctor that used to be in the League due to his ancestor’s debt. He explained that he cannot in good conscience do what he was instructed to after the operation, stole his body, and submerged it in an undiscovered pit due to its small size, enough to dump a child not enough for a grown adult. 
After an initial check-up, both he and the doctor discovered that the mini Lazarus pit regenerated all of his organs except his eye seeing that it was his entire body submerged excluding his head. The assistant doc theorized that those organs of his may be weaker since they were generated from nothing, Danny in all his eldritch glory as well as being the most powerful being across the Infinite Realms played his part perfectly of a now disabled child.
After all who would accuse this disabled child putting the daughter of the Demon Head in an endless nightmare by his command to Fright Knight? Who would accuse that innocent blue eye of his that he had killed any assassin in their tail ever since he and his now temporary guardian began exploring the world? Who would accuse an adorable child that he was the one who had put the Joker in a definite MIA? Who would accuse this child who smiles like the sun despite his setbacks be the one who tortured Deathstroke to the brink of insanity? Danny is pretty sure his temporary guardian knew of his secret endeavors but remained quiet due to his habit when he was in the League or just to prevent any grayer hairs from growing in. 
Now if only his brother stopped moping around the building across their apartment complex and just come inside, he made his infamous fudge to share with his brother. His brother didn’t have to drag the rest of the bat brigade in watching him across the building, he even made extra fudge, if only they could just go through the front door instead of rescuing him first in every rogue attack and pretend, they don’t him. Well, if they are playing a game then count him in to win. But for some reason all of them made a face of being constipated whenever they talk to him, Danny is so sure he used clean ingredients to make his fudge…
God dammit just enter the front door like a normal person, better yet tell Batman to stop looking at him as if he died! Those windows are not paying to fix themselves each time one of them decided to stop dropping and roll every other night!
PS: If someone out there wanted to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.
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voidpetrova · 2 months
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you can pretend — rafe cameron x reader
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☄. *. ⋆ content warning(s) & genre: swearing, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, substance abuse in general, self-sabotage — angst
˚♡ 。˚ synopsis: he had nobody to blame but himself, he was his own enemy
✧.*
you can pretend you're getting better, like it's all going away. you can pretend, but the echoes of betrayal linger in the spaces between memories. the shattered fragments of trust lay scattered, a painful mosaic of what was once love. you can pretend you've found a way out, even though you're just going in circles. you can pretend you're not in love, even though it's all you have left.
rafe knew where it all started, he knew the problems he faced wouldn't have existed in the first place if it weren't for him. he was his own worst enemy. giving credit where its due, the road wasn't always rocky. much like any other relationship, the honeymoon phase was short-lived—it was meant to set the tone of your entire relationship. from the parties to the picnics, to meeting your parents, to meeting his friends. the joy was endless, but nothing lasts forever.
the first nine months flew by quickly, which is precisely why what followed hit you like a ton of bricks. it all started with petty arguments—typical stuff—“why aren't the dishes done?” and “you're using again, aren't you?”. these were daily topics, occurences that happened nearly every day—if you went a day without fighting, you'd truly be thanking god. those petty quarrels were kicked up a notch after a few weeks, jealousy issues and making scenes in public. the more rafe used, the harder it was on you, but finally, there was a reckoning.
three months later, and he had finally stopped using. it shocked him more than it had shocked you, but it was done, cold turkey. he spent the next two months sober, and things were finally taking a turn for the best. you were happy, you were both content, as if the honeymoon phase was ready to make a reappearance. all of that went to waste the minute you found out rafe had been cheating those two months.
it wasn't something you had expected, not even from someone like him. you had given him your all—you took care of him, drove him home when he was too wasted to do it himself, bathed him when he was too strung out, cooked for him, stayed loyal to him—things most men dream about. the day you found out, it killed something inside you. you were in physical pain, unable to breathe, you could barely get yourself together.
you left him the next day, quicker than anticipated. the day you confronted him, he had greened out thirty minutes prior. he hadn't registered a single thing you said, despite the screaming and sobbing, not a single word was processed. after that, you made sure you were unreachable. even when topper had filled in the blanks for him, it was too late. no matter the method, he had no way of accessing you. that's when his life truly began to fall apart.
“i feel disgusting,” were the words you had uttered to kiara and sarah. sitting in front of the mirror on your wall, you brushed your hair out, untying the knots and tight ends. despite being his sister, sarah was one of your biggest supporters. she felt for you, and did everything in her power to make you feel better. she exchanged a disappointed glance with kiara as they made her way up to you.
there was truly no way to describe your beauty, something that couldn't be put into words. it was one of the many reasons nobody believed rafe had it in him to cheat, it took a lot of convincing. “you have never been disgusting,” kiara assured, brushing loose strands of your hair down past your shoulder. “you can't let this ruin you, not this. not him.”
sarah couldn't help but nod in agreement, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “besides,” she rested her chin on your shoulder, offering a sweet smile. “now you've got the best excuse to come to the party tonight, don't you?” you returned the smile, you had to. they were your dear friends, and you knew all they wanted was the best for you. though hesitant, you nodded in agreement.
rafe had no interest in hosting any parties with his friends. in fact, rafe had no interest in anything anymore. he laid, spread out on his couch, another can of beer in one hand, a blunt in the other. topper and kelce had been concerned since the day the break-up took place. they had resorted to persuading both parties, in fact, with no positive results.
“you gotta stop that man, it's enough,” kelce commented, his tone genuine. rafe's eyes were bloodshot as he shot him a glance. he couldn't sleep, his mind wouldn't let him. the guilt would eat him alive, unless he had something in his system. the lack of your presence was replaced by each line he snorted, each pill he took, each whore he paid for a good time. but the feeling would always come back. he sneered at his friend, “i'll decide when it's enough.”
the kook party started off as a lavish affair held in their beachfront mansion. the atmosphere was opulent, with elegant decorations and dimmed lights creating a sophisticated ambiance. guests were dressed in upscale attire, sipping on exotic cocktails while a live band played smooth tunes. the air was filled with laughter and the occasional clinking of glasses as attendees enjoyed the extravagant setting overlooking the ocean. it exuded an air of exclusivity, with a mix of socialites and high-society figures mingling in an upscale celebration.
“party's a shitshow,” rafe snapped, teeth grinding as he held onto the bathroom's sink with both hands, knuckles whitening. he only glanced in the mirror for a split second, no longer. he had reached his breaking point, unable to stand the sight of himself in the mirror. one hand was lifted, giving him less leverage, but just enough for him to swipe his credit card from his pocket, arranging lines amongst the white powder on the sink's edge. the first line went by in a flash, his nostrils searing with an amazing pain. the second went by just as fast, along with the third.
he blew the excess powder off the sink, watching it blend in with the atmosphere. knowing he would need time for the effects to kick in—for his head to spin fast enough to rid him of his focus, all the problems he had been facing. his main one, the one he had been struggling with for as long as he could remember. he couldn't face you, he couldn't stand the sight of you. it made his stomach churn and his blood boil, knowing he was his own worst enemy.
as he left the bathroom, he could feel his heart pounding in his ears. he ignored the crowd that surrounded him, the hands reaching out to greet him, the voices calling out to him, asking if he was alright. he could feel his chest rising heavily, eyebrows furrowed as if trying to block the upcoming headache. he moved past everybody as fast as he could, desperate for fresh air. if he had known what awaited him outside, he would've asked god to take him right then and there.
you were wrapped in a mesmerizing blend of gold and baby pink, adorned with delicate lace that mimiced the intricate patterns of ocean waves. the short length accentuated your legs, and the subtle shimmer added a touch of ethereal beauty. you wore it with confidence, your radiance enhancing the dress's allure, creating a stunning ensemble that captured everyone's attention. you were radiant, pushing your hair down your shoulder as you chatted with jj and pope, allowing them to relax you as much as they could. they knew how nervous you were.
everybody did. rafe could see it, too. he stood there, yards away, frozen in his tracks. for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel anger. it was a feeling that couldn't be described—a painful melancholy that would drive him to tears instead of the nearest bottle of expensive liquor. he couldn't move, no matter how much he wanted to. he stayed there, eyes glued to you, watching every move you made.
you were all he had, all he would ever have. even when he knew he didn't have you.
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anonymouslosersworld · 2 months
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♡ Succubus♡
Prompt; Mc/reader armed with the teaching Solomon decided to mess around with magical creations and like Icarus flew too close to the sun before falling... in their case fell victim to horniness.
Fandom: Obey me shall me date
Characters: Beel, Belphie, and Asmodeus.
Genre: Smut (M)
Contains: dubcon, unprotected sex, dom reader, sex toys, voyeurism??, and corruption kink.
Credit goes to @asmology. They have wonderful blog and written pieces. I was so in love with their charmed series and just wanted to try my hand at writing it myself. Please don't hesitate and check out their blogs.
[Obey me masterlist]
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Prologue; After you had successfully enrolled in the sorcerers' academy and become Solomon's one and only apprentice after a couple of months. He had encouraged you to explore magical items and such. Due to many lonely and hot nights, you settled on magical items. Using your knowledge you created a life-like magical dildo/vibrator of your love interest. Unknowingly to you {or maybe knowingly you did but wouldn't admit it}it was also charmed with your love interest feeling whatever you did to it.
Beelzebub
The water trickled down Beelzebub's achy body. He had just finished a late training session for Fangol. He had been feeling this empty pit in his chest since you had gone to the human world, and nothing seemed to fill it. It practically hurt him to be so far from you, even though he knew you would be back eventually. It didn't stop him from missing you.
The lathered loofa that he was using reminded him of you since you bought it on one of his many shopping trips with you in devildom. Just the thought of you brought some warmth to his chest.
Beel groaned as he felt the telltale sign of your touch on his body. Beel muttered your name as your hands roamed around his body. He found it comforting. He felt the warmth of your hands all over his body, stopping for a short while at his tits. Your hands moved to pat his stomach; he was sure you could tell that he lost a little weight while you were gone. He felt the wet kisses you seemed to leave around his body,mostly his face.
"M-mc?" he whines as he closes his eyes. If he really concentrated, he could pretend you were here. Your hands were so small compared to his. You could barely cup his tit or even fit it into your mouth. He can feel when you move to his cock, where you struggle to take him into your mouth. He smiles as you give him kitten licks all over his cock.
"Please more.'' he softly begged you as the water kept running down his body. it was almost like you heard him, and you finally took him into your mouth. His breath hitched as he felt your warm and wet saliva hit his cock. His cheeks go red as he realized you just spat on his cock. No matter how many times you took him, you struggled to take him. Your tongue danced around his tip and played with veins that ran across his cock.
"I'm cumming!~" Beel groaned as he felt his balls being handled with care. Beel panted, finally managing to catch his breath. His body felt relaxed, sore, and tired, but he finally felt at ease.
" I miss you, come home soon" he whispered into the wind, hoping you would hear him.
Belphie
Belphie's face was hot and flushed. If anyone had paid attention to the 7th born, they would have noticed he was awake and trying to keep from making any sounds. The pleasure finally was getting to him. His mind was in a daze, he felt dizzy and he could barely hold a thought in.
"N-no, please w-aah~" Belphie whimpered quietly as another orgasm was taken from him. His ass felt hot with all the cum; he was surprised he hadn't leaked all over his chair.
Belphie panted heavily as the thing wrapped around him finally stopped for a bit. He was growing weary, and he was tired. He just wanted to go to bed, but he couldn't ignore it anymore.
"Sss-sshiiit~'' he whined as he felt its walls contract around his cock. His cock twitched as you began to move again. He was so sensitive already; he didn't know how much more he could take.
"f-fuck!!" Belphie moaned as you moved. Getting fucked in class was one thing, but being fucked by nothing in class was another.
"Let me sleep," Belphie begged mentally, "it's too much now."
Belphie's balls emptied out whatever last cum it had into whatever little trap you made.
Asmodeus
"a-aah~" Asmodeus relished the feeling of his cock in something. He knew only two people were capable of doing this, and he was perfectly happy to let them use him as much as they wanted.
He could recognize that warm and sloppy wet hole-blowing technique anywhere, and it turned him on more than anything. You missed him so much. Your tongue swirled around his tip.
"Yes!!~ deeper please." He moaned with no shame in his dressing room. He had unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off to play with his chest. The clothes he was trying on were long forgotten.
"s-so dirty,~" Asmodeus whimpered as he felt something at his entrance. He bites into his hand as he feels your fingers inside him, warming him up to fuck his ass. "You must really miss me."
"w-wait! too soon!" Asmodeus whined as you worked his ass and sloppily sucked his cock. it was too soon for him to cum.
"p-please w-ahh~!" Asmodeus's back arched as you finally hit his favorite spot. You didn't waiver as you fucked your way into Asmodeus's hole. Asmodeus tried to withhold his orgasm but you kept screwing him like he was really there with you. You fucked him like -
"n-no faiir~" he exclaimed as he came.
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Requests are open! Feel free to request!
My works are only posted here! If you see any of my work anywhere else please report it.
Do not edit, translate, or repost my work without my consent.
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cinamun · 7 days
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Wrapping up the anniversary week of the story I've been flooding your dashes with for 9 years. And want to share a few things.
If you're just starting on a storytelling journey, don't give up. Especially if its what you want to do. Don't let anyone discourage you (including yourself). You are allowed to change your mind about the direction of your story, the path of your characters and anything else you choose. Its dope to be inspired by other storytellers however be careful not to copy/paste (it happens more than you think). Instead, use that inspo to create something uniquely yours. I get inspired by others all the time but will remix what I see to work for me (and always give credit where its due). Hype up your story! Ask questions, make posters, do update reblogs if there's been a long gap, talk mad shit about your characters and have fun. You don't need a certain aesthetic or follower count, all you need is an active imagination, an OC or two or three, time and a little energy.
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strangelure · 7 months
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it's what you want
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i had so much fun writing about adrian that i just HAD to do a lil addition to my other drabble 🥹. Hope you guys enjoy, as always comments and reblogs are super appreciated <3
adrian chase x reader warnings: voyeurism as the main theme, brief violence and mentions of attempted murder, adrian is a sociopath and acts like it lmao, smut. This is strictly an 18+ fic, MINORS DNI.
You feel the beat of your heart thrumming in your ears when you knock on Adrian Chase's door. 
When he opens, he's got that wide eyed, slacked jawed, naive look on his face. The infuriating one he wears most of the time and that normally you would find cute.
Right now, it makes your blood boil.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" You spit, feeling your voice crack a little bit with the bile.  
Adrian blinks in astonishment a couple times in response to the sheer volume of your voice, but his features nevertheless quickly morph into petulant annoyance.
“I’m not doing anything actually” He replies , smiling only to unsuccessfully hide the real bitchy way in which he says it. 
Him lying to your fucking face you had gotten more than used to. But the pettiness oozing from his words this time was definitely something new.
Was that, jealousy? 
It had been a perfectly good night, you had met a hot guy at the bar, you brought him to your apartment where things got way too steamy way too quick. 
But then- 
Loud and booming pop music coming from the other side of your wall was drowning out every single sound in your apartment. 
So here you where, confronting your neighbor. Your stupidly pretty yet no less annoying neighbor. “Turn that shit down, Chase.”
"Why? cant a guy listen to Taylor Swift on a friday night in peace?” He asks, with a hilariously affronted look on this face. 
And a part of you wants to laugh at the sight of his heavily pronounced scowl, but you cant offer him that sort of satisfaction just yet. 
“You know why” You say, fighting the urge to shift your eyes to the dead-beat couch behind him.
The couch in which he had quite literally fucked your brains out, before he had disappeared on you for almost 3 weeks. 
You knew quite probably it was due to Vigilante business, but still. It didn't feel better than any other guy ghosting you outta nowhere.
"Well I really, really dont" He answers once more. Proving nothing but his stubbornness at this point.
Fuck, he makes you want to scream sometimes. 
And you start to feel hot with the shame of it, the thought of having to tell him that you're trying to get laid without him being so adamant on killing the fucking mood. 
Since when did Adrian Chase have the power to make you feel embarrassed? 
Oh no, you cant have that. 
"Thought you liked hearing me fuck" You tell him before even considering if people might be walking past. "S'not doing it for you anymore?" You tease, trying to feel yourself get to higher ground.
He gives you a loud scoff, tongue pressed against his cheek.
You smile, triumphant, teasing. But then suddenly Adrian is looking at you with curious eyes.
So nothing prepares you for what his answer would be. 
“Fine! If you want me to listen in. I will!" He says, in a casual yet childish tone. As if he’s reluctantly giving in to something you wanted in the first place.
The blood drains from your face. 
"I d-didn’t say i wanted you to listen in" You stammer, having a hard time sounding convincing. For some reason? 
"Oh" He adds, and you cant tell if its genuine surprise on his voice or not. 
He twists his mouth as if he's thinking hard about it.
"So that's not why you’re here then?” He asks, with that same stupid naive look in his face as when he had first opened the door. 
You realize, with a hard punch, that he wields more power over you than you ever gave him credit for. 
“Just turn it down, Adrian” You mumble, scurrying away back to your apartment. In a hurry to finish what you had started, now with even more urgency than before. 
For some reason. 
-
It hits you when you least want it to. The idea of him pressing his ear on the other side of the wall, hearing every little sound you make. 
Maybe with a hand stroking at himself, his pants all the way down his ankles. Going faster when he hears how your bed creaks with the movements of the stranger fucking up into you. Pathetic. 
The stranger in question wasn’t at all bad, but its very telling how all of a sudden your voice is raising in pitch every time you moan out in approval. 
And poor guy, it only spurs him on. 
But then as if it were a bad drug, you cant stop. Theres only images of Adrian in your head. 
You think of the way his eyebrows would dip in desperation. 
The way he would say the most debauched things to you in such a casual care-free manner.
"Fuck, you're like- soaking my couch right now" He had said, when he was buried to the hilt inside of you. "Dripping all over it" 
As if it were a simple observation, as if the comment wasn't degrading in any way. The shame of it took you so off guard it had made your eyes clench shut. 
"M'sorr-" You had tried to apologize, but were forced to choke on the response when Adrians hand had reflexively moved to hold tightly at your throat. 
“Shit i think its gonna make me blow my load any second. Fuck, Can i do that? like inside? Oh god- please let me-” His voice was frantic and whiny, asking so many questions as if your windpipe wasn't  restricted. 
As if he wasn't already gushing inside you with how tight you were squeezing at him.  
As if he wasn't laughing that breathy laugh at how your aftershocks were making you push at his shoulders to try and get him to relent. 
Your imagination runs so wild with images of him that it sort of slips out. Just his name.  
"A-Adrian" 
-
You had apologized a dozen times for the frankly embarrassing mishap of moaning the wrong name in bed. But that didn't stop the stranger from calling you a "Fucking bitch" before he tries to exit your apartment in anger.
"The Hell-" He says, shocked by the image of a guy just waiting on him to open the door and blocking his way out. 
Adrian is standing there, with an upward twist on his lips. 
Oh no. You think. 
"Wow, really? calling them a bitch just because your dick game is weak as hell? thats just really uncool dude" Adrian is talking in his unintentionally mocking tone of voice. 
And of course the tall guy you had in your bed only minutes ago thinks that the man with plaid pajama pants and glasses is gonna be easy to throw around. 
"The fuck you think you are?" He goes to grab at Adrian by the collar, but is stopped midway by a strong hand twisting at his wrist with unmerciful strength.
You have to hold back a yelp at the sight, but thankfully Adrian is loosening his grip when the man has no choice but to double over with the pain.
He smiles and shrugs, a triumphant sort of grin. "I'm Adrian" He says, like its obvious. "The neighbor"
You just know the stranger's head must be doing flips. With the way he stares at you and then back at him and then to his wrist and then back at him with an incredulous look. 
"You two are insane“ He gestures to you both, before he storms off down the hallway. 
You stare dumbfounded as he walks away. Did that really just happen? 
"Really fucking nice to meet you too dude" Adrian yells at him, and effectively snaps you out of it.
He's standing there, hands on his hips. Before he turns to look at you with squinting and judging eyes.
"You know you should really stop hanging out with all these psychos" He admonishes. 
Oh, how ironic. 
-
"Im pretty sure i almost killed that guy once. For doing poppers." Adrian is babbling letting out hysterical laughs here and there, as if your hands aren't desperately pulling at the strings of his pants. 
"Glad you didn’t catch him" You say. As in, we wouldn’t be doing this on my bed right now if you had. Not really paying attention to his words and knowing you dont have time to unpack all of that.
“I jabbed a dagger into his leg and i think that thing reached his fucking bone. It was awesome-“ He continues, with a proud smile. 
You're really not in the mood for conversation though. At least not that kind. 
Getting more and more impatient by the second, you take matters into your own hands. (no, literally)
"Were you jerking off?" You ask, interrupting him while also sliding a hand down his underwear.  "Listening?"
The hiss he lets out at the sudden touch makes you giggle.
And hes too busy looking at the way your wrist moves to even give you the dignity of an answer. 
Oh so now he decides to shut the fuck up. 
"Huh?" He asks when you stop your movements and force him look up at you. "Oh yeah. Yeah i totally was" He says with incredible sincerity and quickness, as if to say: yeah its whatever, just keep going. 
His mouth is going slack, and uncontrollable whimpering sounds are escaping his lips.
The confession alone makes you sigh out a needy, pathetic sound. 
“You did?” You ask again, selfishly wanting to hear him say it again as you unceremoniously pull at his pants, take him out of his boxers and sink your body down on him.
It makes you both let out a guttural sound at the blinding relief.  
“Y-Yeah. Was tugging on it so hard that i thought i was gonna tear my dick off.” He says, his voice going tight with the effort to keep talking while you're doing that with your hips.
“Fuck, Adrian-“ 
You sigh out the warning in the form of his name, slapping a hand on his mouth and using it for leverage as you speed up your rhythm mercilessly. 
If he keeps talking, you have a feeling it will be over before you even start. 
And how interesting, that Adrian's lower half bucks up and his eyes roll back as soon as you try to silence him. 
"S'what you wanted right?" He asks, still ignoring your efforts and that his voice comes out muffled.
Like he needs to hear your approval. Like he needs you to tell him how much of a good boy he was. 
You dont answer, because the events of the night have you not thinking straight anymore. You do smile at him though, your eyes shining perversely.
And Adrian doesn't say anything else either, accepting his fate.
You only see how his eyebrows dip beneath his fogged up glasses and feel more than hear his needy groans and explicit words vibrating against your palm.
It was definitely going to end embarrassingly quickly.
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scaraaamouche · 1 month
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trios dont work. // satosugu x reader (business AU) (FULL WORK)
✦ Pairing: satoru gojo x suguru geto x afab!reader (she/her)
✦ Summary: trios dont work, and nine years later consequences hit
✦ Warnings: alcoholism, mention of death (mamagumi), passing out due to alcohol consumption, abandonment, clubs, petnames (sweetheart, doll, pretty girl, whatnot), dunno what else lmk
✦ A/n: im still sick, im still hurt, i dont appreciate hurtful things being said to me in my asks, but here you go, if its all a bit vague; im sick.
✦ Wordcount: 7272
✦ ATTENTION!!! do not copy. translate, remake my work, i do not give you permission to so dont do it. also GIF not mine, credits to the creator.
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nine years. It had been nine years. 
The first year felt unrealistic. It was strange. going from being side by side with each other almost 24/7 to no contact at all. [Name] didn’t know what she did wrong, just that one day Satoru and Suguru decided they didn’t want her in their life anymore.
She remembered everything of their last day together, every once in a while it would suddenly pop back up into her head, but in that first year, it replayed again and again; every day.
“Suguru!” [Name] had called out to one of the two teenage boys as she caught up to them “hi!” 
Suguru flung his arm around the girl's shoulders, pulling her into his side as she greeted Satoru. 
“Where have you been, doll? We were looking for you.” 
[Name] laughed as she grabbed their hands and pulled them along. “Shoko and I accidentally forgot to sleep, so when I did fall asleep around ten I was doomed to wake up late.” 
The two boys looked at each other and smiled, the little ball of sunshine walking in front still pulling them along. 
“So four hours of sleep and already this energetic? you still gotta teach me that trick.” Satoru commented as he looked at her, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. She replied with a ‘real magicians don’t explain their best tricks’ 
After they walked for a while, they finally reached the top of a mountain, looking down on the city below. 
The beginning of summer break celebration was going on, kids from their private school and from public schools in the city came together to celebrate. Many people crowded the streets, there was music, and they could see everything perfectly. 
“look who knows the best spots once again”
They had spent the entire afternoon on the top of that mountain since classes were canceled due to the celebration, their fellow students were down there, having fun.
But as they were probably dancing and partying; Satoru took on the challenge to chase [Name] around the hill, she yelped and ran behind the other boy, clutching to the back of his shirt for protection as she heard the two boys negotiate. 
“Don’t you dare Suguru,” she warned, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. He placed one of his hands on hers and suddenly pulled her to the front. “Not you too please! ah!” she yelped, but the next moment she was giggling, she could never stand a chance against their tickle war. Ever since they found out she was very ticklish a few years ago it had become a thing for them to annoy her with. Whenever it was if she were sad, annoyed, angry, or if they felt like it, the boys would look at each other and [Name] would run instantly if she saw. (Which she most of the time didn’t and fell into their grasp giggling.)
Later at night they went back to the school, they had watched the sun set, then the fireworks, and then [name] and Satoru listened and looked in awe as Suguru pointed out constellations in the night sky. It was perfect.
At some point her eyes fell and she slept. The black haired boy looked down at her sleeping on Satoru's shoulder before giving a sad smile. 
“She will never forgive us.”
“But at least we'll protect her.” 
The next morning when [name] woke up in the room she shared with Shoko there was a little note on her nightstand.
‘you’re gonna be okay’ in Satoru’s messy and rushed handwriting. She got dressed and ran out of her room, looking for her best friends. what did Satoru mean with that she was gonna be okay?
She looked all over the grounds, the dining hall, library, common rooms, classrooms, the fields and gardens. Eventually she decided to also check their dorm. Girls and boys weren’t originally allowed in each other's dorm rooms, but since everyone was packing their stuff for summer the teachers didn’t care. So she followed the familiar path towards the boys their shared room. The posters were gone from their door, but they probably took those down first she thought. [name] knocked on the door, no reaction. She opened the door to find it completely empty except for the furniture that belonged to the school. 
Graduation was next week, why were they moved out already? For the last few years they always did that together. Where were they? As she turned around and bumped into Nanami, he looked just as confused as he took in the empty room. 
He looked at her, his mouth opening but no sound coming out. She knew what he was gonna ask, “They’re putting their stuff into the car or?”
She showed him the note in her hand and Nanami just got more question marks behind his eyes.
For a week she wondered where they were, she held hope they’d come knocking on her temporary apartment building her parents owned as she waited in the city for graduation. However; no knock came, no call, no letter or note, nothing. Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru disappeared from the radar.
When graduation rolled around word went round that Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru would not be attending. They had waited for this moment for she didn’t know how long. Plans were made to go out with their other friends after, they had plans for the future! But now, instead of her two best friends cheering on her louder than anyone else as she held her valedictorian speech, her other friends cheered double as hard. They knew she’d been struggling this week. Shoko had crashed at her temporary apartment since she didn’t want to deal with her parents. Nanami also came by daily, and if they hadn’t been there, no one would’ve known what would’ve happened to [name].
The second year was still unbearable. [Name] worked a lot, saving money, attending college, going out with her friends on the weekends. She often found herself looking to her sides, expecting to see one of her two former best friends walking there. She always looked for them in crowds, she looked everywhere, but they were nowhere to be found. 
In the third year [name] finally figured out her future. She was in her third year but decided to drop out. She saved a lot of money, and she was relatively well off so she bought a building in the busy city and within six months the place opened to a magnificent night club and partially a cafe two times a week. It took a lot of promotion, and a lot of patience until the place blew up. 
In just the first year that it opened, she gained so much she paid off the entire loan of the building. It hit off with people her age, and at just nineteen [name] was going to become one of the youngest millionaires of her time, she just didn’t know it yet.
Her friends loved the place too, and they were immensely proud of [name] after what she had gone through a few years prior. She proved to the world that the only person she truly needed was herself and that she could do whatever she wanted to.
The second year after opening the fourth without Gojo and Geto [name] opened a second location of her club across the world in Los Angeles. 
And now nine years later, and six locations in Tokyo, Los Angeles, Amsterdam, NYC, Paris and London [Name] had in fact become the fastest growing self made millionaire at her age. She lived in Beverly Hills, had her own place designed and built and she was living the life. 
Now; in her bathroom it was still a calm Saturday night but she knew that in an hour she would be in her own club, observing the people as she sipped on her drink. Saturdays were the busiest; first day of the weekend but that also meant a lot of money. 
“Scarlett?” [name] called out to her assistant who walked towards the entrance of the bathroom. “Take two weeks off, alright? Paid vacation of course, take your wife anywhere you want, put it on my bill. It’s summer and you haven’t been on a break since last year. It’s not up for debate.” She was fixing the last strands of her hair before turning towards the woman in her doorframe who looked a bit ill at her words. “Now, how do I look?” she gave Scarlett a smile. 
“As beautiful as always. And… Are you sure you’ll be fine? I mean… Two weeks is a lot.” Scarlett loved her job, not because it paid well, or because her boss was very generous. She loved her job because her boss felt more like a close friend rather than a boss. 
“You’re right, make it three weeks. You deserve it, you and your wife both. I’ll be fine, I know how to start a washer and dryer, I know how to do the dishes. What else would I need? Now, have fun on your vacation, you better send me pics, and have fun! I gotta get going now though cause I'm already late.”
Scarlett still looked a bit sick as she bid farewell to her boss, but at least she could finally take a break, which she was too shy to admit she actually needed.
[Name] walked through the front door of the club, she didn’t pick favorites is what she told others, but the location here in LA and the one in Paris were definitely her favorites of the six she owned. The music was beaming, lights flashing and the scent of alcohol and sweat hung in the air. Security guards nodded at her in a silent greeting as she made her way to her office, one of them trailing her for her own protection. Tonight was going to be a good night, she thought as she poured herself a drink, quickly drowning it before taking a glance at the paperwork that had been assembled on her desk during the last few days. She’d take it home when she left tonight. The security guard opened the door again and waited for her to lock it, after she gave him the signal he didn’t have to trail her tonight.
She walked past the VIP area, making some small conversations with people she’d seen before. There were new faces too, there always were. All different types of ‘em too. It was a safe space as well as a club. She stopped at Toji’s table, how he and her met was a long story. Everyone at [Name] her boarding school knew of the Zen’in family and their generations at the school, same as the Gojo family, as well as her own. She’d seen him here at the club one day a few years ago, standing at the bar and damn he looked familiar she had thought. It soon clicked in her head and she walked up to him. 
“Zen’in?” she had called as she stood behind him.
“Fushiguro now actually, took my wife's last name.” he said as he turned around, looking at the young woman in front of him. “Wait,” he had studied her face, until his eyes landed on the obvious giveaway of her family “[last name]?”. She nodded and smiled in response to his guess. “Never thought I’d see one of you all the way out here.” 
“Well, someone has to be the millionaire of the family.” Toji’s eyes widened as he asked for more details, giving an impressed grin when he found out she was the owner. 
“You got it good, girl. I wouldn’t have suspected you to be the type.” 
“Hello again, it’s been a while.” She sat down on the couch next to him, observing the people as they danced to the music. There were some empty glasses in front of him but Toji seemed rather sober.
“[Last name], you look good tonight.” he gave her a grin, it had been a few years since his wife died, the first few years were a mess for him, he was in here every night drinking away his grief. But over the years he had come to accept her passing and actually started taking care of his son again. Now he came every weekend, mostly just Saturdays since that's when his son was at his friends’ or godfathers house. “Thank you,” she smiled at him, smoothing out the satin dress on her body. “How’s Megs?” She hadn’t seen either of them ‘cause they’d been residing in Japan for a while. Toji smiled at the mention of his son. It took him too long to realize that the little boy was his light in life, his wife lived on in him and oh he was amazing. 
“He’s fine, great actually. He graduated from Jujutsu High a few weeks ago…” as Toji said that an old but familliar scent hit [name] her nostrils and she immediately turned her head around but didn’t find what she smelled. “It was amazing to see him receive his diploma. To be really honest, a few years ago I thought I’d never be back at that place again after I graduated years and years ago myself.” 
“He’s so grown up already, I can remember when you told me he just started.” [Name] turned her head back towards her friend with a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “And to be fair, I don’t think I’ll ever return to Jujutsu High again, no matter the reason.” there was a reason- there were simply too many memories there that she had tried her hardest to forget. Those memories being the ones she just smelled.
The mixed scent of sweet floral yet strong cologne and a really overwhelming smell of pine and vanilla still hung faintly in the air.
It can’t be, she thought. Her mind was just playing tricks on her because Toji had her remember things she didn’t want to. There’s no way. 
Yet when she bid farewell to Toji and walked towards the bar she smelled it again. The bartenders didn’t look up when she walked behind the bar and poured herself a drink, yet she overheard their conversations. 
“That man's eyes… wow! I’ve never seen anyone with eyes that bright!”
It’s not him. They’re not here.
“But the other one! His shoulders… my god.”
[Name] walked away before she’d drive herself insane over this. There was no way they were here. If they were, she would’ve spotted them already. Even though a decade can change a lot about a person; Gojo’s bright blue eyes and bright hair and Geto’s long dark hair and muscled figure always stood out, especially when together.
She wasn’t even sure if they’d regcronise her. She cut her hair, the final stages of puberty hit her later so she got some more curves and flesh, her style had changed and so had her personality. Though deep down she knew that if she’d ever see those two boys again, she’d turn back into her old bubbly self if it took too long. She always had a soft spot for them, no matter what happened or how much she denied it, they would always be a part of her past. Toji had also once told her she walked around like she owned the place, to which she replied that she did. He’d given her credit for the remark and she’d told him to put things on her tab that night.
With a racing heart she went back to observing the crowds. Walking alongside tables, along the dancefloor, everywhere. 
Theres no way these two fucks still wear the same cologne after years.
She sipped her drink, it burned in her throat, but it wasn't unpleasant. She walked towards the staircase for staff and security. All the way up it overlooked the layout of the building and she could spot things easier. 
I’m going to drive myself insane by looking for people that aren’t-
Her train of thoughts stopped when she saw a mob of bright white hair, she stared at it for ten seconds before looking at the person's face and she felt her head get light, looking besides him she saw a familiar black haired man.
Fuck.
She turned around, not being able to look anymore. The top of the stairs wasn't lit, so the chance they would’ve seen her was slim, very slim. [Name] sunk to the ground and drowned her drink in one go, this time the burn lasted longer and she closed her eyes. A few years ago she had promised herself that if she’d ever find them in her club- her property, she’d get them kicked out. Yet now that she found them, that seemed impossible. She couldn’t just walk up to them and tell them to get out of here. 
Why not?
Why not? There was no reason as to why not. As she said, it was her property, she could do whatever she wanted and before she realized it herself she was already making her way to the table they were sitting at. 
The music seemed to dim, the world became clearer yet also blurrier as she stood in front of them. 
“Get the fuck out of my place.” she said, there was anger and aggression in her voice as she looked at them. ���Now.” 
Gojo and Geto both looked up at the person speaking to them. Geto had to do a double take as he took in the woman before him, but Gojo’s heart and smile dropped instantly.
“Get out. You’ll be okay.” her own eyes met Gojo’s blue ones, sending back his own words he left on that note nine years ago.
[Name] raised her eyebrows in amusement as she looked at the two men infront of her. They changed so much, yet nothing at all. She’d wait sixty seconds before she would raise her hand and look to the side to call security. 
“[N-name]? What are you doing here?” Gojo stuttered. 
“Running my club, what about you?” she smiled sarcastically before glaring at him. “Leave. You two wanted me out of your life, now I want you two out of mine. Leave and never show your face here, or at any of my locations, ever again. You have one minute before I call security.”
Geto stared at her with wide eyes, the woman in front of him was not the one they left behind nine years ago. There was no sign of silly jokes and giggles, lit up eyes and playful eyerolls. 
This woman was cold. That was the only word that came to Geto’s mind. There was no love in her eyes anymore, her spark wasn't the same. And the worst part of it was that Gojo and he were probably the reason for it.
“Ha! Look who it is, man I didn’t expect you here. Isn’t Megs at your place?” Toji suddenly appeared out of nowhere and his words made [name] even more lightheaded. He wrapped his arm around her waist briefly, a small sign of affection and recognition as they exchanged glances. “You know them?” she asked Toji who enthusiastically replied.
“Yeah! Blue eyes is Megumi’s godfather. But I was just gonna head back out, got an emergency meeting first thing tomorrow. See ya [name], take care of yourself, alright?” he waved goodbye to Gojo and Geto and walked out. 
Great. Fucking great.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 
Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking-
“Follow me, no questions and you'll walk out of here unharmed.” she spoke in a cold tone before turning around and making her way to her office. 
What the fuck was happening. Who had cursed this upon her?
She unlocked the door to her office and walked in, pouring herself another drink as the two men came in. “Sit down.”
They did as she said and sat down in the chairs facing the desk. Gojo sneaked a look at one of the papers on her desk. It showed the gain of the last month. That was more than his and Geto’s company made… in three months…
He quickly sat back when she turned around and sat in the desk chair with her drink in hand. It was a fancy black one, CEO’s would have it- he had one alike.
“I thought you didn’t drink.” Gojo said, trying to make small talk.
“I thought I would have a nice future with my best friends nine years ago.” She took a sip of her drink, looking at both of them before speaking again. “Explain. You have ten minutes, and I am solely doing this for the sake of Toji and Megs cause I will not have them know we are on bad terms.”
They stared at her. Nine years ago she would have blushed and tried to hide away or scolded them to stop, but now she stared back, no trace of blushing on her cheeks.
“Get to it. We’re adults now, we both have running businesses. So let's get over it.”
Geto sighed, this was more complicated than the situation nine years ago was. Or maybe explaining it nine years ago would’ve been easier, [name] was easier then. Not in a bad way, she changed, they all did, but Geto had the feeling that she would’ve understood it better back then rather than now. Both Gojo and Geto felt the anger radiating off her, she looked like she could in fact kill both of them right now.
“We got mixed up with the wrong people in our last year.” Gojo suddenly said and she huffed in annoyance but kept quiet. “You know we were already making plans for our business back then, we tried to make some ties here and there and a particular branch of people scammed us. That’s how we met Toji too, he was mixed up with the same people. They had known I came from money and so they stalked us around, even at school. Pretty soon they found how close we were with you and before we knew it they had entire records open on you. Where you lived, who your parents are, all that type of things! They found your birth certificate! With that came that they found out you came from money too- old money. So they started with threatening to keep us hostage ‘till you paid them a fine, knowing you would. 
After we complied and gave them some money they continued with the blackmail. They came to us with pictures of you asleep, during class, free time, of your apartment in the city. They said they’d kidnap you, said what they’d do to you if we wouldn’t give them more money once our business grew. They knew it would grow because of my father, so we had to cut ties with you to protect you. On the last night-”
“Enough.” She took a long sip of her drink and threw her head back. “You know how much this sounds like bullshit? Protect me or they’d kidnap me and torture me unless-literally speaking-you payed them a fuck ton of money. You could’ve fucking told me? You could’ve waited ‘till after graduation? Yet you decided not to knowing I would be a fucking wreck for years upon years. And then suddenly, after almost a decade you show up in my club acting like a bunch of fucking pussies. The boys I knew wouldn’t pull shit like that! They’d fight cause they’re rich private school jackasses who wouldn’t back out of a fight, nor abandon their best friend simply because some fuckers threatened to hurt her! This could’ve easily been fucking figured out because for fucks sake Gojo! You! You are the heir to one of the oldest bloodlines in country, and so am I so I personally do not see where the fucking problem lies in that it could not have been resolved! And you- no. Don’t you both see the logic in this?” she took a deep breath and looked them both in the eye “I am drunk alright but even I can see this is bullshit.”
She threw her head back again and took a deep breath and exhaled it.
“You don’t know how scared we were to lose you to them, [name]!” Geto looked at her, but she was looking at the boring white ceiling. “Yeah, well. You lost me because of your fears of losing me.” 
Silence hung in the air for a minute or so as she let those words sink in.
Don't do it. Do not do it. It doesn't matter how close you used to be with them. It doesn’t matter that they took your v-
“Okay here's the deal. It's friday, or well saturday by now probably. Tuesday this place is a cafe, like it is two times a week. You both come here at ten AM, and well talk then, cause again I am fucking drunk.” rolling her head back and looking at them she sighed “Now get out.” 
Gojo and Geto gave each other a look, then looked back at [Name]. She looked back, even though her eyes were a bit bloodshot and teary, her gaze was filled with anything but care and love. Geto took a deep breath before standing up. “Will you get home safely?” He asked and she could see there was genuine concern in his eyes as he frowned a little.
“I’ll call my assistant to come and get me.” She rolled her eyes and gave them another look that told them to get out.
Only [Name] forgot that she had sent Scarlett on vacation, so when she dialed her number it went straight to voicemail. She walked out of the club with the stack of paperwork from earlier in her hands and called an uber. The driver said he was near and there within a minute, so when eventually a black car stopped in front of her she got in. Vaguely she heard him ask for her destination and she gave her address. 
Tonight hadn’t gone as planned, at all. She had expected a calm evening but it was anything but. [Name] had always thought she was over it, over them, or at least for the biggest part. There were always small reminders of them in everything she did or had. But she really thought she’d be able to kick them out, out of her club and out of her life just like they’d done to her. Their explanation–it made sense but it didn’t. Sure she knew they were busy setting up their business, she knew they were making connections. But stalking? The threats? It seemed unreal, yet it was known that around that time there was a peak of criminal groups disguising as business people in Japan. 
[Name] searched for her wallet and pulled out three bills of twenty when the car stopped in front of the gate to her home. 
“Keep the change.” she said and stumbled out, typing in the code of the gate and walking in. She stood still for a moment, looking up at the sky before collapsing on the grass. LA didn’t give the best view of the stars, yet she stared at them anyways, the moonlight shining down on her. It didn’t take long before her eyes closed and she fell asleep under the stars.
Satoru and Suguru watched the woman collapse on the grass and they jumped out of the car. How she hadn’t noticed it wasn’t her UBER, they didn’t know. The gate closed just before the two men could reach it.
Satoru slammed on the gate, while the other used his brain and looked at the numbers. Three of them were slightly stained with a black substance–probably mascara that [name] had rubbed onto her hand when she rubbed her eyes.
Suddenly Suguru saw it, those three numbers were the first three numbers of his birthday.
“Over us, my ass.” he said as he typed in his birthday on the keypad. 
The other looked over at him and stared as the gate opened. “How’d you do that?” “It was my birthday.” they were both a bit dumbfounded by it, but neither of them would be lying if they denied her birthday was also still their phone password. 
Once the gate was open enough they ran through it. The once nicely stacked papers were now sprawled around her as her chest slowly rose up and down. Suguru rushed towards the papers, those were finance and he knew she’d be pissed if they flew away. Satoru ran to get the woman off the grass, he mentioned for Suguru to grab her purse and fish out her keys as he carried her to the front door. 
“Fucking hell sweetheart, you never fail to get us concerned do you?” Satoru held her tightly as Suguru opened the door with the sixth key he tried. They stared in awe as the lights turned on. Yeah, this is definitely a [Name] house. “Couch?” 
“She never liked sleeping on couches, let’s just find her room.”
The two men wandered around the massive house, looking inside every room in the hopes it was her personal bedroom. They stumbled across her office, multiple empty bedrooms–and bathrooms, tons of dead ends, and lots and lots of paintings. But finally when they took one corner it became clear this was where [name] spent most of her time. They opened the biggest door and it revealed a bedroom, adorned with adorable furniture and picture frames, and of course more art. This was definitely her room. 
Suguru looked at pictures of a teen [name] with Shoko, next to it stood a picture of Nanami–which didn’t seem to be a very old picture. He saw lots of familiar faces. Even some of Megumi and his friends. In the meantime Satoru had carried her to her bed and laid her down.
“We either wake her up and get yelled at, or we leave her like this and she’ll wake up feeling terrible.” Satoru turned on the light on the nightstand and looked at his best friend. 
To be completely honest–they hadn’t known they were in her club tonight. They both knew she owned a chain of clubs, just like how she probably knew about their business. Their surprise to see her had been much alike to [name] except for the hatred. Both of them had said it. That she’d hate them once they left, and she did, they saw the anger this evening. Though it was a surprise she didn’t turn violent, not that [name] was aggressive or anything, but what would any sane person do when they’d see the person who made their life miserable by leaving her alone? 
It was probably Toji’s appearance who stopped her from doing that. 
“Or we do our best to make her comfortable cause she ain’t gonna be sleeping well in that. If she wakes up we accept the result. If she doesn’t; we leave as quietly as possible and see her tuesday.” Geto proposed and already turned to what he assumed was a walk in closet. 
He blindly grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of shorts from a random drawer and walked back out. As the two stood beside the bed looking at the sleeping woman another wave of realization hit them but it soon faded away and they got to action. Sure it was a bit weird they were changing their former best friend's clothes while she was sleeping, but they’d rather have her comfortable rather than ripping an expensive looking dress.
You just do this because you want to make up for the time you lost with her.
It wasn’t the first time they had changed her clothes, saw her naked or passed out. Yet it was a very different situation now. Nine years had passed. 
It took them a while, and some whispered curses and confusion of the dress [Name] was wearing later, they stood back and watched as she lay there, sleeping. Satoru had gone to get a clean glass of water for on her bedside while Suguru tucked her into bed. 
“You’d definitely have our heads if you knew we were here…” he spoke as he gently lifted her head to get the hair out of her neck. That’s when he realized she also still had make-up on, best leave that for her to do when she wakes up, Suguru thought.
“Scarlett? Scar don’t forget…” Suguru froze as he watched [Name] stir in her sleep. He carefully reached out and placed a hand on her head.
“Go back to sleep, pretty girl.” He closed his eyes, the sound of her voice hadn’t changed, though when they talked earlier it was rougher, there was hatred in her voice. Now her voice was soft and calm, like it had been all those years ago.
They’d spent summers at each other's houses, mostly Satoru’s or [Name]’s, and every morning the boys would hear that soft, whiney, sleepy voice and they’d just melt. Surrender whatever and tickle and smother the girl in hugs and kisses. 
Some outsiders called them ‘like siblings’ , some said the three could argue like a married bunch, others said they were invisibly bonded, like a string always connecting them wherever they went, always coming back to each other.
Suguru kneeled beside the bed, looking around the room. Though [Name] may be in her late twenties, the way she decorated her room was still the same as in her high school days. Picture frames with pictures of friends everywhere, posters of shows, bands, movies on the walls. Plants here and there, a pile of laundry on the floor along with some dishes. 
Her bedside table adorned a book, a cute lamp Satoru turned on earlier, some flowers, another picture frame with a picture of her with some friends… No, not just some friends. 
It was [Name], with Satoru and himself.
Suguru swallowed, he remembered the day that picture was taken all too well. It had been their last first day at Jujutsu High, also known as their first day of senior year. God, they were all young then, Suguru thought. Young and clueless. No idea what was bound to happen not many months later. 
Originally the picture was just meant to be of [Name], but the two boys had decided to photobomb, so it was [Name] cutely standing in front of the camera, and then two teenage boys coming up behind her with weird faces. The girl absolutely adored the photo, it had been on her night stand ever since she got the photos back on paper.
Suguru cast his eyes down to the floor before the door opened and Satoru came in, nearly on his tippy toes to try and make as little sound as possible. “Got the water, let’s… what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, let’s get out of here before we wake her up.”
When [Name] woke up the next morning she had zero recollection of what happened after she exited the UBER. To her surprise, she was no longer in her dress, wearing clothes she hadn’t seen in years, ones she tucked away after high school ended and never looked back on. 
She noted the freshwater and aspirins on her bedside table. Her dress from the night prior neatly folded and put on her vanity stool. 
Odd. She thought as she got up out of bed. She also found her phone on her bedside table, plugged into the charger, on do not disturb. Very odd. 
She opened up her phone, seeing hundreds of messages from Scarlett, and as she opened them the woman herself called. 
“[Name]? Thank god, are you alright? What were they doing carrying you?” Scarlett immediately bombarded her with questions, and [Name] could not phantom what she was talking about at all. 
As Scarlett continued talking [Name] walked to the bathroom and looked in the mirror just as Scarlett spoke words she did not want to hear at all.
“What were the owners of S&S Industries doing inside of your house?”
Tuesday rolled around in a haze. The weekend was a blur, [Name] was not prepared for the day to come. This was the exact reason she always had Scarlett make her appointments. 
She arrived at the location an hour early, making sure everything looked better than good. It had to be. Her staff had welcomed her with a warm welcome, big smiles and kind words, as always. She told them an important meeting of sorts would be taking place around ten and to be polite, solely to tell them again how important it was. 
Out of pure coincidence, Megumi and his friends showed up ten minutes before ten, distracting [Name] from the nerves that were eating away at her. She was sitting down in a booth in the center of the cafe, Nobara and Megumi sitting next to her as Yuji ordered him and his two friends breakfast. It was always nice to have the kids come by, have breakfast with them, today was just really unfortunate. 
“You kids will have to pick another table to eat at, yes? I have a meeting here in a bit.” She looked at Megumi, noting how much he looked like his father. Her phone chimed, and the time told her it was a mere five more minutes before she had to face them–sober.
“Business meeting? More locations? Important? Collabs?” Nobara looked at her with big eyes, [Name] adored the younger girl, she reminded her of her younger self a lot, and she guessed Nobara saw her as a big sister, always clinging to her side when the two saw each other. 
“Not quite, just… some people from high school, but you have to promise me not to give any weird looks when you see them, okay?” 
She looked at them again, their confused looks bringing a nervous smile on [Name] her face as she shooed them away when the door opened. 
“Tell your dad I said hi.” she messed up his hair before walking towards the two men in the entrance.
Enough hours were spent trying to come up with what to say at this exact moment, she had so many options, yet none came to mind as she looked up at them. 
[Name] looked up at the two men and swallowed, her head felt light as she offered a small smile–already regretting everything.
“Hi, welcome.” she dipped her head out of respect before turning around and mentioning for them to follow her. She spared the kids a look, and as expected they were staring at the trio with big confused eyes. Oh how much they looked like Gojo, Geto and herself when they were younger, and she could only hope they wouldn’t meet the same fate.
Once they were seated in the booth a waiter came by and took their orders, which were still the exact same as a decade ago. 
“It’s a nice place you build here.” Geto was the first to speak up. 
Hesitantly [Name] looked up at him and smiled, “Paris is even better, bought this old place, renovated it completely but kept the old looks on the inside. It took a while but it’s perfect…” She again looked at the kids, Nobara was already looking at her and offered her a thumbs up. “So, Megs godfather huh?” Gojo met her eyes over his sunglasses he still wore, guilt was evident in them.
He nodded softly, “Yeah… Saved Toji from one of the gangs we got mixed up with, he made me his godfather about a year later. What about you and Toji?” 
“Me and Toji? In what way?” She raised her eyebrows, knowing fully well what he meant. “Toji is a family associate, loyal customer, and a great friend. Nothing more. A bit too old for me.”
Silence fell over them again until their drinks arrived. The air was tense, guilt and regret hung in the air as well as sadness and anger. It wouldn’t take much for [Name] to burst out in tears. For the first time in years she was at arms length of her best friends, she looked at them and savored the moment even though they hurt her so badly.
Gojo still stirred sugar through his coffee as he sat in the middle seat, stealing Geto’s small cookie when he wasn't looking. His hair still messy but not messy messy, his undercut now much more noticeable than when they were teens and still those cursed sunglasses that hid his mesmerizing blue eyes.
Grew up to meet the Disney prince standards. [Name] thought.
Geto… His hair was longer, half put up, half falling down his back. He put on more muscle, a small smile still always present on his face, soft and caring eyes staring back at her as she took him in.
Oh fuck. 
“You’re staring, doll.” 
She flushed, blood rushing to her cheeks as she got caught. She swallowed, saying the first best thing that came to mind.
“It was a real asshole move, you know. Nine years ago. It really fuckin’ hurt and it could’ve been atleast brought to me in a slightly better way.”
You didn’t have to cut me off completely out of nowhere. Was what she meant to say, but she knew the boys got the message already as they dipped their heads. 
“It took me four years to stop looking to my sides for either of you, I couldn’t sleep in my family home anymore cause every meter of the premises reminded me of you. I never stopped looking for you in crowds, I never stopped smelling ghosts your scents wherever I went. I never had the nerve to throw out pictures of you, of us. I never changed my phone password, I- I never got over it, over you two.” 
[Name] had tears in the corners of her eyes as she grabbed her tea to calm herself. Every inch of her just needed to tell them everything. How she felt, how it hurt. Everything.
Her lips quivered when a hand took her mug out of her hands and arms wrapped around her. The smell of a strong cologne filled her senses and that was all it took for the tears to fall. She was pulled closer until she could feel the material of his sweater on her cheek. Suguru Geto was hugging her for the first time in nine years. A feeling she never thought she’d feel again as she held onto him for dear life. 
Somewhere in her mind [Name] remembered what she thought not too long ago. If I stay around them for too long I'll go back to my old self in no time. 
“Easy, doll, we’re not going anywhere... Not again.” Suguru whispered softly rubbing soothing circles on her back as he held her close. “It’s okay, shh.” 
He slowly rocked them back and forth, locking eyes with Satoru who was having a hard time holding his emotions in check. Gojo also didn’t dare spare the kids not too far away a look, not knowing how’d they react to the scene in front of them.
Carefully Satoru sat up and reached out to [Name], her head still half shielded away by one of Suguru’s hands. When their eyes locked she broke free from the other man and embraced him.
“Always stealing the ladies away from me,”
“Yeah, well, I think there's no more need for other ladies now that we have the best one of all back.”
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at long last.
now working on: sukuna x reader NSFW wink wink
taglisttt: @reine-son @lolzghost @ijwsbdinp @mythicallovex @krokietino @written-in-white
187 notes · View notes
inkyquince · 1 month
Text
Thinking about being fwb with the older gen when they were younger.
cw. uhhhh. not much. implied rough sex, a mind break on eden's side, neglect of emotional stuff but some is implied, stalker-y obsessive harper, remy get the idea to start the underground farm from you and general friends with benefits stuff.
characters. bailey. eden. harper. briar. remy.
For Bailey, its a need to release stress, and you just happen to be the one person in the friendship group he could stand enough to not just spend extra time with, but spend it bending you over the back of his bed frame and railing you, all the while you can hear giggling from behind the door. He doesn't give a shit, he knows that the walls are thin in the orphanage, but this isn't for you. If you happen to cum, then, hey, it makes you tighten up around his cock and makes his own orgasm just a bit better. Don't think so much about how he offers you a smoke afterwards, when he refuses to even share his sacred, battered packet of ciggies with Eden. Don't start thinking he's soft. But maybe you should feel grateful that when you message for him to come over, he actually replies to you. Most of the others get ignored.
For Eden, it started out as pity. Probably the last of the group to loose his virginity, with Bailey snarking that he knows for a fact that Eden spends most of his time at night jerking his cock. He's just too intimidating for anyone at school to give him a chance, and the boys in the locker room have noticed how fucking fat his cock is anyway. There was a betting pool to see how long until he snapped. So what if it was pity. So what if his gaze thrilled you as you slowly took off your shirt in front of him, slowly unbuttoning as his grip on his knees tightened, his knuckles whitening. So what if by the time you tucked your thumbs into your underwear, his erection was straining against his jeans. It started as pity, for your friend to finally loose his v-card, and went on to Eden ripping at your clothes every time you two were alone, wrestling your body down onto his fat cock, bullying your hole, your friendship grated down into veiled attention around the others, and desperate rutting each second you two were alone.
It was obvious that Harper had wanted this for so long. Everyone could tell that the freak had such a crush on you. Always so attentive, popping up at your elbow, wanting to carry your books, saying you smelt nice that day, that he'll help tutor you, asking you if you want to go with him for ice cream after class. But you had to give credit where it's due, he was smart. Just one bad break up, and his selfless offerings of helping you feel better. That's all it took for him to take his rightful place between your thighs, getting to enjoy your needy riding, your kisses, the way you'd clench around his fingers when the dipped into your underwear during class. He encourages you to use him, use him, use him all you want, for stress relief, for any kinks you want to try. He likes it all, as long as he gets to touch you.
Briar just likes sex. He fucking loves it. In the future, he might tire of it, and just enjoy the delicacies of life paid for by bought sex, but not yet. You know you're just one of a rotation, but it feels different... At least to you. Sharing a group of friends, one night getting too drunk, and suddenly his tongue is dragging against your hole, being told you to squeal all you like, maybe someone from the party will hear you and come to see what's happening. Then Briar messaging you to come to him from then on. He likes watching you hump his cock, introducing you to the amass of sex toys he has, sharing a double ended dildo while he tortures your nipples with bites and harsh sucks. He makes no secret of his other conquests, people he also enjoys having sex with, but there's something about being the only one that can lean against him at a group hang out, his thumb rubbing small circles into your thigh, as the others argue on how to split the bill.
It starts with Remy just wanting it out of the way. Everything in his life is planned out meticulously, and once he hits 19, he quietly registers that most people his age are loosing their virginity, consenting or not. He will inherit the estate in his late twenties, he'll graduate from university early, and he'll make his mark on the town like his family has done for generations, with the riding school, with the investments. He'll find something that's uniquely him. But in the meantime, he'll hit the average amount of milestones that his peers do. You just happened to be the least objectionable to loose his virginity to. Between you and Wren, you're the one that'll be nice and submissive and let him enjoy himself however he likes, without some boneheaded suggestion of doing something stupid. So, he gets to take you to the estate, to fuck you on a bed more expensive than anything you could ever afford again. It's good. He likes it. But one day, in the fields with the others, overlooking some rinky dink farm with a family of red heads trying to make it nice, you do something. He's eating an apple, leaning against a tree, with you sitting by his feet with Wren's head in your lap, letting you braid his already too long hair. There's a crunch. He looks down and you cheekily took a bite out of the apple, smiling up at him. It itches his brain just right. He extends it to your mouth and watches as you laugh and take another bite. You become more of a pet from then on. Eating out of his hand, getting fucked in the ass, with a stirring fixation rousing in his stomach when he thinks back on how sweet you looked, eating his apple. Almost like one of the cows on the farm down below.
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sweetpaintedladie · 18 days
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The complete shutout for Killers of The Flower Moon after the praise for its nominations is incredibly telling of how performative The Academy always has and will be.
The Osage murders were ignored for decades because the story wasn’t sensationalized enough to be “cared” about by people. It wasn’t a “big enough issue” to be treated with a fraction of respect or attention that it deserved.
Martin Scorsese did about everything he could to get Killers of the Flower Moon on the radar of those who would’ve otherwise completely ignored it [direct and fund it himself, two academy darling actors in main roles], and did so much outside of what they would want [made sure to give platform and voices to the Osage people where most would speak over them, even going as far to credit Robbie Robertson with so much of the films importance due to his indigenous heritage] and it still got ignored. Just a really shocking yet sadly expected decision made by an institution claiming they want to be more inclusive towards minority groups and stories. an institution who, after 96 years, had just nominated the first Native American actress and indigenous composer, yet still found a way to not reward them for their work.
It’s, once more, shocking yet not surprising. In my heart of hearts Lily Gladstone walked away an Oscar winner tonight, as deserved.
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snowsonlylove · 22 days
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hii!! i commented about making a fic of coryo w or about the song haunted by beyonce, i was thinking maybe something smut if ur comfortable! if not its okay but the fic could be academy!coriolanus x academy!reader and theyre school rivals both working hard to beat each other and theyre obsessed with each other but they hide it with the fact they wanna win but they j wanna fuck (or get together) maybe theyre both possessive and jealous or coryo is the one thats really extra with it,, the story could go rlly slow too and then theres just a part where the facade and tension goes away and theyre needing each other so badly at that moment rushing everything, just like how the song goes idk if i made any sense :o im so excited to see the result!! this song just gives me coriolanus vibes
You Must Be Haunting Me..
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a/n note: hii!! yes, i loved your idea and i mostly stayed with your vision, only changing some minor things so the situation makes sense and dw i managed to deliver 🫡 hopefully you like it!! tysm for your idea and i look forward to seeing if there are some things you want to expand on (maybe with little blurbs on this dynamic bc i absolutely LOVE this trope!) & i'm totally comfortable with smut so dw about sending me kinky asks or requests. i totally accept them!!
Pairing: Academy!Coriolanus Snow x AcademyRival!Reader
Summary: Y/N Y/L/N and Coriolanus Snow have been academic rivals ever since the beginning of their journey in the Academy. It’s no secret that both Y/N and Coriolanus are the two top students of the Academy, both of them only being able to beat each other, the rest are just no competition for them. However, they genuinely have no idea why they're doing this constant battle against each other. Little did they know, both of them always think about each other behind closed doors and are obsessed with each other, each equally impressed at the other at how intelligent they are. One day, things just boil over with how Coriolanus constantly riles Y/N up and they explode in a huge fight which results in a turmoil of deep, rough and passionate sex. 
Fic Type: Smut (NSFW) 18+, Enemies to Lovers trope, dramatic behaviour from both of them, a wee bit of angst (mostly derived from the name-calling but in my head this is more funny than it is angsty 😭😭😭)
Warnings: unprotected sex (don’t do this guys, use a condom. reader is on birth control), rough pushing, harsh words used from both Y/N and Coriolanus, degradation (use of whore), cunnilingus (female receiving), squirting, lmk if i missed anything else
Word Count: 2k
I do not own Coriolanus Snow or Y/N Y/L/N (cuz it’s you, boo). All credits go to Suzanne Collins and her team. Song credits also go to Beyonce and her team. 
I do not allow my works to be republished or translated under any circumstances. Any instances of this happening and YOU WILL BE BLOCKEDDD. 
Also, ageless and empty blogs will be BLOCKED as this is a 18+ fic. Report my fics and you’re blocked cuz if u don’t like it, LEAVEEEE.
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Y/N Y/L/N and Coriolanus Snow began this disastrous journey from the age of 11-12. Both students entered the Academy with an air of poise and elitism about them as they knew what it took to defeat the competition in the Academy, most students not even being a possible candidate to them. It was all fine and well, until one year, Y/N and Coriolanus were put in the same class for the year, and the rivalry then started..
The first assignment of that year was an individual project on what each student thought the Capitol looked like during its earliest times. Each student was tasked with coming up with a drawing with their thoughts on said topic. This was their chance to go up against each other. Both Y/N and Coriolanus would stay up in the library after school and collect piles of books and do their research and by the time the task was due, Y/N and Coriolanus obviously submitted the best sketches.
After acknowledging this, the professor asked the class to vote for who’s sketch was the best. Small pieces of paper were given out to write either Y/N’s and Coriolanus’s names and as the professor then collected the papers, making both students anxious. As the professor counted the votes, Y/N’s heart was beating out of her chest, Coriolanus’s as well. It was then announced that Y/N won, which made Coriolanus furious as he spewed a full speech on how much he hated her. “You’d never be as good as what they say you are. You’re just dirt under my feet. God! You’re such a bitch!” He screamed as the professor and the class started at him in astonishment as they’ve never seen him lash out before.
Y/N was heartbroken when she heard this as sometimes when Coriolanus wasn’t looking, Y/N would sneak glances towards him and she started to be enamoured by him. Their time together after hours in the library would usually end up in them having conversations about their day and this time together helped them bond better. With this in mind, Y/N truly thought Coriolanus was at least civil enough to be respectful towards her. Y/N felt tears well up in her eyes as she ran out of the classroom, the professor telling her to wait.
Coriolanus, still blind with rage, kept on screaming and yelling obscenities about Y/N as he stormed off to his seat, his face red and his whole demeanour fueling with rage. Unfortunately, this fateful day was what started the vicious rivalry between Y/N and Coriolanus as the two would fight over who got the better grades, which teacher favoured which student more, the differences in their scores in each assignment every single day.
As of current, both Y/N and Coriolanus are 18 and in the midst of graduating. One of their last assignments was unfortunately a pair assignment. Dr Gaul once scoped out the Academy and witnessed one of the fights between Y/N and Coriolanus and she noticed how by getting them near each other, she could make them into the power couple of Panem and have them continue the Hunger Games, which inspired her to whisper in the ear of Dean Highbottom to get them to be in the same class and for them to share a table together until they graduated. Both Y/N and Coriolanus were very unhappy about this, both choosing to ignore each other while they were in their seats. 
With both of them getting older, both Y/N and Coriolanus started noticing certain things about them. Coriolanus noticed how Y/N’s facial features were more prominent, how her ass got bigger, her breasts more plump, making him unable to control a certain urge at times which led him to mastrubate thinking about her sometimes. Y/N also noticed a few things about Coriolanus. How he started to grow muscles, how they cling to his academy uniform whenever he took off his academy jacket, how his jaw was sharper, how his nose was becoming more emphasised, how he lost his baby fat. She can honestly go forever and forever about how attractive he is.
That being said, there was one particular day where everything just blew over the water. Y/N and Coriolanus were taking notes during Dean Highbottom’s lecture when Y/N felt Coriolanus’s elbow dig into her arms whenever they got to writing. This obviously made Y/N frustrated as she harshly whispered to Coriolanus to stop a few times, which led to a hushed debate between the two before it grew louder and louder until they were screaming at each other, making the whole class look at them and Dean Highbottom staring at them in shock before yelling for them to stop and stay after class for detention.
Both Y/N and Coriolanus felt embarrassed as they were lectured by Dean Highbottom after class before an assistant of Dean Highbottom requested him to join Dr Gaul for a meeting about the Hunger Games. Dean Highbottom sighed as he looked at the two young teenagers, “Look.. I feel that you two are now old enough to know what is acceptable behaviour in class. I’ll be back soon, do not kill each other while I’m gone.” As Highbottom left the classroom, the tense atmosphere began to build as the door closed behind him.
Almost immediately after he left, Y/N and Coriolanus stared at each other with the most hateful expression ever. Y/N menacingly glared at him while saying with gritted teeth, “See, Coriolanus! If you’re long ass elbow didn’t fucking dig in my arm every single time, that old fart wouldn’t lecture us for one fucking hour! My god, you’re truly dumb!” Coriolanus glared at her before stating, “It’s not my fucking fault that happened with you were taking over the whole goddamn table with your arms everywhere! Geez, Y/N! I thought you’d be more modest!”
Y/N looked at him, shocked, “ME?!! You’re blaming ME for something YOU did! That is so fucking misogynistic coming from you, a man! I swear to god, this is discrimination towards women at its core! Grow the fuck up, Coriolanus! We’re not children anymore! God! I’d be spending my time with Sejanus right now if it weren’t for your stubborn ass!” Y/N huffed while rolling her eyes. Coriolanus stared at her, his face full of jealousy before gritting out, “Sejanus? What the fuck are you doing with Sejanus?! You’re such a fucking whore! Ugh, you’re such a bitch!” Y/N looked at him, offended, “Bitch, weren’t you just fucking Clemensia a few weeks ago? Yeah, I heard about that! Everyone was practically talking about it! Don’t pretend to be so innocent, Coriolanus!”
Coriolanus looked at her, his expression turned dark as he stalked towards her, her taking a step back until her back had hit the wall. Coriolanus leaned towards her, lifting one of his arms to go above her, bringing the other hand towards her chin and lifting it. At this point, the height difference became very apparent as her head was tipped far back, her still glaring at him. “Are you baiting me, Y/N? You talk so much for someone who just fucked Felix Ravinstill of all people a few days ago..” Y/N continued to glare up at him, “At least I had the decency to keep it in my pants longer than you! God, I hate you!” Coriolanus looked taken aback as he muttered while leaning in to cup her cheeks, her face wiggling to be let out of his grip, “Well, I hate you too, sweetheart…” 
Coriolanus leaned in as he captured Y/N’s lips with his, their mouths fighting for dominance as they kissed each other as if they needed each other to breathe. The previous tension broke into a more sensual type of tension as Coriolanus wrapped his hands around her hair ravenously while Y/N’s hand made friends with the back of his neck. One of Coriolanus’s hands found its way to Y/N’s waist as he dragged her away from the wall, pushing her towards a nearby desk before propping her up on the desk and spreading her legs, allowing him to be closer to her, not once breaking their kiss. Y/N broke their kiss as she moved her lips to Coriolanus’s neck and trailed them down his Adam’s apple while taking off his blazer and unbuttoning his shirt, Coriolanus doing the same to her.
As they undressed each other, they continued to slide their tongues against each other, the sound echoing around the classroom. They managed to undress each other down to them both only wearing underwear before Coriolanus kneeled down so that he was face to face with the apex of her thighs. Coriolanus leaned in and captured his teeth to her underwear as he slowly pulled it down, revealing her aching, dripping pussy. Coriolanus licked his lips as he roughly shoved two fingers in her cavern as he curled his fingers in and out her folds, creating a beautiful sensation as he found her G-spot with no difficulty.
Y/N moaned as she threw her head back and slid her hands down to Coriolanus’s hair and tugged on it while pulling him closer to her heat. “Oh my gosh.. Coryo, it feels so good…” As he kept pumping his fingers in and out of her, he suddenly attached his lips onto her clit as he sucked on her clit and pumped his fingers harder, each movement feeling more and more intense for Y/N. He kept on going as he curled his fingers one final time, which made Y/N yell out as she squirted and covered his fingers with her wetness.
Y/N sighed in satisfaction as she helped Coriolanus up and gave him a deep, passionate kiss while tugging down his underwear and hooking her legs on the bottom of his back, Coriolanus leaned in closer as he aligned his erection with her heat, tapping his dick on her clit a few times before pushing his hardness in her heat. He only pushed in half of it when Y/N suddenly exclaimed, “Coryo, it’s too much! I can’t take all of it!” 
Coriolanus leaned down so his forehead was laying against hers before whispering in a comforting tone, “It will fit, Y/N. Trust me, trust me..” He closed his eyes as he leaned in to capture her lips with his as he pushed in slower this time, now being able to fill her pussy with his cock to the point where their hips were against each other. Coriolanus groaned as he slowly pulled out before thrusting in again, “Fuck, Y/N… You’re so good. Such a good girl..” 
Y/N moaned at hearing him praise her as he started to thrust his dick in faster, each time harder and rougher than the last. The room started to echo with the sound of her moaning, his groaning and the sound of skin slapping. Y/N closed her eyes as she moaned, her mouth forming an “O” shape as she threw her head back once more and arched her back, needing to feel closer to him. Coriolanus wrapped his arms around her waist as he pulled her in closer and kissed his way all around her neck, leaving furious red hickeys which would soon turn purple.
The pace in which he was fucking her got rougher each time he would thrust his aching hard dick into her dripping pussy, the slapping sound really turning them on and his balls slapped to her ass, their moans becoming louder and louder each time. The furious force in which he was fucking her started to reach a boiling point as Coriolanus moaned, “Ugh.. I’m fucking cumming, Y/N. Oh.. You’re such a good girl. Such a tight and wet pussy..” 
“Ohh.. Coriolanus… So good, so deep… I’m gonna come, gonna come.. OH MY GODD!!” Y/N screamed as she came. Coriolanus groaned as he came inside her, sighing as he tried to bask in the afterglow of his orgasm, holding Y/N tight against his chest in the process. Y/N left kisses and hickeys around his neck as she looked up at him with a dazed but satisfied expression and kissed his lips however, this time the kiss shared between them wasn’t one full of hate, it was one full of love.
As they pulled away from each other and started to get dressed, Coriolanus faced Y/N and said, “You know, if you wanted to fuck me, you could’ve said so.” He said with a smirk. Y/N turned to look at him, acting shocked as she huffed in feign frustration, “Oh shut up, Coriolanus!” She smacked his chest as both of them gave each other a silly grin before hurling in laughter.
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