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l-in-the-light · 28 days ago

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This cultural mechanism of denying humanity of certain individuals (most often villains) has a name. Rene Girard wrote about it in his book called The Scapegoat. I tried finding ANY reblog of this post which actually mentions this, but despite scrolling through at least half of reblogs, I couldn't find it, which means even if someone did point it out then it still went pretty much unnoticed.

We all know who or what a scapegoat is. It's that thing or that person, the root of evil, the source of chaos, the troublemaker, the trickster disrupting the long established safety and order (which is, ofc, the ultimate good). If you only get rid of the problematic individual, everything will be okay again. That's how it works. But there's a problem with it. There's never one scapegoat. After one comes another, and another, and another, till you get hundreds and thousands of them and you can't fit them in one neat grave or prison anymore. They keep coming and there will be more and more of them, this will never stop, because it's a cycle. A cycle of violence. If you really want for "things to be okay", you need to break that cycle, instead of finding YET another scapegoat, yet another villain to bury for all of our sins. By sacrficing another villain, another victim, another scapegoat on the altar of society, you only support the cycle to keep on going.

Yes, you heard me right. Villains are scapegoats. But victims ARE scapegoats as well. Anyone we forcefully silence and refuse to give agency to is the scapegoat. The homeless, the LGBT, the mentally different, any disabled people etc. Anyone who fits into a very broad category of "otherness". But here's the catch. Because this category is so broad it's very easy to become that "other". That's why people are willing to go to extreme lengths just to make sure no one sees them as "other". They will deny their disabilities, they will deny they're not like those "others", they will even deny their own struggles, just to fit into the safe mold of "normal". And if you silence yourself just because you're afraid you might be the next one victimized or villainized, you're also a scapegoat, btw. Your inner life and self-consistency is the sacrifice on the altar of society that doesn't care if you actually have a heart. All it cares about is for you to make sure you're "normal", which has a very murky definition too. Who's normal? The one who acts like the majority of others? The one who has the applause? (applause can be shortlived and depends on trends, it's dangerous, you're dancing on the edge). Every time we see someone as the "other" we judge, we're scapegoating them. Yes, all of us, by succumbing to our fear of being judged, contribute to this mechanism. Otherwise the seams of the society might fall apart and we can all turn against each other, we can rip apart the system, they warn us of anarchy, you might get killed in the middle of the street, there will be no police to guard the order, no prisons to keep the bad eggs away from you. Stay quiet, endure, it's for the safety of all of us.

No one should have to carry that weight of the whole world on their own shoulders. Not like this. But we do, every single day.

We're all capable of being bad people and often are. But we also all want to believe we're good. People think if someone didn't get love there's a reason of why they didn't receive it. That belief didn't come out of nowhere. It's internalized violence and judgemental mentality. You prefer to doom someone else as long as it saves yourself from being doomed. You're not only hurting others with it, but YOURSELF as well in the process. You get rid of your true empathy for others, you decide whose pain or suffering is the one "worthy" of acceptance and which is not and needs to be condemned. You can't afford that empathy for anyone else than you after a while, after all you live in constant, silent fear of "being next" if you just stop for a moment and look too long at the scapegoats buried around you. And what you fail to see is that you're also a scapegoat. If we all accept each other and ourselves as "others", if we're all just different people and no one is normal anymore, will this finally break the cycle?

You want to feel like a good person? Of course, we all do. But you can't achieve that if you're too afraid to look into the abyss/mirror and realize you also do bad things. You also need to redeem yourself. You can do better, but it's not easy. You know what's easy instead? Finding a scapegoat and blaming them for their own misery. Literally requires no work, the world will applause you and all you need to do is repeat same words after others. The mechanism works like a perpetuum mobile at this point, it will mostly do this job for you. Just take a stand, deem the villains, blame the victims, ignore the struggles and pain of others.

But here's the catch. If you're too cold, you're also gonna be judged and called a psychopath. That's also a no-no, you're becoming the unacceptable "other" again. You have to show, in specific, allowed circumenstances, that you feel sorry for others. That you know how to choose the "right" side. That you understand "good" needs sacrfices and sometimes you're even expected to cry for them. And if you see those sacrfices as not-human "others", it's easier to accept it all.

Many people claim how scary it is to face certain truths, like "victims can turn into villains too", but the real truth no one wants to face is actually this: we allowed this to happen. We allowed the villains to be formed, all of us. Every time we engage in judgemental actions, every time we police someone dealing with their pain "in wrong way", every time we call someone "born evil". Every time we point a finger and call someone a villain, a victim, a barbarian, the other. By doing that we trap them in endless world of pain and suffering and abuse. They also want to be out of that cycle, but we keep trapping them, by silencing them and adding our own narrative on top. They suffer for our sins. Because they're our scapegoat, the sacrifice we made to keep on going, thinking how good this world is and how much worse it could have been, just look in the right places. Just don't look at the scapegoats too long. They corrupt. Maybe their otherness is even contagious, so stay as far away from them as possible.

You're allowed to be mad about this, btw. Anger is a neccessary emotion, it points at injustice done to you. But the society wants you to throw that emotion away and supress it, so you're tamed and silenced. It might even create a "safe space" to vent it out, by encouragig you into physical activities or taking part in some entertainment, so you can lose your steam in a way that doesn't challenge the system. It's a distraction. (the point here isn't to condemn sport or popculture btw, it just serves as an example, ok?)

All communities work like this. We're all trapped in endless cycle of violence. We bury endless scapegoats under our communities, they become our foundations. After all, nothing unites different people better than finding a common villain, it's us (the good) vs them (the evil). Wait, did I just say "different people"? But we're supposed to be all the same! No, that's a myth. We were all always different. We just have to choose who is "more different than others", so we can unite ourselves against them.

You know what that reminds me of? "We're all equal. But some are more equal than others". Animal farm was about power structures. By accepting easy scapegoats, by abiding to this mechanism, we support the power system that oppresses us. Think about it. Our civilisation is build on this and it would not thrive the way it did without the scapegoats.

And all of you blaming christianity for this instead, you need to understand one thing. What Jesus taught was actually the reverse of scapegoating. “Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her”. This is literally Jesus telling people "you all have sinned, so why are you judging them if you don't judge yourself?". What you all mean by christian/puritanist beliefs is how christianity got distorted and institutionalized into a power abusing system called religion. Swallowed up by what it tried to fight against. Always identify the actual source of abuse, instead of doing more scapegoating. I'm in no way inclined to defend christianity (not in the form it exists now), but also if we keep on muddling the truth we will always make the same mistake, so, always dig deeper to avoid it. Thank you.

not to post even more Villains Discourse on main but it really bugs me how people read giving villains tragic backstories as inherently excusing their actions and/or demonizing trauma survivors.

the actual message of Tragic Villains is (almost) always “people who are never taught or given any healthy, constructive outlets for their emotions will often find unhealthy, destructive outlets.” it’s that people who are traumatized and never learn how to cope with that trauma can become a danger to themselves and others. the message isn’t “trauma makes you evil!!!!” or “genocide is okay if you’ve been sad before!!!!” it’s “people need compassion and help to recover from trauma instead of becoming increasingly angry and harming themselves and others in the process.”

this site takes an alarmingly behaviorist and punitive approach to everything and it’s literally the most annoying thing. y’all have this concept that “if we just punish people hard enough, if we just scare them enough, if we just make them feel guilty enough.” that people just Do Bad Things Because They Do Bad Things, I Guess, and Because We Didn’t Threaten Them And Shame Them Enough. but humans are an innately social species. at our very core, we need compassion and kindness. we need healthy relationships with other humans.

you can keep looking at traumatized villains and being like “haha this dumb pathetic sadboi thinks murder is okay because his parents died” but as a survivor myself, unaddressed/untreated trauma absolutely can make you ragey and destructive. i was lucky enough to have support and eventually get the treatment i needed. but it’s not hard at all for me to imagine how, if that hadn’t been the case, that could’ve been me. obviously not on a movie-villain scale like murder or war crimes, but it’s so irritating as someone whose trauma has always manifested as anger to watch people on this site be like “this is just bad writing!!! real survivors/good survivors don’t end up like that the writers just hate survivors and want the audience to condone murder!”

#I have more thoughts about redemption boundaries consent prisons and power in general #but I just wanted people to know about the scapegoat mechanism and the cycle of violence so this post will have to do without #just please we have to understand one distinction here: just because someone hurt us doesn't mean we have to excuse that person #you need to draw that boundary but you can do that without scapegoating #and you don't actually have to forgive anyone #we don't have to constantly scapegoat someone in fear of not being scapegoated ourselves #we can understand someone did a bad thing because they were coping in bad way #and at the same time not villainize them and condemn them and deny them humanity and silence them #yet we're allowed to not want them anywhere near us at the same time #this can coexist. that's what boundaries are for!#scapegoat #cycle of violence #rene girard #power structures #anthropology #anthropology of otherness #philosophy #sounds like controversial conspiracy theory post? I'm not actually sorry for this #I'm used to the fact that lots of philosophical subjects sound like conspiracy to people lol #I could write whole thesis about scapegoating in cultures #there is just so much material and angles to it #all I did here was explain the very basic mechanism of the cycle of violence and how it feeds on itself #it's just the tip of the iceberg #I couldn't even touch on how the scapegoats get dehumanized for the sake of the system #yes victims are dehumanized as well which is why people try to change the discourse and use words like “survivor” instead of “victim”#to reclaim the human status back #in summary: you choose people who stand out; ostracize them; and in time of crisis put the blame on them #no one will defend them but instead unite against them; the conflict gets resolved by cutting the scapegoat off #everyone is happy again (besides the scapegoats ofc)#I'm sure you saw this process repeated to no end (video games? blamed for making kids violent; abuser? provoked by the victim etc.)

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yikes-ajax-thats-sad · 9 days ago

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Oh yeah sorry I forgot I was only here for you to USE ME I'll shut the fuck up

#maybe ill stfu forever #im in such a bad mindset rn and im being hella inconsiderate and im definitely splitting but y'know. for all the stress nosebleeds ive had-#-(8 at this point hooray!) itd be nice to see someone spill some blood for ME #warring with the logical side and the side that says EVERYONE USES THE SAME FUCKING EXCUSES BUT IF I MAKE THEM IM A BITCH #why the fuck should I show mercy when its never even been considered to be given to me?#why should i tolerate such BULLSHIT? I fight through hell and still make sure the people important to me are cared for #ive answered to phone seconds after dry heaving and rubbed of the tears when someone needs me and got up to BE THERE even when i felt bad #and not a single motherfucker can do that for me in return #its so fucking selfish but id rather run off and go live in a hill all alone than do this shit. theres no way its on purpose but holy fuck-#-does it feel like everyone uses my attatchments against me like they just KNOW I'd die before leaving #oh my god i miss him. he wouldnt do this to me. he would. he wouldn't #i did everything to make it work. let him do whatever he wanted. i do so much for everyone just like him and every time im left #like a dog thats been dumped when it started getting sick and the owners couldn't pat the vet bills #its not my fault theres a vermin in my brain. i didnt want it there i swear #ive tried to get it out but when i do i bleed all over you and you get mad. i try to get better but you dont like the process #nobody will stick around through the storm to see what comes after so whats the point when theres nothing to live for in the end?#idc what they say humans are social creatures we NEED others with us. before great big civilization being alone = death #we NEED people to care. we NEED someone to watch our back. its how humanity got this far #and by god i try my best to carry everyones weight but theres nobody here to carry mine #which is a fucking lie because there is. my mama is so great but its so ingrained now. opening up = punishment. i know she'd never hurt me #but the idea of being vulnerable is nauseating #i just wanna go to sleep for once feeling knowing and truly believing someone has my back. that someone will be here in the morning #but nobody would do that for me and i would never dare ask. i know im a heavier person than most. i cant expect anyone to carry me

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solxamber · 2 months ago

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Pick Us!

In which you have to choose a club and it looks like everyone wants a piece of you.

Part 2 (Choosing a club)

You were minding your own business, dodging Grim's increasingly creative ways to get you to buy premium tuna, when Crowley swept in with his usual dramatic flair.

“Ah, my dear pupil!” he exclaimed, arms wide like a bad community theater actor. “To better immerse yourself in school life, you must join a club. It’s mandatory!”

Before you could protest or ask any clarifying questions, he disappeared in a swirl of his cape, leaving you standing there with nothing but Grim’s unsympathetic shrug.

Naturally, this information traveled faster than you could process it, because the next thing you knew, Ace was practically dragging you by the arm across campus.

The Basketball Club

“Alright, listen,” Ace began, spinning a basketball on one finger and grinning like he just invented the sport. “You’re obviously joining the basketball club. It’s the best. I’m here, Floyd’s here, and even Jamil’s here, so really, it’s a no-brainer.”

“Is that supposed to sell it?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Uh, yeah!” he said, tossing the ball toward you. It immediately bounced off your hands and hit the floor. Ace, undeterred, caught it mid-bounce and gave you a wink. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you. I’m, like, super good at this. Just ask him!”

From across the gym, some poor guy—bless his heart—tried to nod in support, but you caught the nervous look he shot Ace instead.

“Okay, sure,” you said, “but isn’t this just an excuse for you to show off?”

“Maybe,” Ace said with zero shame, dribbling the ball dramatically before attempting a layup. The ball bounced off the rim and into Floyd’s waiting hands.

“Shrimpy!” Floyd called, tossing the ball behind his head without looking (and still somehow making the shot). “Join the club. It’ll be fuuuuun.”

You hesitated, because with Floyd, “fun” could mean literally anything. “Define fun,” you said cautiously.

“Simple! You, me, and Ace crushing people in games!” Floyd grinned, leaning closer to you. “And if anyone tries to mess with you, I’ll squish ‘em.”

Ace groaned. “Floyd, you can’t just threaten people into joining.”

“Why not?” Floyd asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Because it’s weird!”

“No, it’s effective,” Floyd countered, shooting you another toothy grin. “C’mon, Shrimpy, you’re already here. I’ll even let you call the plays. Or, you know, not. Whatever.”

“...You’re just bored, aren’t you?”

“Obviously,” Floyd admitted, leaning lazily against the wall. “But hey, if you join, I won’t let Ace hog the ball. Win-win, right?”

And then there was Jamil, who had been sitting silently on the sidelines, observing the chaos with his usual exasperated expression.

“Are they done?” he asked, finally standing and walking over to you.

“I don’t think so,” you replied, watching as Floyd tried to steal the ball from Ace mid-dribble.

Jamil sighed. “Typical.” He glanced at you, his tone cool and measured. “Ignore them. They’re just trying to drag you into their antics.”

“Antics?” Floyd repeated, offended.

“Yeah, Jamil,” Ace added, narrowing his eyes. “What’re you implying?”

“I’m implying you’re both terrible at convincing people,” Jamil said smoothly. He turned back to you. “If you’re interested in joining the club, you’ll actually get something out of it. Physical exercise, teamwork, strategy. And if you stick around, I’ll make sure you’re not stuck with them during practice.”

“Hey!” Ace protested.

Floyd just laughed. “Jamil’s still salty about the last scrimmage.”

“Hardly,” Jamil said, arching an eyebrow. “I’m just pointing out that if you want to learn how to actually play, you’d be better off with me.”

You blinked. “Are you… offering to train me?”

He shrugged, but there was a faint smirk on his face. “If it means saving you from their nonsense, yes.”

All you can do is sigh and say "I'll think about it"

Track and Field Club

You barely made it out of the basketball club’s gym alive when Deuce grabbed your wrist like his life depended on it. His expression was that unique combination of earnest and panicked—classic Deuce.

“Wait, don’t decide yet!” he said, already dragging you down the corridor. “You haven’t even seen the track and field club! You might like it better!”

“Deuce,” you began, trying to keep up without tripping. “I haven’t even—”

“Just come on!”

Before you knew it, you were standing on the edge of the outdoor track, blinking in the sunlight as Deuce shoved you forward like he was presenting a prize to a panel of judges. Jack, in the middle of sprint drills, stopped mid-stride to look over at you. His tail flicked once, and he jogged over with that intimidating mix of focus and curiosity he always had.

“You’re trying to recruit them?” Jack asked, crossing his arms.

Deuce nodded, puffing out his chest like he was making the ultimate sales pitch. “Yeah! Track and field’s way better than basketball. No offense to those guys.”

“I take offense,” you muttered, but neither of them heard.

“Plus,” Deuce continued, “we’ve got variety. Running, jumping, throwing—you can do anything. It’s not just bouncing a ball around, you know?”

Jack nodded in agreement. “It’s good for discipline. Builds strength, endurance, and focus. If you want to improve yourself, this is the place to do it.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, glancing at the track. “And what if I… don’t exactly have focus?”

“That’s fine!” Deuce said, grinning brightly. “We’ll help you! Right, Jack?”

Jack nodded. “Of course. We’ll start with basic drills.” He gave you a once-over, sizing you up. “How’s your stamina?”

“Define… stamina,” you said cautiously, because you had a feeling your answer wasn’t going to impress him.

Jack’s ears twitched, and he leaned slightly closer. “How far can you run without stopping?”

“Uh,” you began, nervously shifting your weight. “To the fridge?”

Jack blinked. “...You’re joking, right?”

Deuce coughed loudly, clapping a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about that! Everyone starts somewhere, right? Besides, they’re here because they want to try something new.”

You stared at Deuce. “I don’t remember saying that.”

“Exactly!” he continued, ignoring you entirely. “Think of how awesome it’d be to have us training you! We’ll get you in the best shape of your life. Right, Jack?”

Jack, who was still mildly horrified by your fridge comment, hesitated. “...Sure.”

Deuce, now fully in salesman mode, gestured to the track like it was some sort of holy land. “And you don’t have to worry about teamwork stuff! You can focus on your personal goals and—”

“Unless you’re in a relay,” Jack interjected.

“Right, but relays are cool!” Deuce added quickly. “Like… team spirit, you know?”

You glanced between the two of them, taking in Jack’s intensity and Deuce’s enthusiasm. They were both staring at you with a mix of hope and determination, and honestly, it was kind of endearing.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “If I join, do I get to skip the first practice?”

“No,” Jack said immediately.

Deuce grinned sheepishly. “But we’ll go easy on you!”

“Jack doesn’t look like he believes that.”

Jack tilted his head, his tail swishing once. “You’ll thank me later.”

“I’m not sure I’ll survive later,” you muttered.

Deuce ignored that, clapping his hands together. “Great! I knew you’d love it here! C’mon, let’s give them a quick demo, Jack!”

Before you could protest, the two of them took off around the track, moving at speeds that made you feel dizzy just watching. Deuce kept glancing back to grin at you, while Jack stayed focused, every stride perfect.

You stood there, bewildered and vaguely impressed, wondering if joining any club was a good idea at all. Still, as Deuce stumbled back toward you, sweaty but grinning like a puppy who just fetched a stick, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Think about it, okay?” he said, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. “We’d love to have you here.”

Jack jogged up beside him, barely winded. “You’ll fit in if you put in the effort.”

“Yeah,” Deuce agreed, nodding earnestly. “So… what do you think?”

You hesitated, glancing at the track, then at them. “…I’ll get back to you.”

Deuce grinned like that was a victory, and Jack just nodded approvingly. As they walked back to their drills, you realized you had yet another club to consider—and these two weren’t going to make it any easier.

Board Game Club

Before you could make your escape—or even fully process the events of the day—your wrist was suddenly seized by Ortho, who zoomed in out of nowhere like a missile with a purpose.

“There you are!” Ortho exclaimed with unsettling cheer. His grip was surprisingly firm for someone who probably didn’t even need to touch you to move you. “Big Brother’s been waiting! Come on!”

“Wait—what? Ortho, where are we—”

“No time for questions!” And just like that, he lifted you into the air like you were a deranged package and he was some kind of express courier. You barely had time to flail before he rocketed off, delivering you with precision to the board game club's headquarters.

You landed with an unceremonious thud, right in front of Idia, who nearly fell out of his chair.

“Ortho!” Idia hissed, his flaming hair flaring. “You can’t just abduct people like that!”

“But you said you wanted them to join!” Ortho chirped. “Mission accomplished!”

Azul, seated calmly at the head of the table, adjusted his glasses and smirked. “Well, well. A delivery service—how efficient. Welcome to the board game club.”

You were still processing the fact that you’d been airmailed when Idia slouched lower in his seat, muttering, “Ugh, so embarrassing. Ortho, seriously…”

“Uh,” you began, brushing yourself off. “Hi?”

Azul gestured grandly to the table in front of him, where an array of meticulously organized board games was displayed like they were ancient treasures. “Here, we focus on strategy, intellect, and the fine art of outwitting your opponent. Unlike other clubs,” he said with a pointed glance at the door, “this one doesn’t require you to break a sweat.”

“That’s actually kind of appealing,” you admitted, still wary.

Idia perked up slightly, his hair flickering a little brighter. “See? I told you it’s cool. I mean, if you like, uh, not running around like some NPC.”

Ortho leaned over, nodding enthusiastically. “And Big Brother’s really good at this stuff! He’s undefeated in our club tournaments!”

“That’s because you’re the only other member who’s not a liability!” Idia blurted, before realizing what he’d just said. “Uh—I mean—you’d totally, like, be an asset. Probably.”

Azul cleared his throat, clearly annoyed at being excluded from the compliment. “Allow me to demonstrate. Why don’t we have a quick match? You against Idia.”

“What?” Idia sat up straight, his hair sparking nervously. “No way! That’s not fair—I can’t just—”

Azul gave him a smile sharp enough to cut glass. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of losing, Idia.”

Idia’s face turned pink. “Fine,” he grumbled, setting up the board. “But don’t blame me if I crush them.”

You sat down reluctantly, realizing too late that this was probably a trap. Idia’s fingers moved at lightning speed as he set up his pieces, muttering calculations under his breath. Ortho leaned over your shoulder, giving you completely useless advice like, “Just believe in yourself!”

To your surprise, you managed to hold your own for the first few turns. Idia glanced up at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were reevaluating your existence.

“Huh,” he murmured. “Not bad. For a newbie.”

“Is that a compliment?” you asked, moving your piece cautiously.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he said quickly, his face turning red again.

Azul chuckled from his spot at the table. “See? A game of wits and strategy. Isn’t this far superior to running laps or throwing balls into hoops?”

“Hey!” you said, pointing your game piece at him. “Don’t diss the other clubs. They’re passionate too!”

Azul raised an eyebrow. “Passion doesn’t win battles. Strategy does.”

The game dragged on, and by the end of it, you were completely out of your depth. Idia, on the other hand, looked like he’d just stepped out of an anime boss fight, his hair flaring dramatically as he made his final move.

“Checkmate,” he said, grinning slightly.

“Wrong game, Big Brother,” Ortho corrected.

“Whatever!” Idia snapped, but he didn’t look too upset. “It’s over, okay?”

Azul leaned forward, smirking again. “So, what do you think? Ready to join?”

You leaned back in your chair, your brain fried from trying to keep up. “I… I need to think about it.”

Ortho beamed. “That means they’re considering it! Success!”

Idia muttered something under his breath about “too much pressure” and “why is this so stressful,” but you caught a tiny flicker of a smile as he fiddled with one of the game pieces.

Azul, ever the businessman, handed you a brochure as you left. “Take your time. But remember—intellect always wins.”

You left the board game club feeling like you’d just survived a high-stakes negotiation. And as Ortho cheerfully waved goodbye, you couldn’t help but wonder if all the clubs were this intense.

Film Studies Club

You were rounding a corner, still recovering from your latest club recruitment ambush, when a perfectly manicured hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

Before you could even yelp, you found yourself being gracefully pulled into the Film Studies Clubroom by none other than Vil Schoenheit. His strides were purposeful, his posture impeccable, and his expression…well, let’s just say it was the definition of I’m doing you a favor, peasant.

“Vil?” you sputtered, barely managing to keep up. “What are you—”

“I need to vet you,” Vil said simply, his voice calm but leaving no room for argument. “The Film Studies Club could use some fresh blood, and you look… adequate.”

“Adequate?” you echoed, mildly offended but too intrigued to argue further.

He led you to the center of the room, gesturing for you to stand under a perfectly angled spotlight. “Don’t misunderstand,” Vil continued, crossing his arms and regarding you with a critical eye. “I’m merely evaluating your potential. Our club requires both talent and diligence—qualities that, if I’m being honest, are rare in this school.”

“Uh, thanks?”

Vil ignored you, pulling out a script and flipping through it like he was deciding your fate. “If you can’t pass the audition, you can still join as a backstage hand,” he said airily. “We’re short on those too.”

“Wow, what an inspiring pitch,” you muttered, but Vil’s sharp gaze silenced you immediately.

“Read this,” he instructed, handing you the script and gesturing for you to begin.

You hesitated, glancing at the lines. “You’re serious? Right now?”

“Do I look like someone who jokes about art?” Vil asked, raising a perfectly sculpted brow.

Point taken.

Clearing your throat, you started reading, trying to put some effort into it. Vil watched you intently, his expression inscrutable. He occasionally tilted his head, as if mentally dissecting every word you spoke, every movement you made.

When you finished, you looked at him expectantly, waiting for his verdict.

Vil tapped his chin, his eyes narrowing. “You’re not hopeless,” he said finally, in a tone that made it sound like a compliment. “Rough around the edges, yes, but I’ve seen worse.”

“Gee, thanks,” you said dryly.

“Don’t be smug. You’ll need work,” Vil continued, ignoring your tone. “But I suppose you have potential.”

“And if I didn’t?”

Vil gave a delicate shrug, his expression cool. “Then you’d still be useful behind the scenes. But consider this your opportunity to elevate yourself. Being part of my club means striving for excellence—no exceptions.”

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Is this really about me, or are you just desperate for members?”

Vil’s eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of amusement there. “Desperation has nothing to do with it. I’m simply ensuring that my club remains unparalleled. If you happen to benefit from my guidance, so be it.”

“Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse? I'll think about it.”

Vil’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles. “Smart choice. Now, don’t make me regret it.”

With that, he turned on his heel, leaving you standing there wondering what exactly you’d just signed up for—and if Vil’s idea of “elevating yourself” involved a complete personality overhaul.

Science Club

You barely had time to process Vil's dramatic exit when a familiar voice whispered theatrically, “Ah, my muse! Fate conspires to bring us together!”

Before you could react, Rook Hunt appeared—swooped, really—out of nowhere and expertly whisked you away from the Film Studies Clubroom. It was less like being led and more like being caught mid-flight by an overly enthusiastic bird of prey.

“Rook?!” you yelped as he practically danced you down the hallway. “What is happening?”

“Mon ami,” he declared, his eyes glittering with fervor, “you must see the science club! A world of wonder awaits you!”

“Wait—science?” you echoed, incredulous. “You’re in the science club?”

“Ah, oui! Science is but another stage upon which the beauty of nature and humanity performs its eternal dance! The experiments! The cultivation of life! The creation of culinary masterpieces! All expressions of art, no?”

You weren’t sure if he was describing scientific principles or poetry, but before you could argue, Rook had dragged you into the science clubroom.

The room was a chaotic mix of activities. One corner housed a vibrant garden under grow lights, another had chemistry equipment bubbling away ominously, and a third corner smelled suspiciously like freshly baked bread. Trey Clover stood near a counter, pulling cookies out of an oven as if this were the most normal thing to happen in a science lab.

“Ah, there you are,” Trey greeted, smiling warmly. “Rook said he’d bring someone by. I’m guessing you’re deciding on a club?”

You glanced between Rook, who was already gesturing dramatically at a rack of test tubes, and Trey, who held up a tray of cookies like a peace offering. “I… guess I am?”

“Bien sûr!” Rook exclaimed, sweeping an arm toward the greenery in the corner. “Behold! We grow life itself here! Tomatoes, basil, flowers—anything your heart desires!”

Trey added, “We also bake and cook as part of our activities. It’s a great way to learn about chemistry and make something useful at the same time.”

“And explosions!” Rook chimed in enthusiastically. “Occasionally, there are explosions.”

Trey shot him a look. “Not… intentionally.”

Rook turned back to you, his expression radiant. “Think of the possibilities, mon ami! With science, you can cultivate beauty, create masterpieces, and perhaps even unlock secrets of the universe! And, of course, I am here to guide you—to nurture the artistic soul that dwells within!”

“Also,” Trey added, far more pragmatically, “we’re not picky about what activities you want to try. It’s a flexible club, so you could do a little bit of everything.”

You considered this as Trey handed you a cookie. It was warm and delicious, which admittedly swayed your opinion a little.

“Hmm,” you said thoughtfully, “so I could garden, bake, and blow things up all in one club?”

“Exactly!” Trey said with a smile.

Rook leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a stage whisper. “And think, mon cher—if you hone your talents here, you could support Vil in creating the cinematic beauty he so envisions! Science and art, united in harmony!”

You blinked. “Wait, are you trying to recruit me for this club and help Vil at the same time?”

Rook grinned. “Nature does not limit itself to one purpose, mon ami, and neither do I.”

Trey sighed but didn’t deny it.

“Well, this is definitely… something,” you said, nibbling on the cookie. “I’ll think about it.”

“Ah, a maybe!” Rook clasped his hands together like you’d just promised him your soul. “A victory in itself!”

Before you could say anything else, Rook twirled you toward the door, clearly ready to drag you to your next destination—or possibly just keep talking about “the poetry of chlorophyll” until you gave in.

Pop Music Club

Just as you were beginning to suspect Rook was about to wax poetic about “the lyrical mysteries of yeast fermentation,” a sudden voice interrupted.

“Oh-ho, what’s this?”

Before you could even react, Lilia Vanrouge materialized out of thin air, practically glowing with chaotic energy. “Ah, my dear friend! You’re far too bright a star to waste away on science experiments! Come with me—pop stardom awaits!”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

And just like that, you were swept up in Lilia’s whirlwind. He dragged you down the hallway with a skip in his step and a mischievous laugh, leaving Rook and Trey in his dust.

“Lilia, I can walk, you know!” you said, stumbling to keep up.

“But where’s the drama in that?” Lilia replied, cackling as he pushed open the doors to the Pop Music Clubroom.

Inside, the room was a cacophony of sound and color. Disco lights spun, a half-finished banner reading ‘Next Big Thing!’ hung lopsidedly on the wall, and Kalim was gleefully banging away on a drum like it owed him money. Cater sat cross-legged on the floor, scrolling through his phone and periodically snapping selfies with sparkly filters.

“Oh, hey!” Kalim greeted you, waving so enthusiastically he almost hit himself with the drum stick. “You’re here to join us, right? This club is the best! We have music, dancing, and it’s all just super fun!”

Cater glanced up from his phone, his grin wide and just a little too calculated. “You’d fit right in! Think of all the magicam-worthy moments we could create together. Plus, the followers you’d get? Off the charts.”

“Followers?” you echoed, glancing at Lilia.

“Ah, but of course!” Lilia said, flinging his arms wide as if presenting you to an adoring crowd. “The Pop Music Club isn’t just about music—it’s about presence! Charisma! The ability to captivate a room with a single note or a dazzling smile!”

“It’s also about having a good time!” Kalim added, spinning in a circle for no reason other than sheer joy.

Cater nodded, holding up his phone. “And don’t forget—every moment is a potential viral video. You, me, Lilia, and Kalim as the dream team? We’d own the algorithm.”

You hesitated. “Uh, I don’t even play an instrument.”

“Neither does he!” Lilia said brightly, pointing at some unfortunate bystander.

“Hey!” he protested. “I play the Kalimba!” He promptly tried to play a note, missed the rhythm entirely, and Lilia laughed like it was the funniest thing ever.

“See?” Lilia said, unfazed. “Talent is optional here. All we need is your spirit!”

Cater stood, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. “We also dabble in choreography, so if you’ve got two left feet, don’t worry—we’ll teach you how to make them look intentional.”

“Come on, join us!” Kalim said, grabbing your hands and bouncing up and down like an overexcited puppy. “We could totally use your energy!”

“What energy?” you asked, deadpan. “I’ve been dragged between clubs all day—I barely have any left.”

“Exactly!” Lilia said with a wink. “We’ll channel what’s left into a glorious crescendo of pop music excellence!”

You weren’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or just surrender entirely to the chaos. Lilia’s grin was practically infectious, Kalim’s enthusiasm radiated like the sun, and Cater was already adjusting the angle of his phone to catch you in the best light.

“Well,” you muttered, “at least it sounds… lively.”

“Lively is an understatement,” Cater said, snapping a selfie with you and Lilia in the background. “Hashtag PopStarsInTheMaking! You’re gonna love it here.”

“Let me guess,” you said dryly. “You’re already planning to upload that, aren’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Cater said with a wink.

Lilia clapped his hands, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “So, what do you say? Ready to unleash your inner star?”

“I… will think about it,” you replied, edging toward the door.

“Think fast!” Kalim called after you. “The bass is calling your name!”

You bolted before anyone could shove an instrument into your hands.

Equestrian Club

As you hurried down the hallway, still reeling from the pop music chaos you'd just escaped, you nearly collided with a flash of red.

"Ah, there you are!"

You blinked up at none other than Riddle Rosehearts, who looked as though he'd been scouring the entire school for you. His eyes narrowed, and his voice carried a tone of stern authority mixed with subtle relief.

"I've been looking for you," Riddle said, crossing his arms. "Ace and Deuce mentioned that you’re considering which club to join. As housewarden, it’s my responsibility to ensure you make a proper choice."

You blinked, still processing. "Oh, uh… thanks?"

"Enough dilly-dallying," Riddle said briskly, taking your wrist with surprising firmness. "You're coming with me to the Equestrian Club."

"Wait, what—"

Before you could finish, Riddle had already begun marching you toward the stables. You were half-dragged, half-guided, catching snippets of his lecture along the way about the merits of horseback riding, discipline, and poise.

When you arrived, the warm scent of hay filled the air, and the sound of soft nickering greeted you. The stables were pristine, the horses sleek and well-groomed. Standing nearby were Silver and Sebek, both tending to the horses.

"Riddle, you found them" Silver greeted you with his usual calm demeanor. He gave you a faint smile as he gently brushed a dappled gray mare. "Perfect timing—we were just about to go for a ride."

Sebek, on the other hand, straightened like a soldier at attention, his voice booming. "THEY WILL JOIN US, OF COURSE! IT IS ONLY FITTING FOR AN INDIVIDUAL OF WORTH TO EMBRACE SUCH A NOBLE ART!"

"Sebek, indoor voice," Riddle said sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I AM OUTDOORS!" Sebek retorted, though he did lower his volume slightly.

You glanced nervously at the horses. "Uh, I don’t know if I’m… horse material."

"Nonsense," Riddle said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Riding teaches discipline, focus, and responsibility. It’s the perfect club for fostering growth—and for avoiding unnecessary distractions like some less dignified clubs."

"Pop Music Club?" you guessed.

Riddle sniffed, his expression sour. "Among others."

Silver walked over, still holding the brush, and gave you a reassuring nod. "Don’t worry. The horses are gentle, and we can teach you everything. It’s a peaceful activity once you get used to it."

"Peaceful!" Sebek exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. "It is a pursuit befitting the greatest warriors! EVEN LORD MALLEUS—"

"Sebek," Riddle interrupted, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Focus on the matter at hand."

"Apologies!" Sebek barked, saluting.

Riddle turned back to you, his expression softening just a fraction. "The Equestrian Club isn’t just about riding horses. It’s about elegance, partnership, and understanding. You could benefit greatly from it."

"And the horses are great listeners," Silver added.

"Unlike some humans," Sebek muttered under his breath.

You bit back a laugh as Riddle gave Sebek another glare.

"What do you say?" Riddle asked, stepping aside to let you see one of the horses—a chestnut with a kind, inquisitive gaze. "This is Vorpal. Perhaps a ride would convince you?"

The horse whinnied softly, and for a moment, you considered it. There was something appealing about the tranquility of the stables, the camaraderie of the club members, and the undeniable charm of working with such majestic creatures.

But then you remembered the drum chaos, the science experiments, and Vil’s dramatic vetting process.

"Let me, uh… think about it?" you said, taking a step back.

Riddle sighed, though he looked more exasperated than disappointed. "Very well. But don’t wait too long—indecision is unbecoming."

"Yeah," you mumbled. "Got it."

As you made your escape, you could hear Sebek booming, "RIDING A HORSE WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE!"

You weren’t sure about that, but you were certain that escaping club recruitment was starting to feel like an Olympic sport.

Magift Club

As you staggered away from the stables, thoroughly frazzled by Sebek’s enthusiastic yelling and Riddle’s intense lecture on discipline, you barely had time to catch your breath before—

“Yo, gotcha!”

A pair of hands grabbed your shoulders from behind, and you let out a very undignified yelp. You turned to find Ruggie grinning up at you like a mischievous hyena that had just found its next meal.

“Ruggie! What—?”

“No time for questions, boss,” he said, practically dragging you down the path. “Leona’s orders. He told me to bring ya to the Magift Club.”

“The Magift Club?” you repeated, already sensing disaster.

Ruggie nodded, smirking. “Yup. Let’s go, let’s go!”

“But—wait—I don’t even have magic!” you protested as he hauled you toward the field.

“Details, details,” Ruggie waved off, his grip on your arm firm.

Soon enough, you were dumped unceremoniously on the sidelines of the Magift field. Leona was lounging on the grass under the shade of a tree, looking entirely too comfortable for someone allegedly trying to recruit you. Epel was nearby, aggressively practicing his throws while muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “I’ll show ‘em.”

Leona cracked one eye open lazily as Ruggie dropped you off. “’Bout time,” he drawled.

“Leona,” you said flatly, “why would you want me in the Magift Club? I don't even have magic.”

He yawned, looking entirely unbothered. “Yeah, I know that. You’re still better than the other herbivores running around. You can be the manager.”

“Manager?”

“Yup,” Ruggie chimed in, plopping down next to Leona. “You’d handle all the boring stuff—paperwork, schedules, snacks, makin’ sure Epel doesn’t throw a fit when he gets tackled.”

“I don’t throw fits!” Epel yelled, narrowly missing a hoop with his throw.

Leona smirked. “Sure you don’t.”

You crossed your arms, unconvinced. “Why me, though? You’re telling me I’m the best candidate for this?”

Leona sat up slightly, his sharp eyes locking on yours. “I’m sayin’ you’re the least annoying option. I don’t need some herbivore manager who’s gonna cry every time I take a nap instead of practicing. You’re not useless, so quit whining.”

Ruggie leaned in conspiratorially. “Basically, you’re the only one Leona doesn’t feel like chasing off the field after two days.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a ringing endorsement.”

Leona shrugged. “Take it or leave it. Makes no difference to me.”

At that moment, Epel ran up, panting slightly from his practice. “C’mon, you should join us!” he urged. “You don’t need magic to be part of the team. And if you ever wanna learn some tricks, I can teach ya!”

Leona gave him a lazy side-eye. “Don’t scare them off.”

“I’m not scarin’ ‘em! I’m convincin’ ‘em!” Epel shot back, glaring at Leona before turning back to you. “Seriously, we could use someone like you. The club’s fun, I promise!”

Ruggie snickered. “Fun’s a stretch. It’s more like… survival of the fittest with a ball involved.”

“And napping,” Leona added with a smirk.

Epel crossed his arms. “Well, maybe if someone practiced instead of nappin’, we’d win more games!”

Leona waved him off with a scoff.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know, guys. This sounds like a lot of chaos.”

“Chaos is half the fun,” Ruggie said with a grin. “C’mon, boss, think of all the free food we get during games. And you’d get to boss Leona around as the manager. Ain’t that worth it?”

Leona snorted. “Good luck with that.”

You glanced at the trio—Epel brimming with determination, Ruggie radiating mischief, and Leona looking like he didn’t care but also somehow cared just enough to try. It was… weirdly tempting, in its own way.

“I’ll… think about it,” you said finally.

“Fair enough,” Leona said, already reclining again. “Don’t take too long, though. We’ve got a game next week, and I’m not filling out paperwork.”

Ruggie winked. “Don’t worry, you’ll come around. Everyone does.”

As you left the field, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just been almost recruited into something much more taxing than a simple club.

Mountain Lovers Club

Before you could escape the Magift field and all its potential paperwork, you took a sharp turn—only to smack right into what felt like a wall of polite menace. A soft, knowing chuckle sounded above you.

“Oh dear, do be careful,” came Jade Leech’s unmistakably smooth voice.

You took a step back, already dreading the conversation. “Jade,” you said warily, “what are you doing here?”

His sharp smile grew ever so slightly. “Waiting for you, of course. Word travels fast, and I’ve heard you’re in the market for a club.”

“Oh no,” you muttered. “You’re not here to—”

Before you could finish, he was already guiding you away, his hand light on your arm but unyielding, like a vice hidden under a silk glove.

“Come now,” he said, his tone as polite as ever, “I simply must show you the Mountain Lovers Club.”

“The what now?” you asked, bewildered.

“The Mountain Lovers Club,” he repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“And… who else is in this club?”

“Why, just me.”

You stopped in your tracks. “It’s just you?”

“Yes.” Jade smiled serenely, as if this were not a glaring red flag. “I am the founder, leader, and sole member. But with your arrival, that could very well change.”

You blinked at him, unsure if you’d misheard. “Wait, so you’ve been running a one-person club this whole time?”

“Indeed.” His expression didn’t falter in the slightest. “The Mountain Lovers Club is dedicated to the appreciation of all things mountainous. Hiking through beautiful terrain, foraging for wild plants, observing unique ecosystems, and—on occasion—befriending the local fauna.”

“Befriending?”

“Examining, petting, observing closely…” His eyes gleamed. “Perhaps all three.”

You shook your head, trying to process. “So… why me?”

Jade clasped his hands together, the picture of poised enthusiasm. “You strike me as someone who appreciates unique experiences. The Mountain Lovers Club offers a chance to explore the great outdoors, expand your horizons, and develop a deeper appreciation for nature’s wonders.”

“And by ‘great outdoors,’ you mean mountains?”

“Precisely.”

“And it’s just you?”

“For now,” he said, his tone warm but his gaze uncomfortably intense. “But every great journey begins with a single step. Yours could be joining this club.”

You gave a nervous laugh. “Uh… I don’t think hiking through mountains is really my thing.”

“Ah, but how do you know unless you try?” Jade’s smile widened. “Besides, I’ll be there to guide you every step of the way. No need to worry about getting lost… or encountering anything unexpected.”

The way he said “unexpected” made you want to run for the hills (ironic, given the circumstances).

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but—”

“I insist,” he cut in smoothly, his tone polite but with a note of finality. “At least allow me to show you the club’s activities. Perhaps a short hike this weekend? I’ve already prepared a route.”

You stared at him. “You’ve already…?”

“Of course.” His gaze was calm, calculating. “Preparation is key. I’ve even packed a lunch.”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Jade, I—”

He tilted his head, his smile remaining perfectly composed. “Surely you wouldn’t refuse without at least giving it a chance? I’ve put so much thought into this.”

“Why do I feel like I don’t have a choice?” you muttered.

Jade’s smile was razor-sharp and utterly unrepentant. “Because you don’t.”

You sighed in defeat. “Fine. One hike.”

“Excellent,” he said, his tone soft and victorious. “I’ll see you this Saturday at dawn.”

“Dawn?!”

“Oh yes,” he said, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. “The mountains are at their most beautiful in the early morning light. You’ll love it.”

As he sauntered away, leaving you to process your fate, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just agreed to something far more treacherous than a simple hike.

Gargoyle Research Society

The moment you finally reached Ramshackle Dorm, exhausted from the whirlwind of club-hopping and increasingly bizarre sales pitches, you let out a long sigh of relief. The day had been nothing short of chaotic, and all you wanted was to collapse onto your creaky old bed and forget the words “club activities” ever existed.

But just as your hand touched the doorknob, a familiar voice, deep and regal, called out from the shadows.

“Child of man.”

You jumped slightly, spinning around to see none other than Malleus Draconia emerging from beneath the pale light of the moon, his presence as imposing and enigmatic as always. He stood by one of Ramshackle’s crumbling stone walls, his expression calm but his eyes bright with an unreadable intensity.

“Oh, Malleus,” you said, your voice tinged with weariness but also a touch of warmth. “Didn’t see you there.”

He tilted his head ever so slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “I was merely admiring the architecture of your dorm. It has a certain… wistful charm.”

You smiled faintly. “I guess that’s one way to put it.”

Then, with the sort of graceful confidence only Malleus could manage, he stepped closer, his presence looming but never threatening. “I have heard,” he began, his tone soft and deliberate, “that you have been seeking a club to join.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “How did you—”

“The winds carry whispers,” he said cryptically.

“Right,” you muttered, deciding not to question it.

Malleus folded his hands neatly in front of him, looking every bit the picture of regal sincerity. “If you have not yet made your decision… I would like to invite you to join my club.”

Your brain, still reeling from Jade’s mountain escapades and Leona’s managerial demands, stalled for a moment. “Your… club?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice brimming with quiet pride. “The Gargoyle Research Society.”

“The… what now?”

“The Gargoyle Research Society,” he repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I am both its founder and sole member.”

Of course, he was.

Malleus seemed oblivious to your stunned silence as he continued, his expression softening into something almost earnest. “The society is dedicated to the appreciation and study of gargoyles. We explore the campus, observing their intricate designs and marveling at their history. There is so much beauty in their silent watch over us.”

You blinked. “So… you just walk around and look at gargoyles?”

“Precisely,” he said, his tone unironically enthusiastic.

“And… that’s it?”

Malleus nodded solemnly. “Indeed. It is a noble pursuit, one that nurtures both the mind and the spirit.”

For a moment, you were at a loss for words. Of all the clubs you’d encountered today, this might just take the crown for most niche.

Malleus, however, seemed utterly earnest. His eyes bore into yours, his expression sincere and unguarded. “I understand if this does not align with your current interests,” he said, his voice softening. “But should you ever feel the call of the gargoyles… know that you are always welcome.”

There was something so genuine in his tone, so quietly hopeful, that you felt a pang of guilt for even thinking about brushing him off. You sighed, offering him a tired but sincere smile. “You know what? I’ll definitely consider it.”

Malleus’s eyes lit up, his calm demeanor giving way to a flicker of pure joy. “Truly?”

“Truly,” you said, nodding.

“Then I shall look forward to the day you join me,” he said, his voice as soft as a promise.

With that, he gave you a small, graceful bow before disappearing back into the night, leaving you to wonder how you’d managed to end the day not only agreeing to a potential club but also feeling oddly flattered by the idea of studying gargoyles.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “What a day…”

Masterlist

Part 2: Choosing a club

a/n: it completely slipped my mind that ortho is in film studies sorry :(

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713-4th-ward-g · 1 year ago

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#idk i kind of find it fucked up that my dad thinks it was a bad idea to tell me about his life insurance plan #he told my mom “ you think it was a good idea telling him ? you know people kill people for it”#almost if not is insinuating that i would do something like that #idk to me it speaks volumes on how he views me as a person to think i would even think of such a thing #it bothers me to think he would think id do that i definitely dont get along with the dude but i wouldn't do that 😂#like you really think that low of me 😂 bruh that shit is sad to me #i absolutely hated him when i was growing up; literally had everyone walking on eggshells #you literally quite literally couldn't say anything to him or he would get aggressively mad #literally so mad that his screams alone would make my ears ring and hed throw stuff around in his little shed #i would be so scared as a kid helping him with a car maintenance or anything around the house cause any inconvenience #would have the man screaming at me when I've done nothing but try and help and cuss me out for the thing he fucked up something #for years i couldn't hang out with my classmates outside of school near my house without him cussing at me and screaming at me to go home #if he saw me with them at the abandoned next door neighbors house he would literally scream at me and cuss at me to get in the fucking house #and would grab my arm and push me inside; i was just in middle school at the time and ive already been through so much mental abusive #i would get blaimed for anything he did wrong when i would try to help him fix something around the house and it wasnt my fault #screaming and cussing at me calling me fucking stupid in Spanish i hated him so much his excuses are work had him so stressed out #like if that excuses him for taking his stress out on my sister and i; its absolute bullshit the man he is now is just a toned down version #thats why when he did it again not long ago it triggered me so much it brought back so many horrible memories i didnt want to remember #he didnt even apologize to me he just told my mom he was embarrassed and didnt know what got over him like that's an excuse to scream #and cuss at everyone who had nothing to do with him fucking up the wall he had no reason of cutting and cutting a pipe in the process #he was cussing at me saying i dont want to be critique 🤣 like dawg all i was only giving him options to fix the problem #he took that as critiquing and he fucking exploded cussing and screaming in Spanish i was sure we were about to fight again #it wouldn't be the first time ive fought him before when i was a teenager cause he would scream at my mom and grandma #and i would stand up for them and just for that he would throw hands with a 13 year old me a 15 year old me a 16 17 amd 18 year old me #he was a horrible person and i hate it when people tell me he was a good person there that he was a good father cause he provided for my mom #like if thay excuses the abuse he put my sister and i through like fuck that dude he had not right hitting my sister in the face #and mentally abusing us its absolute bullshit and i still have not gotten over my childhood #literally the worst time of my life was my whole childhood for every good time i had there were 10 times more negative shit that happened #so i find it funny that he'd think i would kill him 🤣 for his insurance money i dont want his stupid money #he really thinks that low of me and it's quite sad honestly

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joonieskinks · 8 months ago

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Simon “please will you be my fake girlfriend” Riley

Simon couldn’t be happier for John. Finally, he’s met a woman whose head over heels for him, who will stick around during the hard times. The man deserves this, deserves her. It’s about time they got married after all.

Today is his wedding day, and Simon was actually delighted to receive an invite. Although he had to dress up a bit for the event and all, he didn’t mind. It was for one of his greatest friends, and the energy in the room was so positive, so supportive. He can honestly say he felt happy to be here.

That was until he spotted eager mamas eyeing him at the reception, no doubt coming over to set him up with their daughters. Nope- he was not having that whatsoever. He went into full panic mode, trying to avoid their eyes, their presence that was ever closing in on him. Simon turned straight around and made his way to the bar where he found you.

“Gosh, how long does it take to find white wine-?” You complain under your breath before the handsome stranger from the corner of your eye interrupts you.

“Pleasewillyoubemyfakegirlfriend?” The rather tall man asks frantically as your eyes finally meet. Yours, rather confused, and his, rather desperate.

“Uh- sure?” You laugh nervously as you sip your wine that just arrived.

“Great- M’ Simon, I’m from England, I work in the military, we’ve been together six months, ‘right love?.” He explains rather quickly, eyes darting back and forth between you and the mamas rapidly approaching.

But you get the message.

“You can call me that “love” of yours, I work for the government if you should know and you have to act like you want me for this to work, Simon.” You pull him down by his tie to whisper in his ear.

“If you want them to stay away, touch me.” You kiss his cheek and pull away, performing with a laugh.

It disarms Simon how effortless you make this seem, how quick witted you are - this mysterious yet willing woman at the bar. You’ve truly peaked his interest and he’s so grateful. So yea, absolutely he will touch you, a gorgeous woman in this gorgeous dress.

Simon takes you by the waist, pulling you to his body, whispering back how beautiful you look. It makes you blush, looking back at him rather surprised. He’s equally surprised by his own bold actions, but he plays it off good enough and smiles. Glancing at your pink cheeks with a “good” as you’re both interrupted.

“Simon, darling! There you are!” One woman says.

“I’ve been looking for you! May I present my daughter, Bridgette. She’s a nurse in London as a matter of fact.” Another states proudly.

“I’m terribly sorry, mam”, you interrupt, turning towards Simon and tidying up his tie. Your fingers brushing up against his chest, his throat, it gives him shivers. Any excuse to touch him really was your thought process-

“But I’m afraid he’s already spoken for. As of six months ago tonight, actually. Isn’t that right, darling?.” A proud smile on your face, and Simon just thinks you’re absolutely hypnotizing. Tongue in cheek, yes, but he already wants it to be real, to be yours. He just hopes you’ll say yes to dinner after this, and that you actually didn’t accompany anyone here.

“Yea, this is my girlfriend…” he starts, completely blanking.

My God, he didn’t even know your name, and yet he’s utterly entranced. Talk about a backwards way to start off a relationship.

“Y/N,” you stick out a hand to the mama and her nurse daughter, but they just painfully smile, clearly trying to decline “politely”. With that, they mutter an excuse and walk away, already sniffing for the next eligible bachelor around this evening.

“Well. That’s that then. You’re very welcome, boyfriend dearest.” You tease, bringing your wine glass back up to your lips, admiring his features. He really is a handsome man, it surprises you he doesn’t have anyone special in his life.

“Thank you for your help, Y/N.” He says your name on purpose, he wants to test it out on his tongue. He finds he rather likes it. You do as well.

“Can I get you another drink? On me…” Simon shyly asks, leaning against the bar.

“If it means you’ll stay and have one with me, then yes.” You flirt, waiting for his reaction. Alas, a blush appears on his cheeks. It makes you smile, a big, gorgeous man like this- yet he’s rather timid. It’s sweet really.

“It’s nice to meet you Simon, formally.” You stick out your hand for him to shake. His eyes meet your own and he smiles before taking it. Your hands are so soft, he wants to touch you always if it’s like this.

“Likewise, love.”

You two spent the rest of the night together, by the bar chatting, walking through the gardens getting to know one another, he asked you to dance. Hell, even Price and his new bride thought you two were together by the end of the night.

It took an official date or two, but eventually you were.

Who knows, maybe you two would be the next to get hitched. Simon certainly hopes so.

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gothicfied · 24 days ago

Note

(Squid game s2) Can you write a comfort fic about an insecure reader has past trauma and has endured Highschool bullying. When she joins the games and is in the group (Gi-hun, Dae-ho, Jun-hee & others) but once they meet Jun-hee she gets pushed aside and has to join another group in the second game. Feel free to change or add anything, the pairing could be Daeho x reader but it’s up to you <33

Never alone again - Kang Dae-ho / Player 388

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho / Player 388 x Reader

Summary: After seeing you almost die, Dae-ho swore he wouldn't leave your side ever again.

Warnings: Mentions of death/dying, gunshots (typical squid game stuff), other than that it's just fluff, not proof read (english isn't my first language)

Word Count: ~ 1.2k

A/N: hii! tysm for the request and I hope I did it justice.

You believed Gi-hun from the start. You believed he was right, no sane person would just say stuff like that, right? That they kill each player who gets eliminated? He seemed too damn serious for it to be a lie. And lo and behold, he was right. People. Shot dead. Right in front of you. Red-Light-Green-Light was a traumatic experience. You wanted to quit, you wanted to go home, go home and hug your parents and just be grateful to still be alive.

It was like the universe had turned against you. How wasn't everyone scared out of their minds like you? Was money really all that mattered to them? A heated discussion broke out during the first voting, angry voices yelling at each other, accusing Gi-hun of lying. You took all the courage you had left in you to try and stand up for him, at least make it known that you sided with him. Past experiences, especially your school time, usually made it hard for you to speak up, but that shouldn't really be an issue right now — You could end up dead, that's what worried you. After the voting, that didn't go your way at all, Gi-hun showed gratitude for your courage to say something and suggested you'd stick with him from now on.

Added to your group were In-ho, the last player who actually voted 'O', Jung-bae and Dae-ho, who were both former marines. While eating the lunch provided to you by the guards, those two immediately bonded over their former occupation, which you found endearing. Even though you were currently still to shy to join in on their conversations, you were content with just having a group you could stick to — Because you were sure you absolutely wouldn't survive in here alone.

"And, what's your name?" Dae-ho asked, as hd took a seat on the stairs next to you, happily eating his food. When you told him he gasped, almost chocking in the process. "That's my sisters name!" he laughed, nudging your shoulder with his. You just replied with a little "Oh? No way." and then he began rambling about his life, about his four sisters, about how his father sent him to be a marine and so on. He closed his monologue saying "Anyway, that's a really pretty name." and then proceeded to ask you for your leftover food. He made you laugh, which was nice considering you all were stuck in this hellhole.

In Dae-ho's opinion, you two had a lot in common, even if you didn't at all. He suggested you slept in the bed right under his which was.. well, free now after the first game. At night, you couldn't help but overthink your interactions with not only him, but the other three guys, too. They were so nice and welcoming. All of them had a special attribute that will probably be useful in the coming few days.. and you? You had the feeling that you brought nothing to the table.

The next day, a vast majority of the players went into the second game with the impression that this will be Dalgona, like Gi-hun predicted. Apparently not. The female voice over the speakers ordered the players to form groups of five. "Ah, how perfect," In-ho smiled, "guess we'll be a group then." You looked between the men, nodding in agreement and just when you were about to say something-

"Excuse me, are you maybe searching for one more person-?"

"Oh, no I'm sorry, we're actually already five peo-"

"I'm pregnant."

The girl cut Jung-bae off, resting her hands on her pregnant belly. You raised your eyebrows in shock and no one really seemed to know what to do next. Oh, you felt bad for her. She must've been very desperate if she entered the games while being pregnant. You five were just looking at each other confused, until you took a deep breath: "It's okay, I'll find another group. She needs to be with people she can absolutely win with." You looked at the girl and she looked back, slowly giving you a grateful smile. "No it's okay I'll go-" Dae-ho tried to say, but you waved him off, shaking your head.

"Well.. No, you can't just.."

"Dae-ho," In-ho said in a low tone, putting a hand on his shoulder, "she's pregnant." he said, like Dae-ho needed a reminder of what was right in front of him. You weren't that important to the team anyways, and that girl needed your help. So, it was decided, and in the end you did find a team of three players who voted 'X', like you, and one who didn't. You felt fairly safe with these people and even if you didn't, you didn't have much of a choice.

The game was a six-legged pentathlon with five mini games you had to split between each team member to complete. Watching the first few teams go was an absolute adrenaline rush, given the small amount of time of five minutes, the first few players were shot on sight pretty early on. This made you nervous to the point where you could throw up. Your original group was sitting a few meters away from youd current one and you did lock eyes with Dae-ho quite a bit, him giving you reassuring glances or a thumbs up. You mustered up a smile, trying yo calm your thoughts down.

I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't do this-

Oh but you could. Your team, which came before Gi-hun's, barely made it over the finish line with three seconds to spare, making the crowd of waiting players roar and cheer and yell "Good job!". The most time you lost was at Gonggi, thankfully not your mini game. Being able to beat yours on the first try filled you with the confidence you needed, which was probably the only thing that kept you up on your feet. Speaking of which, the shackles, that bound your left leg together with the player next to you, were taken off of them and you were free to go. Well, back into the dorm area.

Anxiously, you sat on your bed and waited, for your team. Players streamed in, one after the other, just not the ones you were so desperate to see. You were biting your fingernails, your thoughts being flooded with the fear of them all just dying, being left alone to survive this shit.

Suddenly, you heard a voice call out for you. It was Dae-ho (who else?) who basically sprinted to you. Before you could even stand up to reciprocate his hug, he pulled you up into his arms, squeezing the air out if his lungs. "Do you know how scared I was?" he sounded really out of breath. You didn't reply, just hugged him back the best you could and watched Jung-bae laugh to himself, watching the two of you. "I'm so glad you're alive! I'll never let you do that again, okay? Next time, I'll be the one to find another group.. not you okay?" His word vomit just wouldn't stop.

"Let's hope there won't be a next time."

"Obviously there won't be, I won't ever let you leave again."

#squid game #squid game fanfic #squid game season 2 #squid game x reader #squid games x reader #squid games #kang dae ho x reader #kang dae ho #dae ho #dae ho x reader #player 388 x reader #player 388

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joelsrose · 23 days ago

Text

jealousy breeds contempt

warnings smut proceed with caution lile this kinda lewd asff joel is a major meanie like so mean, also pls practice safe sex omg im the worst at warnings - also sorry tess i promise i dont hate u xx

The heat was oppressive, the kind that made your skin sticky and tempers short. You dragged your feet behind them, eyes squinting against the sunlight as Joel and Tess moved ahead of you through the QZ’s crowded streets.

They walked close, too close, shoulders brushing as they murmured in voices low enough to be swallowed by the commotion around you. A muscle in your jaw ticked. Their connection—whatever it was—always grated on you in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

Joel turned abruptly, his sharp brown eyes slicing through the haze. “Keep up,” he barked, his voice rough, worn down by years of shouting orders and never being questioned. Tess glanced over her shoulder, her lips curving into a smirk that was as condescending as it was victorious, like she’d won some silent competition you weren’t even playing.

You hated Tess. She didn’t like you either; she never had. But the thing that really bugged you, that gnawed at the edges of your thoughts like a stray dog on a bone, was her relationship with Joel.

It felt... strange. Intimate in ways you didn’t understand, or maybe didn’t want to understand. You liked Joel—though God only knew why. He wasn’t nice to you. Not really. But he had his ways. He looked out for you when no one else did, fixed your messes, patched you up when things went south. It wasn’t soft, but it was something, and you clung to it like a lifeline.

The walk felt endless, the sun beating down relentlessly until you finally reached the run-down building they used to stash their contraband. Inside, it was cooler, the peeling wallpaper and damp air making it feel like a tomb. Tess disappeared into the grimy excuse for a kitchen, and Joel dropped onto the sagging couch beside you. His presence was heavy, commanding, like he could fill a room without trying.

“Here,” he grunted, shoving a sandwich into your hand. It was rough around the edges, hastily made, but it was the kind of thing Joel did.

“I don’t want it,” you snapped, pushing it back toward him. The bite in your tone surprised even you, sharp and ungrateful. You didn’t know why you were acting like this.

Or maybe you did.

The tension had been simmering all day, coiling low in your stomach like a knot of barbed wire. It wasn’t just anger—it was something else. Neediness, frustration, something primal that made your skin feel too tight.

Joel’s eyes darkened, his hand freezing mid-air as he processed your rejection. “’Scuse me?” His voice was low, gravelly, carrying the kind of weight that made you want to shrink under it.

“Don’t be a brat,” Tess called from the kitchen, her tone dripping with disdain. You clenched your fists, heat crawling up your spine as the familiar burn of shame and anger flared to life.

“Stay out of it,” you snapped at Tess, the words cutting through the tense air like a whip. For a moment, everything stilled. Tess froze mid-step in the kitchen, her hand gripping the edge of the counter as her jaw clenched. The heat of her glare burned into your skin, but you didn’t care. Not today.

You looked at Joel, his eyebrows lifting, just for a split second. A flicker of something almost playful, like he couldn’t decide whether to be pissed or impressed. Amusement, maybe, though it was gone before you could be sure. His lips pressed into a hard line, but the corner twitched like he was fighting the urge to smirk.

“You ungrateful little—” Tess started, her voice sharp and venomous.

“Stop.” Joel’s voice cut through hers, low and commanding. Tess turned her glare on him, but he didn’t flinch. His gaze didn’t waver, locked on you with that same unreadable intensity that made your stomach twist. “It’s fine,” he said, though his tone carried no softness, no reassurance. “She can go to bed hungry.”

The words stung, and your throat tightened. Joel turned, grabbing his pack from the floor and slinging it over his broad shoulder. “Let’s go,” he said to Tess, already heading for the door.

Tess huffed, her irritation radiating off her in waves, but she didn’t argue. She shot you one last icy look before following Joel out, her boots heavy against the worn floorboards. The door slammed behind them, leaving the room eerily quiet.

Your eyes drifted to the counter, where the sandwich sat untouched.

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The room was dark except for the faint orange glow of the streetlights filtering through the cracked blinds. You lay on the mattress in the corner, curled on your side, the silence wrapping around you like a heavy blanket.

The muffled sound of boots on the hardwood floor broke through the stillness, steady and deliberate, before stopping just outside the doorway. You knew it was him before he even spoke.

“You eat the sandwich?” Joel’s voice was low, rough with exhaustion. He stepped into the room, the faint creak of the floorboards following him as he settled down beside the wall. He slid down until he was sitting, one knee bent, his broad shoulders resting against the peeling plaster.

You turned onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “Where’s Tess?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Outside,” he said simply, nodding toward the living area. “Cleaning up.”

You rolled onto your side, looking at him in the dim light. His head was tipped back against the wall, his eyes half-closed.

You hesitated for a moment, the words catching in your throat, but the day’s tension—weeks of it, really—forced them out. “I hate her,” you said, your voice flat, but the edges of your words were jagged.

Joel’s head turned, his gaze locking on you. His eyes flicked over your face, searching, reading you in that way he always did—like you were a puzzle he didn’t quite know how to put together. He let out a breath, the kind that wasn’t quite a sigh but close, and scratched at the scruff along his jaw.

“She’s not so bad,” he said finally, though his tone wasn’t convincing. He looked away, his hands resting loosely on his thighs. “She’s just... Tess.”

You huffed, turning your face back to the wall. “She’s awful,” you muttered, the heat in your voice undeniable. “She’s bossy, mean, and she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Joel said, though the weight in his voice betrayed him. He sighed, long and slow, like he didn’t even believe the words coming out of his own mouth.

“Yeah, right,” you replied, the bitterness laced thick in your tone as you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself.

Joel shifted, his knee creaking as he adjusted against the wall. “Hey,” he said, his voice firm but not harsh. “Why are you actin’ like a brat?”

“I’m not,” you shot back, sitting up slightly, the mattress creaking beneath you. “She’s weird with me because of you,” you added, your voice sharpening, each word cutting like glass.

His head tilted slightly, eyebrows furrowing in that way he did when you said something he didn’t like or didn’t understand. “What?”

You huffed, your frustration bubbling to the surface as you leaned forward, staring him down. “She likes you, Joel. That’s why she’s always a bitch to me.”

Joel blinked, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and disbelief. And then he laughed. It was dry, humorless, and sharp, like the idea was so ridiculous he couldn’t even begin to entertain it.

“You’re fuckin’ delusional,” he remarked, shaking his head as he leaned back against the wall again, arms folding across his broad chest.

“I’m not,” you snapped, glaring at him. “She looks at me like I’m some kind of... threat or something. Like I don’t belong.”

Joel’s face tightened, his eyes narrowing slightly. He didn’t respond right away, his jaw working as he chewed on your words.

“Doesn’t matter,” Joel said gruffly, his tone sharp and edged with irritation. “You don’t gotta like her. Just don’t act like a brat about it.”

“I’m not,” you shot back, your temper flaring hot and unchecked. “You’re not my fucking dad, so don’t tell me what to do.”

That did it.

Joel’s jaw tightened, and in one swift motion, he pushed himself up from the floor, his boots scraping against the wood as he rose to his full height. Before you could react, he was in front of you, his hand gripping your wrist firmly as he pulled you up from the mattress like you weighed nothing.

“What’d you just say to me?” he barked, his voice low and dangerous, his dark eyes boring into yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. His presence was overwhelming, his body towering over yours, unrelenting as he waited for your answer.

“I said you’re not my dad, so fuck off,” you hissed, your eyes locking with his in defiance. But your voice wavered, trembling at the edges, betraying the confidence you were trying to project.

Joel’s nostrils flared, and in one swift movement, he pushed you down back into the mattress and leaned down over you, bracketing you in with his broad shoulders and forearms. His presence was overwhelming, his weight shifting slightly as he hovered above you, his eyes dark and unrelenting.

You froze, your breath hitching as his knee pressed into the mattress between your thighs, the rough fabric of his jeans brushing against your core. The sensation sent a jolt of heat through you, sharp and unexpected. A sound escaped your lips before you could stop it—a soft, needy whimper that felt deafening in the tense silence between you.

Joel stilled, his brows knitting together as his dark eyes flicked to your face, searching for something. “The fuck was that?” he muttered, his voice low and sharp, more curious than angry.

Your cheeks burned, your breath catching as you tried to will your body under control. But then his knee shifted slightly, brushing against you again, and you couldn’t stop the way your body arched instinctively, a traitorous whimper slipping free once more.

His gaze hardened, his lips twisting into something between surprise and smugness as he looked down at you, reading every inch of your flushed face. “You just fuckin’ whimper?” he asked, his voice rough and almost disbelieving, like he didn’t trust his own ears.

“No,” you stammered, your cheeks burning as you squirmed beneath him, trying to twist away. “Get off me.”

Joel didn’t move. If anything, he seemed even more planted, his presence overwhelming as he leaned closer. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, his dark eyes glinting with amusement and something else—something darker, something that made your stomach churn and flip all at once. “Oh,” he drawled, his voice slow and dripping with condescension. “So that’s what this is about, huh?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you snapped, trying to keep your voice steady, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. The way he looked at you, like he could see right through you, made it impossible to breathe.

“Poor little thing,” he murmured, his tone mockingly sweet, each word cutting deeper. “So wound up you don’t even know what to do with yourself, huh?” His thumb brushed lazily over your hip, the contact light but enough to make you squirm. “That’s why you’ve been actin’ like a goddamn brat all day, isn’t it?”

“I haven’t—” you started, your voice shaky, but Joel cut you off. His hand came up, rough and steady, cupping your jaw and tilting your face up toward his. The motion was firm, commanding, leaving no room for protest.

“Don’t even try to lie to me,” he said, his voice a low growl that sent shivers racing down your spine. His dark eyes bore into yours, unrelenting and sharp, as if he could see right through you, peeling back every layer you tried to hide behind. “I’ve got you all figured out. You’ve been beggin’ for attention, haven’t you? Too damn stubborn to just ask for it, so you throw a tantrum instead.”

"Fuck off Joel," you said, but your words lacked conviction, your voice trembling with a mix of frustration and something else—something darker. There was no fight in your tone, no real weight behind the demand.

Joel laughed, low and rough, the sound rolling from his chest like thunder. It wasn’t warm or comforting; it was sharp, mocking, cutting into you with ease. “I fuckin’ knew it,” he drawled, his tone thick with condescension. His lips curled into a wicked smirk as he leaned in closer. “Knew I could hear you at night. Moanin’ like a needy little thing. Horny as hell, weren’t you?”

“Joel!” you shrieked, mortified, your voice cracking as your face burned hot with embarrassment. You squirmed beneath him, trying to twist away, but his weight pinned you down, unyielding. “Stop it! Oh my God, stop—”

But Joel didn’t stop. If anything, his smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “That why you don’t like Tess?” he murmured, his voice laced with teasing cruelty.

“What?” you sputtered, whipping your head toward him, your voice high and defensive. “Of course not!”

“Thought maybe you were jealous,” he continued, his tone slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every word. “Thinkin’ I was fuckin’ her.”

Your glare sharpened, your hands balling into fists at your sides, but the heat crawling up your neck betrayed your frustration. “I don’t give a fuck what you do with her,” you spat, your voice laced with defiance.

Joel tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he studied you, his gaze heavy and unrelenting. “Admit it,” he murmured, his tone coaxing but sharp enough to sting. “You’ve been wantin’ this—wantin’ me—for a long time. Haven’t you?”

“You’re a freak,” you snapped, twisting beneath him in what you tried to pass off as resistance. But it was half-hearted at best, your body betraying you completely.

The heat pooling low in your stomach, the electric buzz coursing through you—it all told the truth that you refused to say out loud. And you knew Joel could see it, could feel it.

His smirk widened, cruel and smug, his eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. Without warning, he stood up, dusting off his jeans with deliberate nonchalance, as though nothing had just happened. The sudden loss of his weight, his heat, left you reeling, your skin still burning where his touch had lingered.

“Alright,” he said, his voice casual, dismissive, as he turned toward the door. “Sleep well.” The words were thrown over his shoulder like an afterthought, his tone dripping with indifference, and he didn’t even spare you a glance.

“What?” you blurted, sitting up so fast the mattress shifted beneath you. Your voice was laced with panic, confusion. “Where are you going?”

Joel stopped in his tracks, turning his head just enough to look at you, his expression smug and infuriating. “Where am I goin’?” he repeated, his voice rich with mockery. “Thought you didn’t want me here, darlin’. Thought I was a ‘freak.’” He let the word roll off his tongue, slow and deliberate.

You opened your mouth, your pride fighting against the words clawing their way out. “Come back,” you said softly, barely above a whisper, the vulnerability in your voice betraying you. It hung in the air, raw and desperate, and you hated yourself for how much you meant it.

Joel stopped mid-step, his shoulders stiffening before he turned his head just enough to look at you. His smirk returned, slow and lazy, as he pressed a hand to his ear in exaggerated mockery. “What was that?” he drawled, “Didn’t quite catch that, sweetheart. Magic word, maybe?”

“Please,” you bit out, your voice sharp, but the heat in your stomach betrayed the anger in your tone. When he didn’t move, you groaned, throwing your head back against the wall. “Fucking hell. Please, Joel.”

That did it. His smirk softened, his eyes darkening as he took a step back toward you, then another, his movements slow and deliberate. “There it is,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he stood before you again, towering over you. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t fight him.

"Alright, lay back," Joel said, his voice low and rough, a command, not a request.

You didn’t hesitate, the tension in the room thick enough to suffocate you. You ripped the covers off and leaned back against the mattress, your body buzzing with anticipation. Joel settled beside you, one knee pressing into the bed as he took his time, his dark eyes trailing over you like he was trying to figure out what to do with you.

Excitement coursed through you, and you shifted, your legs falling open instinctively, one thigh brushing against his leg. It was bold, shameless, and you didn’t care. Not when he was this close, not when his gaze was this heavy.

“Jesus,” Joel muttered under his breath, shaking his head as his eyes flicked down to where your thighs parted. “Like a bitch in heat.”

Your face burned, the words cutting through you like a knife, sharp and cruel. “Don’t be mean,” you shot back, your voice trembling with a mix of indignation and need.

He snorted, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. “Mean?” he repeated, his voice dripping with condescension. “You were the one actin’ like a brat all day, weren’t you?” His hand reached out, rough and calloused as it slid up your thigh, his touch firm and unyielding. “So that’s how I’m gonna treat you.”

Your breath hitched as his hand moved higher, the warmth of his palm searing against your skin. His eyes locked on yours, dark and intense, daring you to argue. “You think you deserve nice?” he drawled, his voice soft but laced with a cruel edge. “After the way you’ve been runnin’ that mouth all day?”

“I didn’t—” you started, but he cut you off with a sharp laugh.

“Don’t even try,” he said, his thumb brushing against your inner thigh in a way that made your legs tremble. “You wanted attention, didn’t you? Well, now you’ve got it, darlin’. So be a good girl and take it.”

Joel’s thumb pressed firmly against you, the rough fabric of your clothes doing little to dull the sensation as he dragged it slowly over your aching, wet core. The friction sent a shiver through you, and you couldn’t stop the soft, desperate sound that escaped your lips.

“Fucking hell,” Joel muttered, his voice low and thick with disbelief. His dark eyes flicked to your face, studying your side profile, your lips parted and your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. “How’s it possible to be this wet?” he said, almost to himself, his tone rough, like he was mocking you for being so undone already.

You groaned, the heat in his voice igniting something primal in you. Your hips lifted instinctively, chasing the pressure of his fingers, desperate for more. He chuckled, low and rough, the sound vibrating through you like a current.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his tone mocking but laced with something darker, something hungrier. “Couldn’t even wait, huh? Drippin’ all over yourself like this. You really are just a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, your pride burning at his words but the ache between your thighs drowning out everything else. His thumb moved again, slower this time, teasing, torturous, as he watched you squirm beneath him. “Joel,” you breathed, his name slipping past your lips in a mix of frustration and desperation.

“Take ’em off,” Joel said, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver straight through you.

Your hands moved instantly, no hesitation, hooking into the waistband of your panties and sliding them down your legs, clutching the flimsy fabric in your hands, your body buzzing with a mix of anticipation and shame.

“Give ’em to me,” he said, holding out his hand.

You hesitated for a second, just a second, before you placed them in his palm. He didn’t even look at them, just shoved them into his back pocket like it was nothing. The action, casual and deliberate, made your cheeks burn.

“Pervert,” you muttered under your breath, glaring at him even as your stomach twisted in want.

“Hey,” he said sharply, his eyes narrowing. “Watch it. I can walk out that door right now. That what you want?”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. “No,” you said quickly, your voice soft and desperate as you shook your head.

“Good,” he said simply, his smirk returning as he leaned back slightly. “Sit back.”

The cool air hit you, and you flushed even hotter, knowing how exposed you were, how much of a mess you must look.

Joel’s gaze dropped between your thighs, his lips twitching into something between a smirk and a sneer. “Jesus,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re drippin’ all over yourself.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers ghosted over your core, not quite touching but close enough to make you squirm.

“You touch yourself?” he asked, his tone low and almost mocking, his fingertips brushing just barely against your slick skin.

“Yeah,” you admitted, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as your hips twitched toward his hand.

He hummed, nodding slowly. “How much?” he asked, his voice thick, his fingers still teasing, never giving you what you wanted.

“Every night,” you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. You didn’t care how filthy you sounded, didn’t care how his lips curled into a smirk at your confession. You just needed him to touch you. “Every single night.”

“Christ,” Joel muttered, his fingers grazing you just enough to make your breath hitch. His eyes flicked back up to your face, dark and intense. “What do you think about?”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest, before your gaze locked with his. “You,” you admitted, the word barely above a whisper. And then, before you could overthink it, you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

He stiffened for half a second, the shock evident, but then he relaxed, his eyes fluttering shut as he let you kiss him. That alone surprised you—Joel wasn’t the type to give, not like this. His lips were warm, firm, and they lingered against yours, almost tender in a way that made your chest ache.

“Hm,” he hummed when you pulled back, his eyes still half-lidded. “Sweet,” he said, the word muttered so quietly it felt like it wasn’t meant for you to hear.

A small smile tugged at your lips, the warmth spreading through you despite the tension still coiling in your stomach.

But Joel wasn’t one to stay soft for long. His smirk returned, sharp and teasing. “Still a fuckin’ brat,” he said, his voice low and rough. “And brats get punished.”

You groaned, the words sending a shiver through you as your hips lifted instinctively, begging for more of his touch. His dark laugh rumbled low in his chest, and he leaned back just enough to watch you squirm.

“Look at you,” he muttered, his tone dripping with condescension. “So desperate you don’t even know what to do with yourself.”

Your brows furrowed as you glared at him, frustration boiling over. “Joel—”

“I’ll do you one better,” he interrupted, sitting back slightly, his legs spreading slightly. His smirk deepened as he saw the confusion flicker across your face.

“Take my pants off,” he said simply, his voice commanding, like he didn’t expect you to argue.

Your breath caught, the tension in the room growing impossibly thicker as his words sank in. His gaze never left yours, heavy and unwavering, daring you to hesitate. But you didn’t. Your hands moved almost on their own, reaching for the button of his jeans, your fingers trembling as you fumbled with it.

Joel chuckled low and dark, his hands resting lazily on his thighs as he watched you. “That’s it,” he murmured, his tone dripping with amusement. “Good girl.”

The praise made your heart stutter, your cheeks flushing as your hands trembled, tugging his jeans down slowly, the fabric dragging over his muscular thighs. Joel shifted slightly to help you, lifting his hips just enough, the casual dominance in the movement sending a thrill racing through you. He made it look effortless, like he was still in control even when you were the one undressing him.

Your hand moved instinctively to touch him, but his voice stopped you cold. “Nuh uh,” he said, his tone low and firm, a quiet command. His eyes darkened as he leaned back slightly, watching you. “Shirt off too,” he instructed, his voice steady but thick with anticipation.

Your breath hitched, and you hesitated for just a moment before obeying. Your shirt joined the pile of his clothes on the floor, leaving you bare before him. Joel’s eyes dragged over you slowly, taking in every inch of your exposed skin.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his teeth catching his bottom lip as his hands shot out, rough and deliberate. He grabbed your breasts, his large palms squeezing, his thumbs rolling over your sensitive nipples. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he growled, his voice low and full of reverence, though his touch was anything but gentle.

Your back arched instinctively into his hands, a gasp escaping your lips as the roughness of his calloused fingers sent shocks of heat spiraling through you. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, the ache between your thighs growing unbearable, your entire body trembling under the weight of it all—the tension, the teasing, the slow build that had been driving you to the edge for what felt like hours.

“I need you,” you blurted, the words breaking free before you could stop them. Your voice cracked, raw with desperation. “I need you bad, Joel.”

“Yeah?” he muttered, his voice rougher now, low and dangerous, like he was savoring every second of your unraveling. “You that needy, huh?” He leaned in, his face inches from yours, his breath warm against your lips. His hand slid lower, gripping your waist firmly as he smirked again, this time sharper, hungrier. “Gonna cry for it, sweetheart?”

You swallowed hard, the tears threatening to spill as you nodded, your hands clutching at the fabric of the mattress beneath you. “Please,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “I’m—I’m begging you, Joel.”

Joel exhaled slowly, his hand coming up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek as if he were testing you, seeing how far you could unravel before breaking completely. His eyes roamed your face, his gaze heavy and unrelenting. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low, almost to himself. “So desperate you’re fallin’ apart.”

His thumb caught the edge of a tear sliding down your cheek, and his smirk returned—soft but laced with condescension, sharp enough to make your stomach twist. “You’re a mess, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement, though there was something deeper, darker beneath it.

A shaky breath escaped your lips, your chest heaving as you tried—and failed—to hold back a sob. “Joel, please,” you whispered again, your voice breaking, trembling with need. You hated how small you sounded, but the ache inside you drowned out the embarrassment.

Joel’s eyes darkened, his thumb trailing down to press against your trembling bottom lip. He tilted your chin up, forcing your gaze to stay locked with his. “Alright,” he said finally, his voice low and gravelly, the words drawn out slowly, like he wanted to savor the sound of them. “I’ll take care of you. That what my baby wants?”

You nodded frantically, tears spilling over as relief and anticipation coursed through you, lighting up every nerve in your body. His thumb lingered on your lip for a moment longer, pressing gently, teasingly, before he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice so soft it sent a fresh shiver down your spine. His lips brushed against your temple, and the warmth of his words melted into you.

“You wanna see me?” Joel asked, his voice dropping even lower, thick with teasing. “Or you wanna be on your knees?”

“Wanna see you,” you answered quickly, the words spilling from your lips before you could stop them. Your eyes widened as you looked up at him, pleading, raw with need. “Please.”

Joel’s smirk deepened, his eyes dragging over you with that slow, deliberate intensity that made your skin burn. “Okay, baby,” he murmured, his voice softer now but still carrying that rough, gravelly edge. “Lay back for me.”

You obeyed without hesitation, sinking into the mattress as your legs fell open, your chest rising and falling with anticipation. Your hands moved instinctively, reaching out to roam over his chest, your fingertips brushing against the heat of his skin. His muscles tensed under your touch as you brought one hand lower, trailing down his abdomen to the back of his thighs, desperate to pull him closer, to feel more of him.

Joel chuckled, the sound low and rich as his hand caught your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “Be patient,” he drawled, his tone thick with amusement, his grip firm but not cruel. His free hand slid down your thigh, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin there in slow, teasing strokes that sent shivers racing through you. “I know you’re eager, darlin’, but I gotta take my time. Don’t wanna break ya.”

Your breath hitched, your body trembling beneath his touch as his words settled over you, calm and confident in a way that made your heart pound even harder. The ache between your thighs was unbearable now, your body so wound up you couldn’t think straight. “Joel,” you whispered, your voice shaky and desperate. “I’m ready. Please.”

He raised a brow, his smirk twisting into something wicked as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Oh, I know you are,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re so fuckin’ wet, sweetheart, I don’t even need any spit.” His words were filthy, teasing, and they sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly.

And then, with no warning, Joel sunk into you in one smooth, deliberate motion, a deep, guttural groan rumbling from his chest as he pressed flush against you. The stretch, the fullness, the sheer intensity of him overwhelmed your senses, and a loud, unrestrained yelp tore from your throat. Your hand flew up to cover your mouth, your cheeks burning hot with embarrassment.

“Nuh uh,” Joel said sharply, grabbing your wrist and pulling your hand away from your face. His dark eyes burned into yours, his voice low and rough, the command in his tone making your chest tighten. “Wanna hear those sweet noises, baby. Don’t you dare hide ’em from me.”

You whimpered, your mind spinning from the fullness, the stretch, the overwhelming intensity of him. “But… what about…” you stammered, your thoughts hazy and scattered, trying to cling to something, anything. What was her name? The thought flitted through your mind, faint and distant. It slipped from your lips before you could stop it, a whisper of a worry clinging to the back of your mind.

Joel stilled for half a second, his lips curling into a wicked grin, his amusement clear. “So cock drunk you forgot her fuckin’ name,” he murmured, his voice dripping with mockery, each word a sharp tease that only heightened the heat flooding your body.

And then, without warning, he pulled out completely, leaving you empty, the sudden loss of him making you gasp. Before you could even register the thought, he slammed back into you with a force that had you screaming, your back arching off the mattress as your nails raked down his shoulders, clinging to him like he was the only thing grounding you.

Joel laughed, low and dark, the sound vibrating through your chest as his breath fanned over your face. He leaned closer, his smirk sharp and cutting as his hips snapped against yours again, his movements deliberate and unrelenting. “Don’t you want her to hear ya?” he teased, his voice dripping with condescension and something darker, something possessive.

“Joel,” you gasped, the sound of his name raw and unrestrained as he drove into you, each thrust more intense than the last. His hands gripped your hips tightly, anchoring you to him as he chuckled at your reaction.

“Let her hear those pretty little screams, baby,” he growled, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver racing down your spine. “Let her know I’m in your pussy, not hers.” His tone was cruelly teasing, but the heat in his words, in his eyes, made your entire body tremble, completely at his mercy.

Your breath hitched, a potent mix of embarrassment and raw, unrelenting desire coursing through you. Joel’s words were filthy, taunting, cutting straight through your defenses, but instead of pushing you away, they only made you cling to him harder. Your nails dug into his back as your body arched into him, every nerve ignited, desperate for more. His pace quickened, each thrust harder, more deliberate, his movements rough and dripping with possession.

“Bet you like that, huh?” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, each word a teasing caress against your ear. His lips brushed the shell of it, his breath hot and ragged. “You want her to be jealous? Want her to hear and know exactly who you belong to?” His hand slid down to grip your thigh, rough fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you closer, driving himself deeper inside you. “Say it,” he growled, his voice dark and commanding. “Say you’re mine.”

You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t form a single coherent thought beyond him—his body, his voice, the way he consumed you completely. The tension in your belly coiled tighter and tighter, ready to snap. “Yours,” you gasped, your voice cracking, trembling. “I’m yours, Joel.”

Joel’s smirk deepened, his eyes darkening with something primal. He leaned back just enough to look at you, his hand gripping your jaw firmly. “Open,” he ordered, his tone rough, leaving no room for hesitation.

You obeyed without question, your lips parting as your gaze locked on his, wide and eager. His smirk turned wicked, his hand tilting your chin as he spat into your mouth, slow and deliberate.

The act was filthy, raw, and utterly consuming, sending a fresh wave of heat crashing through your body. Humiliation and desire burned together, each feeding into the other until there was nothing left but the aching, desperate need for more.

“Fuck!” you screamed, your voice breaking, echoing through the room as your head fell back, your body trembling beneath him. Your eyes rolled with pleasure, the tension snapping in waves that left you gasping, completely at his mercy. Joel wasn’t satisfied with just having you; he wanted to take all of you. His hands gripped the backs of your thighs, strong and commanding as he pushed your legs up to your chest, spreading you even wider.

“Thereee ya go,” Joel teased, his voice rough and dripping with mocking satisfaction. His lips twisted into a smug smirk, his dark eyes locked onto yours as his hips rolled, his pace faltering just enough to make you squirm. As he pulled back, slick and glistening with your arousal, he chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you like a current. “So damn wet, I can’t even stay in,” he muttered, shaking his head as if in disbelief.

Without warning, he guided himself back inside, filling you again in one smooth, deliberate motion that left you gasping. The stretch, the fullness, was overwhelming, and a desperate moan ripped from your throat as he set a brutal rhythm, his hips snapping against yours with relentless force.

The sound of skin slapping filled the room, loud and obscene, mingling with your cries and Joel’s deep, gravelly grunts. His breath was hot and heavy against your ear, his chest pressing against yours as he drove into you, each thrust dragging you closer to the edge again.

“You feel me, baby?” he growled, his voice low and rough, vibrating against your neck. His scruff scratched against your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine, your body arching beneath him as you clawed at his back. Your nails raked across his skin, leaving angry red trails in their wake, but Joel didn’t flinch. If anything, it only seemed to spur him on.

“All in here,” he murmured, his voice softer but no less commanding as his hand slid down your stomach. His palm pressed firmly against you, his dark eyes flicking between your flushed face and the place where your bodies met. “Feel that?” he muttered, his tone thick with pride and hunger. “That’s me, baby. All of me, deep inside you.”

You whimpered, your hips lifting desperately to meet his thrusts, each movement of his body sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. Joel braced himself on one elbow, his chest brushing against yours as his free hand moved between your thighs. His fingers found your clit with ease, and he began rubbing harshly, no hesitation, no regard for how sensitive you were. The intensity made you scream, your vision going white as your body jerked beneath him.

“Joel,” you gasped, his name falling from your lips in a trembling plea, the sensation overwhelming you, consuming you whole.

Your thoughts scattered like ash in the wind as he worked you closer and closer to the edge, his relentless touch unraveling you piece by piece. His rough hands anchored you, grounding you to the bed even as his gruff voice pulled you further under his control. You were pliant, trembling, utterly at his mercy, and all you could do was hold on as he drove you past every limit you thought you had.

“I—I’m gonna cum,” you screamed, your voice cracking, trembling with the weight of it. Your body tightened around him, the pleasure building higher and higher, unbearably close to breaking.

Joel’s lips curled into a wicked smirk, his thrusts becoming even more relentless, faster, deeper, like he was chasing his own edge just as much as he was pushing you toward yours. “Good,” he growled, his voice low and rough, vibrating against your ear like a promise. “Go on, baby. Cum for me. And make sure she hears you.”

“There you go, baby,” he growled, his voice thick with lust and satisfaction. “Cum on my cock. Fuck, milk my cock, baby. That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

The filthy words broke you completely. “Joel,” you cried, your voice cracking as the tension snapped, the pleasure ripping through you like a tidal wave. Your body arched off the bed, your nails biting into his skin as your cries filled the room, raw and unrestrained. Every nerve in your body was alight, the sensation so intense it bordered on too much, yet you couldn’t get enough.

Joel moved quickly, rolling onto his back with a fluid motion, his chest heaving as he looked up at you. His hand reached for yours, pulling it toward him with a firm, commanding grip. “Stroke me,” he growled, his voice low and gravelly, rough from the strain of holding back. His dark, hungry eyes locked on yours, filled with an intensity that made your breath catch. “I’m close.”

Your body was still trembling from your release, weak and unsteady, but you obeyed him without hesitation. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you reached for him, your fingers wrapping around his length. He hissed through his teeth, his hips jerking upward at the first touch, the reaction sending a thrill through you.

You started slow, dragging your hand up and down, your thumb brushing over the head with just enough pressure to make his breath hitch. Joel’s grunts and muttered curses filled the room, spurring you on as you quickened your pace. His head tipped back slightly, his neck exposed, his lips parted as he let out a low, drawn-out moan that made your thighs clench.

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his, surprising yourself—and him. For a moment, he froze, his eyes flicking open. But then he gave in, his mouth moving against yours in a kiss that was hot and sensual, his lips rough but responsive. The taste of him, the way he let you take control, sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

Your strokes quickened, your hand moving with more purpose now, your fingers tightening around him. Joel’s hips jerked in time with your movements, his groans growing louder, deeper, until his head fell back against the pillow. His jaw clenched, a guttural sound tearing from his throat as his body tensed.

“Fuck,” he moaned, his voice rough and raw, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him as he let go. His eyes fluttered shut, his breath uneven as he sat up suddenly, shifting onto his knees. With one final moan—your name tumbling from his lips like a prayer—he came, his release painting your stomach in warm, messy streaks.

Joel stayed there for a moment, his broad shoulders rising and falling with each heavy breath. His eyes remained closed, his lips slightly parted, and for once, he looked completely undone—vulnerable in a way you rarely saw. It was mesmerizing, the way his defenses slipped, the way he seemed to let himself just feel.

You smiled at him, tender despite the heat still coursing through you. Joel’s eyes opened slowly, his gaze locking on yours, and for a moment, you thought he might soften. But instead, he leaned forward, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as he kissed you roughly. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that hadn’t waned, a growl rumbling deep in his chest as he pulled you closer. It wasn’t sweet or soft—it was commanding, possessive, like he was staking his claim all over again.

You started to lean back, your chest heaving, ready to catch your breath. But Joel wasn’t done with you.

“Nuh uh,” he said suddenly, his voice steady and firm, a sharp contrast to the rawness from moments before. His hand caught your wrist, his grip firm as he pulled you upright, drawing you back into his control. “Be a good girl for me,” he said, his voice low and rough, laced with authority. “Go out there and get us some water.”

You blinked at him, dazed and still catching up, confusion flooding your mind as you started to reach for your discarded clothes. “Okay,” you murmured, your hand brushing against your shirt. But before you could grab it, Joel’s hand shot out again, his fingers wrapping around your wrist, stopping you cold.

“No,” he said sharply, his voice low and commanding. His dark eyes gleamed with something wicked, a dangerous amusement that sent a shiver down your spine. His lips curled into a smug, teasing smirk as he tilted his head toward the door. “You’re goin’ out there butt naked, baby, with my cum all over your tummy.”

Your eyes widened, heat flooding your cheeks as your stomach flipped with a potent mix of embarrassment and disbelief. “What?” you practically squeaked, your voice pitching higher. “Joel, are you serious?”

Joel leaned back against the headboard, his smirk widening, dripping with smug satisfaction as he spread his arms lazily, utterly at ease. He looked at you like you were a challenge he’d already conquered, his eyes dark and unrelenting. “You wanted her to know you’re mine, didn’t you?” he drawled, his voice slow, mocking, every word cutting into your resolve. “Well, go on, then. Let her see where I just came.”

The heat in your cheeks burned impossibly hotter, your body stiffening as his words sank in, settling heavy in your chest. Humiliation twisted inside you, curling around the raw, unrelenting need he’d left you drowning in. You wanted to argue, to snap back at him, to yell something defiant—but the way he looked at you, so commanding, so utterly unapologetic, made your stomach twist in ways you couldn’t ignore. His confidence was maddening, overwhelming, yet it drew you in like a magnet.

Your breath hitched as you stood there, frozen, your mind spinning with indecision. And yet, deep down, you already knew. You’d do it. Because he asked. Because it was Joel. Because the way his voice dropped, low and full of authority, sent shivers down your spine. And because, in the end, you wanted her to know just as much as he did.

You hesitated at the door, your heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else. Each beat felt like it might shake your body apart, your legs trembling as you fought to muster the courage to take the next step. Behind you, Joel leaned back further, watching you with that maddening, infuriating smirk, his gaze heavy, unrelenting, and impossibly smug. He was waiting, savoring the moment, dragging it out just to see you squirm.

“Go on, baby,” he murmured, his voice a low, honeyed drawl that sent a fresh wave of heat through your body. “Let her see.”

His words were slow, deliberate, and they left no room for disobedience. Your breath caught, and despite the knot of humiliation twisting in your chest, you reached for the doorknob. The cool metal was grounding, but it did nothing to stop the heat crawling up your neck as you pushed the door open and stepped out.

Swallowing hard, you pushed the door open and stepped out, your skin flushing hot as the cool air of the main room hit your bare body. You prayed—begged—that Tess would be asleep, her usual scowl absent, but of course, the universe wasn’t that kind. She was right there, sitting on the couch, her arms crossed and her jaw set like she’d been expecting this exact moment. Her fiery eyes locked on you the second you stepped into view.

You could feel the weight of her glare, sharp enough to cut, as you walked toward the kitchen. Each step felt agonizingly slow, your bare feet padding against the floor as your tits bounced slightly with every movement. Joel’s release still slicked across your stomach, glinting faintly in the dim light, and you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

Tess’s lips pressed into a thin, hard line, her nostrils flaring as she stared at you, her gaze flicking from your flushed face to your exposed chest to the mess on your skin. The tension in the room was suffocating, thick enough to choke on, but you kept moving, refusing to meet her eyes. Your legs felt weak, your breath shallow, and every inch of your body burned under her scrutiny.

As you reached the kitchen, fumbling for a glass of water with trembling hands, you could feel Joel’s presence even from behind the closed door. He was enjoying this—every second of it.

You could practically hear Joel’s low chuckle echoing in your head, dripping with smug satisfaction. The weight of his gaze lingered on your bare back even from behind the closed door, the unspoken command still tethering you to him. He knew exactly what he was doing—forcing you to obey, knowing it would leave Tess seething with jealousy. It was all a game to him, and the thought only made the knot in your stomach tighten.

“You’re a whore,” Tess spat, her voice cutting through the tense silence like a blade.

You froze for half a second, your fingers tightening around the glass as your throat bobbed with a hard swallow.

But you didn’t look at her. You didn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, you poured the water calmly, the sound of it filling the suffocating silence, and then turned on your heel, walking back toward the bedroom with your head held high.

Her eyes burned into your back as you left, the weight of her words pressing against you like a boulder. But all you could hear in your mind was Joel’s voice, smooth and commanding, telling you what to do, and you clung to it like a lifeline.

When you stepped back into the room, shutting the door firmly behind you, Joel was right where you left him—lounging on the mattress, his cock still out, his head tipped back like he had all the time in the world. The sight of him sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, his relaxed confidence utterly maddening and undeniably magnetic. His dark eyes flicked to the glass in your hand, and a slow, pleased smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Good girl,” he drawled, his voice rough and full of pride. The praise made your stomach twist in ways you couldn’t deny, even as your cheeks burned. He sat up slightly, one arm bracing him against the mattress as he watched you cross the room, his gaze trailing over every inch of your exposed skin. He took his time, his eyes heavy and unrelenting, like he was savoring the view.

“She say anything?” Joel asked, his tone casual, but his eyes gave him away—dark, sharp, with a glint of knowing amusement that made your stomach flip. He leaned back slightly, his broad shoulders relaxing against the headboard as if he had all the time in the world.

You hesitated, your throat tightening as the memory of Tess’s venomous words replayed in your head. Joel noticed, of course—he always did. His brow lifted, his smirk twisting into something sharper, darker. He reached for the glass in your hands, taking it from you with deliberate ease before guiding you down onto the mattress. The movement was firm yet unhurried, his grip on you steady.

“She call you somethin’?” he pressed, his voice dripping with mock curiosity, like he already knew the answer. He set the glass aside and grabbed an old rag, his rough hands surprisingly gentle as he wiped the remnants of his release from your stomach. The action, almost tender, sent shivers through you, your skin hypersensitive under his touch. His fingers tapped lazily against his thigh, waiting. “Lemme guess. A whore?”

Your cheeks burned, and you glanced down, unable to meet his gaze, your voice barely a whisper. “Yeah,” you muttered.

Joel’s chuckle was low and rough, vibrating through the room and settling in your chest. It wasn’t a comforting sound; it was smug, knowing, dripping with the satisfaction of being right. “Course she did,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly. His smirk deepened as his hands found your thighs, pulling you closer, his thumbs brushing over your skin. “Think she’s a bit jealous.”

You swallowed hard, your breath catching as his grip tightened, grounding you. His smirk turned wicked, his eyes glinting with something darker, something possessive. “But she’s right about one thing,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, rougher, each word sending a fresh wave of heat pooling in your belly. “You’re my whore. Aren’t you?”

The weight of his gaze burned through you, setting every nerve in your body alight. Your chest tightened, the tension unraveling as you nodded, your body trembling under the force of his presence. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think—there was only him. His smirk widened at your silent admission, his hands sliding further up your thighs, gripping you firmly.

“Good girl,” he hummed, his voice softer now, but no less commanding. He leaned closer, his breath hot against your lips as his fingers dug into your skin. “You ready for me again?”

The question made your breath hitch, your body already aching with anticipation. You nodded frantically, your lips parting as your heart pounded against your ribs. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice breaking, raw with need.

Joel’s smirk deepened, his lips brushing against your jaw as he murmured, “That’s my girl. Let’s see just how much you can take.” And with that, he pushed you back onto the mattress, his hands pinning you down as he took control all over again, his dominance overwhelming and addictive.

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foldingfittedsheets · 1 year ago

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I worked retail for a long time and people really do treat you like shit sometimes. But between selling sex toys, mattresses, and jewelry I can say definitively I got treated worst selling mattresses.

All three of my jobs were in sales but selling sex toys we were allowed to put people in their place, and in jewelry people didn’t want to misbehave in a fancy setting. But people at the mattress store had no problem yelling at me, hitting on me, or insulting me to my face.

For a while I was managing my own store for the company. I ran a small location and had struggling employees placed with me for rehabilitation. If their numbers improved they could go back to bigger stores. If not, they got fired.

So this meant I was the manager of problem employees. At one point both of my people had a foot out the door. The company was going downhill and changed computer systems and they were fed up. Consequently, they made a ton of mistakes, because they just didn’t care about the job or learning the new systems.

I strolled into work on what was essentially my Monday to a shit show. Deliveries scheduled without product, wrong things on orders, poor expectations of the process, you name it. I spent the entire morning getting yelled at for mistakes that weren’t mine.

The final straw came when a man called furious that his moms bed for her nursing home had a delivery window he couldn’t accommodate. This wasn’t a huge disaster since we still had time to deliver it before she moved. I ran him through the options and he just kept screaming at me. Not for a solution but because I was there and he was frustrated.

My heart filled with malice and a cold fury. A calculating part of my brain had a realization in that moment that I could stay a punching bag or I could strike back.

I quavered my voice delicately, taking in a shaky, warbling breath like I was trying not to cry. “Sir,” I quivered through fake tears, “I don’t know what you want from me! I told you what I can do, I didn’t make this mistake I’m just trying to fix it!” My voice broke pitifully on the last syllables, sounding in all ways like a sweet innocent person being yelled at who’s just trying her best, really!

It was like I’d doused him with cold water. My emotional act was the realization that he was screaming at someone who was just doing their damn job, and he was being an asshole. He hastily made an excuse and hung up.

I had a third employee covering with me from another store that day who heard everything. When I hung up, I looked over to see them watching me with an awed expression. “Did… did you just pretend to cry?”

“I absolutely fucking did,” I said with feeling, “and I’d do it a thousand more times. If that’s what it takes for someone to realize they’re behaving like a fucking prick, they deserve it.” The employee looked at me like I was their hero.

The man called back, apologizing profusely, having magically arranged his schedule to accommodate delivery. He came in later that week with an apology Starbucks gift card. I was gracious in my acceptance.

I pulled it a few more times before leaving the company. I felt no shame in the ruse. If someone behaves so poorly that it’s plausible their behavior would drive someone to tears they deserve to feel absolutely wretched about it.

#ramblies #ffs foibles #story #retail #retail hell #I have had people over the years had qualms with the ruse #one person even told me it was so unprofessional #that I’d pretend to be in more distress was not nice of me. but getting yelled at is not nice and I’m in a position where I can’t yell back #and who would they complain to that I cried? would they go to corporate and say how unprofessional the lady cried when I screamed at her!

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faultedloyalty · 2 months ago

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The speed in which he has to turn his amusement into faux-apology cannot be understated; though the way in which the young man’s reactions serve only to further bring him closer to something like elation cannot be, either! Perhaps it’s merely his age, but from their severity to their depths, he finds that his baser urges to toy with those lesser than himself are growing. They are, of course, overwhelmingly easy to keep at bay—he has practiced, he has lived, too long to be any other way—but the fact that he has to acknowledge them at all on his own is exceedingly rare.

Not that he is one to ignore his own whims, either, however.

“So many apologies you need not make; truly, just what kind of butler am I?” Another melodramatic sigh, another shake of his head, follows in the wake of his own bastard-conceived plot and results. “Though I must apologize once more, myself, for inadvertently insulting your acquaintances.” For if they are neither friends nor anyone he considers worthy of such a word... “I meant no harm, of course, but I fear I spoke too impulsively. Such is a failing of my own, unfortunately—

“I must admit that I do take heart in knowing you bear confidence-enough to correct me, however.”

For that, too, was amusing in and of itself—despite the irresolute clamber in which young Daisuke speaks his words, the fact that he speaks them at all is enough to make him want to chuckle. Companionship was of no use to himself, but the lengths in which those who find it so go to have others speak no ill-will of them, even when it was unsure, served to interestingly confuse him always.

“It is quite clear that they are of great import to you,” he continues on easily, belying his thoughts, “in spite of how little you know of them personally. Does not speaking of them in such a way also speak in turn, however, not just to their skills but to what skills they have imparted to you, as well?”

Even if mere beginner-work from another teenager, knowledge would forever be knowledge; “To gain any sort of understanding over the simplest of details is enough to learn the complex natures of this world, after all. One might argue that this is needed to do so, as what one might think of as a basis—though I dare not do so in my position, of course.”

(His position for the moment, at least, but there was little need to fret over frivolous details such as those, right then. He merely needs them known, still.)

“Special qualities or lack thereof aside, as well—and so long as I am permitted to say so—at the very least I find myself thrilled to find your art of quite the noticeable talent, already.”

And there he goes to demonstrate—flipping through pages quickly, though keeping a thumb on the one he had scribbled on himself, with that self-satisfied smile! He doesn’t go far, and he isn’t even looking at it, but even this serves more to try for a reaction than anything else!

“It is clear that you don’t lack an eye for details,” he speaks as the pages turn, as casually as if he were discussing the weather, “and neither is there lack of intent behind your work! Really, this is more than enough to warrant an impart of your knowledge to myself, as the less-experienced artist, but I suppose...”

Just as quickly as he’d begun flipping through pages does he close them back up, keeping only the one he’d utilized himself open for the book’s owner to see. In the same breath, he holds it back out for the young man; silent encouragement that he is to, finally, take his own look at what Sebastian had done.

“Relieving as it is to hear that my work shan’t be considered by one who is, at heart, ‘really mean’, I do urge you to give your most honest opinion. Shall my skills be lacking, I will endeavour to improve as quickly as I am able.”

Though he can already guess a few ways this is about to go—but he’s curious to see which of them will occur, as well, so there’s no need to continue stalling.

' i-infamy ?! '

the word seems to instantly jolt him . close to hives , his skin prickling , every thin hair on his arm swift to stand up straight on end . a word like infamy ... was really bad , wasn't it ?! ( like horrible , like heinuous , like --- dark . )

' n-no ! it's not like that or anything ! like hiwatari-kun and sagami-sensei , i mean --- er , u-um ... ' would someone like sebastian have been able to recognize any of these names ? arrive , vanish , do everything in a blink and leave nary so much as a single trace behind --- his family had instructed him over and over to be capable of severing any sort of loose strings in the midst of plotted , robbing act .

( why dare to admire his enemies , anyways ? )

was it too simple , too laughable , that just because he wanted to think they were friends ... no , that because he just wanted to somehow be friends them , that he should have therefore made every effort to be kind , and speak up in their defense ? even knowing that they might never have done the same for him , or for his far more rotten , wretched parts .

' t-they're not that bad , i mean ... i don't think infamous is a good word for them ... ' though , maybe and maybe not . before the hikari alone , what other artists played god , to the extent that their creations came to life out of nothing but the meager likes of stone , paint and wax ? man's first golems and homonculi , created in the perverse shape of themselves : both infinitely beautiful and hideous .

their broach of every natural law and order could have lent itself to their infamy , if only what vicious storms of emotion surrounding their works didn't coil about them like the still , untouchable calm of an eye of a storm . and there , braving the cuts and razor , racing edge of the roughest winds , was the black half of the kokuyoku ... what black wings even now remained bound to his body .

' ... i'm sorry . ' trailing away , clutching to himself at his hands , daisuke's will shrinks and relents , wilting meekly beneath the other's blase accusations . certainly , he feels every invisible pressure like a block of lead , hitching his shoulders high in a hopeless defense against what felt like , polite and composed as it was , an adult's chide .

' i don't ... actually know if i'm really friends with any of them . i only sort of know them , so i didn't think anything was that interesting to talk about --- um , hiwatari-kun is the same age as me , and he's the one who comes from a really family . the hikari ? their artworks always end up in museums and stuff , they've been making masterpieces for over four hundred years . i've only really learned a few things about ... um , shadows and circles from him , though ... '

embarrassing basics that anyone , even a toddler should have been able to comprehend .

' sagami-sensei was a sculptor , and someone who won top prizes every year in azumano ... our standards for art are the highest in japan , so it was a big deal when he was going to start teaching part-time . but then he quit right after his practice internship and decided to go back to art --- ' cheeks flush and he laughs ; he doesn't dare to pry at sebastian's turn , deeply curious as he remained to the other's work . ' he was really cool . he always seemed to know what he was doing when he was making art , hiwatari-kun too , i think . i'm not really anything special , especially compared to them ... '

humility blends in warmly with a loitering sense of shame .

' really --- really-really , i don't think i could give you good advice or critiques even if i tried . not to mention , since i was the one who asked you to draw something for me in the first place , if i were to suddenly get all nit-picky or something over it when i probably couldn't do any better , i'd feel ... um , really mean . '

#WAAAAAAAH TSUN ZAG'S SO SORRY HE KEPT PROMISING 2 COME OVER HERE AND THEN HE NEVER DID AUGH.....#SAKURA BRAIN IS ON TOO MUCH . I LOVE MY GIRL SM BUT ALSKDMASL #‘i am simply one hell of a butler’ : ic #dnangelic #he's making me wring him out like a towel to even talk this is a nightmare but we make do . we make do........#i really wanted him to say more abt hiwatari and sagami but ughhh it's not coming to me #zag when the muse who does not give a damn about fuckall won't speak to him : Why is this so Hard >:1 #but anyhow ; some of this is still him just kinda doing his smooth-talk thing but some of it is also like . real #iirc we talked about it but im too sleepy to really remember it all.....#i really need 2 do that manga re-read though hooooly fuck . but anywayz enough abt zag lemme get 2 the tags ;#DARK PLEASKDLAMEMKLSFD HE'S JUST . HE'S LIKE THAT . APATHETIC CREATURE WHO OVERUSES DRAMA FOR HIS OWN #ANNOYING FUCKIN' WANTS LIKE BROOOOO GO FIND A HOBBY !!!!! he sighs a lot yet i have no icons of it though..... a travesty of #the greatest degree tbh #dai's scrambling ''i can't use this 😨'' to sebby's :) ''fear not you surely can'' . and then he's just putting it in dai's hands anywayz--#but EXCUSE YOU HE DOESNT ❌❌❌❌❌❌ WANNA EAT DARK'S MINI GNOME GIRLBOSS !!!! HE JUST WANTS 2 PLAY AROUND #THAT'S VERY DIFFERENT !!!!! HE EATS ONLY ONE MEAL AT A TIME !!!!!!!!!! HE HAS /MANNERS/ >:1 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!#( I WANT HIM DEAD SO BAD . I MEAN SEBBY HERE I ASLKMFDSLD )#but for once zag did not forget that but it's gonna sideswipe sebby enough that even the others wont be able to like #get mentioned capturing wiz . pov wiz is out there running around like dark or dai and while sebby has the real one up on the upper floors #somewhere theres explosion noises and shotgun shots going off and dozens of things breaking as finny bard and mey-rin try to #kill wiz ( nobody who enters the manor with the intent to take anything gets out alive . or at least not intact )#so like . wiz u need 2 run okay u need 2 get outta this freak-ass place !!!!#HOPEFULLY SEBBY AND ZAG ARE STILL . UNDERSTANDING THE THEMES THOUGH #THE NEXT TIME HOPEFULLY ZAG IS NOT SO BLEH WITH HIM THAT HE CAN ACTUALLY . PROCESS WORDS AND WRITE THEM--#sorry he does go through the sketchbook though he is justv that brand of annoying fr #hes literally not even looking at it . just pushing pages 2 get dai 2 react . i reiterate how annoying he is by god

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rikupid · 3 months ago

Text

[3:00] 💭 your teeth in my neck . . . wc: 1.7k

warnings: haechan x afab!reader, nsfw (MDNI), dom!haechan who is still kinda whiny, pinv sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up plz), breeding, degradation, light humiliation, use of pet names (baby, angel, whore), dacryphilia, overstimulation, hyuck is just stressed!!

author’s note: winnie writing dom haechan… WHAT HAPPENED TO ME… looks around nervously bc Who am i!!!!! anyways i hope u all enjoy 😖😖

haechan didn’t mean to snap.

he didn’t mean to grab you by the waist and push you up against the wall with so much force that you thought you had done something wrong, staring at him with a confused expression.

you know he’s not usually like this, his behavior catching you completely off guard, and his only excuse is that he’s just stressed. he hasn’t gotten a break, jumping from schedule to schedule, being told to do this and do that, pushing him over his limit. haechan’s stressed, but he really didn’t mean to snap.

his hands are rough, roaming all over your body and groping whatever he can reach. haechan’s normally sweet, treating your body with so much care that it makes you want to cry, but suddenly, like a flip had been switched, his hands begin to trail lower and lower, squeezing your ass and tugging your hips forward.

you gasp as you feel his bulge pressing against your core, mind trying to process what exactly’s going on because haechan’s never acted like this before, never taken what he wants without desperate little pleas, begging for you to make him feel good.

“hyuck,” you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck and grinding against his bulge, despite your earlier confusion. “what’s—mm, what’s wrong, baby?”

haechan just groans, burying his face into your neck and pulling you impossibly closer, itching for your body against his. he mouthes messily at your neck, biting and licking your skin until it’s wet, flushed red and properly claimed.

“hyuck—“ you try again, but it’s obvious that haechan doesn’t wanna talk, too wound up to even think about voicing his stress properly if the rough sink of his teeth is anything to go by.

he pulls away from your neck, sliding his hands up towards your waist and underneath your shirt, mapping the smooth feel of your skin. “mine,” haechan mumbles, leaning in to nip at your bottom lip. it’s the first word he’s said all night, and something about it makes you throb with desperation, this new side of your boyfriend weird, but not unwelcome.

you nod your head, leaning forward to connect your lips fully and tangling your fingers in his hair. haechan moans into your mouth, slipping his tongue inside and gripping your waist with so much force that you’re sure it’ll bruise.

everything’s so hot, making your head spin as your boyfriend practically eats you alive, almost as if he was trying to prove that you were his, leaving no room for argument.

haechan’s the first to pull away, leaving the both of you gasping for air, lips slick with spit and swollen a pretty red. his gaze is heavy as he locks eyes with you, swimming with a mix of emotions that you can’t quite read. without a word, he slips a hand down into the front of your pants, past the waistband of your sweats and underneath your panties, fingers immediately sliding between your folds and spreading them, marveling at just how wet you are.

“barely even touched you,” haechan mumbles, staring at where his hand is deep inside your pants, rubbing small circles on your clit with his middle finger. “so fucking wet,” he adds, biting his lip.

“yeah—yeah,” you breathe, head falling back against the wall with a loud thump. you roll your hips into his hand, chasing more of the pleasure that comes from him touching you.

“stop moving,” haechan hisses, using his other hand to hold your hips down, forcing them to stay still. his words are harsh, void of any emotion as he growls, “you’re gonna take what i fucking give you.”

you can’t help the whine that slips from your throat, nodding and not daring to try moving again. your pussy throbs at the rough treatment, turning you on even more.

haechan says nothing else, pulling his hand out of your pants and flipping you around, crowding you up against the wall. you moan, an unexpected noise at the sudden switch in position, and his bulge strains against the curve of your ass.

his movements are rushed, little to no care behind them as he tugs your sweats and panties down, leaving them pooling around your knees. you shiver at the sudden exposure, closing your eyes and pushing your ass back against him, desperate for whatever he’s about to do to you.

“hyuck,” you moan, pressing your forehead up against the wall. you hear the faint sound of his zipper, biting your lip in anticipation.

haechan ignores you, pulling his leaking cock out of his pants, barely even bothering to pull them down, before grabbing the base and guiding it towards your slit. he teases, dragging the tip between your folds and wetting it with your own arousal.

“could jus’ slip it in if i wanted,” he whispers, talking to nobody but himself and pressing the tip inside as if he were really going to. “gonna fuck this pretty pussy, make it all mine,” he breathes out, hands pressing into your back, forcing it down into a pretty arch.

“please, hyuck,” you whine, walls fluttering around the tip of his cock that’s just barely pressing inside you.

haechan scoffs, a lazy grin on his face as he takes in the sight of you, pressing your ass back into his cock as if you were some kind of cheap whore. “begging and i haven’t even done shit,” he sneers, holding your hips in place to keep you from moving.

he pulls the tip of his cock out before spitting into his hand, slicking up his length and groaning at the stimulation. before he can lose himself in the pleasure, he places both of his hands on your ass, spreading your cheeks to slide his cock inside your pussy, bottoming out in one slow and deep thrust.

a long moan is ripped from your throat, the girth of his cock stretching you out so good, any thoughts you had disappearing and melting from your brain. “hyuck—oh,” you cry, squeezing your eyes shut.

“tight—so fucking tight,” haechan gasps, hunching over your back and digging his face into the back of your shoulder. he pulls out, just barely leaving the tip inside, before slamming his hips against yours, bullying his cock back into your pussy. like this, he builds up a rhythm, fucking you without mercy, his thrusts too fast for you to stay coherent, moans choked and words stuck in your throat.

he’s so deep it feels like you can’t breathe, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto, fingers digging uselessly into the wall. your body rocks with slam of haechan’s hips, legs going weak as you try to keep up.

“take it so good, baby—fuck,” haechan whines, voice shaky and out of breath, but his hips keep the same relentless pace, never letting up. “made to take my cock,” he babbles, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer, “gonna make me fucking c-cum.”

“please,” you moan, feeling your orgasm build up. your pussy throbs, heat boiling in your stomach and threatening to explode so hard you’ll break.

“yeah? maybe s’all you’re good for,” he says, slowing his hips and rolling them in deep, pointed thrusts. “just a whore that’s only good for cock,” haechan mumbles in your ear, bringing a hand down to rub at your clit. a choked moan leaves your lips, spit beginning to pool inside your mouth.

“so dirty baby, so fucking dirty, getting off on me fucking you like this,” he continues, words punctuated with each thrust.

“hyuck—hyuck,” you gasp, barely managing to get the words out. he picks up the pace again, leaving you breathless, and finally, the tension in your belly snaps, orgasm washing over you in strong, powerful waves. your legs give out, body supported only by haechan’s grip, and fuck, he’s still going.

“that’s it, baby,” haechan groans, hips stuttering from the way your pussy clenches around him, practically sucking his cock back inside.

“too much, s’too much,” you whine, loud and pathetic, tears welling up in your eyes. your hand flies down to grab his wrist, trying to stop him from rubbing at your oversensitive and throbbing clit.

“shut up,” haechan spits, grabbing both of your hands and pinning them behind your back. “k-know you can take it, angel, c’mon,” he pants, thrusts turning sloppy as he feels his orgasm getting closer and closer.

“hyuck,” you sob, too stupid to think of anything else, haechan’s cock having properly fucked you silly, leaving you with nothing but the thoughts of hyuck, hyuck, hyuck.

finally, after what feels like years, haechan pushes in with one last final thrust of his hips, groaning as he spills inside your pussy. “fuck,” he whines, biting his lip as he cums, the tension in his shoulders disappearing with every last drop.

you’re both panting, completely spent, and for a moment, it’s silent. haechan nuzzles into the back of your neck, rubbing his sweaty bangs against your skin, and it should be disgusting, but you’re too tired to actually scold him.

he pulls his cock out, backing away to watch as your hole flutters, a small trickle of cum beginning to pool and spill out. “mine,” he whispers, hands caressing your skin like an apology, trying to make up for the rough treatment.

you nod, finally coming back to your senses. “yours,” you agree, sniffly and quiet. haechan gently guides you back into a standing position, crowding you against the wall and nuzzling back into your neck.

“love you,” he mumbles, voice quiet and obviously drained, his body slouching against you. he tightens his arms around your waist, sighing.

“love you too, hyuckie,” you hum. “what was wrong?”

“just—you know,” haechan whines, not wanting to elaborate.

and yeah, you know. with you, words aren’t necessary for you to know what your boyfriend needs.

a/n: ummmmm… Not sure. the haechan voices got to me and that video of him moaning during the asmr with jisung did Not help!! lmk what u guys thought about this :>

tags: @haetrack @injunnie-lemon

#haechan x reader #haechan smut #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #nct dream smut #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 #nct dream #lee haechan #nct 127 smut #nct smut #winnie’s hard hours

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