#Buy Sex Machine

[ingravinoveritas]

Okay but this is literally a continuation of Michael being even more unhinged on The Last Leg right before this by "buying" David and saying he was going to keep him in his basement...

Georgia Tennant is so unhinged on Twitter

[redbutch]

Current dream toy list, lovense edition:

Hush (the butt plug)

Gemini (vibrating nipple clamps)

Lapis + harness (the double ended dildo)

The mini sex machine

Good god I need to start budgeting ajdnshdndbdj

[pruning-the-minds-garden]

Yeah I'm a biologist and my wife is an anthropolologist, we can talk your ear off about the science of gender and sex and how it has evolved across history, cultures, and throughout nature and society.

People who say it's simple, straightforward and/or binary make me want to laugh in their face so loud and so long that it's downright rude.

[punkshort]

Have A Good Night

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Every week like clockwork, the same devastatingly handsome man comes into the grocery store where you work to buy flowers. It's not until he asks you out when you realize the flowers aren't for his wife or girlfriend.

Warnings: no outbreak AU, language, flirting, alcohol and food consumption, smut (18+ MDNI), protected piv sex, size kink, shy!joel, fluff, mutual pining, cringy/embarrassing crush interactions

WC: 7.9K

Written for @morallyinept's Flora & Fauna Challenge (masterlist here)

dividers by the one and only @saradika-graphics

It was never roses that he bought. That should have been your first clue.

Every Friday he came through your checkout lane with a beautiful flower arrangement. Sometimes it was lilies, sometimes it was daffodils, but never roses.

He hardly spared you a glance when he slid his card through the machine. Occasionally he would comment about the weather or how busy the store was, but he rarely ever made eye contact.

It wasn't unusual and it didn't offend you. Most customers had other things on their minds and they preferred to get in and out of the store as quickly as possible. But this particular customer, the one with dark hair and eyes, broad shoulders and patchy beard always caught your eye. It was the best part of your week. You never had the nerve to say anything to him, but your friend Andy noticed the way you always got nervous when you saw him standing in line, how your demeanor shifted and your hands shook just a little bit.

He's not wearing a ring, Andy pointed out one day as you counted your drawer. You rolled your eyes.

That doesn't mean anything, you replied. Why else would he be buying flowers?

Then one day, as you scanned your handsome stranger's flowers, you noticed a few of the daisies were wilting.

"Do you want to pick out a different bouquet?" you had mustered up the courage to ask. The store was quiet, no one was lined up behind him. There was a big football game that night and it kept most people at home.

His eyes snapped up to yours and he froze like a deer in the headlights. You raised your eyebrows, waiting for an answer while trying to think if you said something stupid to warrant such a delayed reaction. "A few of these flowers are already dying. See?" You tilted the bouquet in his direction so he could see the flowers with the petals that were turning brown.

"Oh," he finally said, then nodded his head. "Y-yeah, thanks. D'you mind if I just-" he jutted his thumb over his shoulder.

"It's no big deal, I'll wait."

He gave you a crooked grin and disappeared back into the store. The florist department wasn't far from the registers but it was enough time for Andy to lock eyes with you from customer service and give you a look. You rolled your eyes at him and turned back around just as the hot flower guy was returning with a new selection.

"Thanks," he said again once you handed him his receipt. He didn't make a move to leave.

"Don't mention it," you replied, feeling Andy's stupid grin burning into the back of your head the longer hot flower guy stood there.

"Have you worked here long?" he asked after a brief silence that was bordering on uncomfortable. You blinked, taken aback at the random question and tried to ignore your heart fluttering excitedly in your chest.

"Um, just over four years," you replied. His beautiful dark eyes drifted over your face as he nodded and swallowed before looking back down at his flowers.

"You work most Fridays?"

You could feel your cheeks warming up and you wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole. How can someone be embarrassed for being embarrassed? Jesus, you were such a mess.

"Yep," you said, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear and praying he didn't notice how flushed you were.

He rubbed the back of his neck and shifted his weight. If you weren't so absorbed in your own uneasiness you might have noticed he was acting just as uncomfortable as you.

When he opened his mouth to say something else, a middle aged woman pushed her cart up behind him and began to unload her groceries onto the belt. He glanced quickly over his shoulder and nervously swiped his palm over his mouth.

"Have a good night," he told you abruptly, and before you had a chance to reply he was halfway to the front door.

The following week was busier and you lost track of time. Typically, as your shift dragged on, you began to anticipate his arrival but on that particular day, you were distracted. Andy ended up having to help out on another register, it was so busy.

"You wanna come out with us tonight?" Andy asked you over his shoulder. He was closing down the extra register while you were finishing up with a young mom who had her hands full wrangling her toddler away from the candy.

"Uh, yeah, sure," you agreed absentmindedly, lifting the last paper bag into the cart. You tapped a key on your register so she could slide her card through the reader and looked over at Andy. "Where are you guys going?"

"Murray's," he replied immediately, his focus still on counting the coins in the drawer. You rolled your eyes and grinned.

"Why am I not surprised?"

It was well known Andy harbored a huge crush on a bartender there and he had been trying to work up the courage for months to ask for her number.

"Thank you, have a good night," you told the young woman, handing over her receipt with a smile. When you glanced up to greet your next customer, you felt your heart skip a beat when you were met with those dark brown eyes you had grown so enamored with.

"It must be later than I thought," you said, without even thinking twice. Surprise passed over his beautiful features as you scanned his flowers and then your nerves finally caught up with you. "I-I mean, you usually come in around the same time every week," you explained hurriedly. Andy was smirking at you from behind hot flower guy's broad shoulder and you made a mental note to punch him later.

"I didn't realize you noticed," he replied after he cleared his throat.

Oh, you idiot. You could tell you made him uncomfortable with your comment and you just prayed he didn't figure out you had been lusting after him all these months with the little observation you made.

"You always pick out the best flower arrangements, it's hard not to," Andy piped up. Relief flooded your veins for the save. Maybe you should rethink that punch. "Must be one lucky girl," he added with a mischievous wink in your direction before picking up the drawer and walking towards the office, leaving just the two of you with Andy's loaded comment hanging heavy in the air.

He took his time pulling his credit card out of his wallet, wracking his brain for something to say. His cheeks dusted with pink the longer he took to formulate a sentence.

"So... Murray's, huh?" he asked, cringing inwardly at the stupid question as he swiped his card.

You blinked, confused at the change in topic until it clicked. "Oh, yeah. He drags a bunch of us out after work sometimes because he's got a thing for a girl who works there." You gave the man behind hot flower guy a smile as he unloaded his groceries on the belt.

Your handsome stranger froze, his hand still holding the receipt midair while the gears turned in his head.

"So, you two aren't-"

"Oh, sorry, excuse me," the customer behind him mumbled when he accidentally bumped into him with his cart.

"Have a good night," you told him with a sweet smile, then quickly turned away, hoping your hair would hide your embarrassment.

"I am not playing darts with her! Don't you remember last time? She almost took my eye out!"

"Oh, shut the fuck up!" you laughed, shoving Courtney, another co-worker of yours, in the shoulder. There were only five of you that night, Courtney being the only other girl in your group, but you were fine with that. Over the past few years you all bonded over the shared trauma of nasty customers and terrible management to the point where you were like family, and nights where you blew off steam only brought you closer together.

"Anyone need anything? I'm heading up," Andy shouted over the live band.

"Didn't you just get a water a minute ago?" you teased, knowing full well he was looking for an excuse to talk to the bartender.

"What can I say? I'm thirsty," Andy replied with a smirk before pushing his way through the crowd to get to the bar.

"When the hell's he just gonna ask her out? We've been coming here for months," Courtney said, turning away from the bar to look at you. You took a sip from your mixed drink and shrugged.

"Probably for the best. You know if he makes things weird then we'll need to find a new spot to hang out."

She giggled and winced when the band began to sing Journey off-key. "God, these guys are... not it."

"I think it's the owner's way of making us drink more!" James shouted from across the table, the four of you dissolving into laughter. He had a good point because your drink was nearly empty.

"Why didn't you just have Andy get you one?" Courtney asked when you slid down from your barstool.

"If I did, there was, like, a one percent chance he would bring it back to me within the hour," you told her, nodding towards Andy setting up shop against the bar, his eyes trailing after the cute bartender.

It took several minutes but you were finally able to wedge yourself between other patrons and secure a refill of your drink, but when you turned around to walk back to your table you nearly ran right into someone's chest.

"Oh! Sorry, I - " your eyes widened when you tilted your head up to find those familiar brown eyes staring down at you. "It-it's you!" you finally said as the shock began to wear off. He gave you a lopsided grin and nodded.

"Joel," he offered, sticking his hand out. Joel. Joel. Joel. You rolled his name around in your head like a ping pong ball. It suited him.

You took his hand, his long fingers dwarfing yours. "I'm-"

Then he cut you off and said your name and once again, you struggled to keep the shock from your face. "Your nametag," he explained, letting your hand go and gesturing towards his own chest where a nametag would sit. "I remember."

"Yeah," you said breathlessly with a smile. You glanced around the room while people shoved past you to get to the bar. "What are you doing here?"

His smile faltered a bit and he rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't live too far. Had the night to myself so I came out with my brother. He's over there," Joel pointed to the opposite corner of the bar but it was impossible to see him through all the people.

"Oh, cool," you nodded and took a sip from your glass. His eyes drifted to your lips, getting lost in the way they puckered around the straw. "Do you guys come here a lot?"

He chuckled and dropped his chin shyly to his chest before shaking his head. "No, um," he cleared his throat and looked back up at you. "Was hopin' I would run into you, actually."

"Me?" you squeaked and your heart began to race. He nodded and grinned.

"Yeah. Wondered if maybe you'd-"

A huge, burly man who definitely had too much to drink shouldered past you, accidentally shoving you into Joel's chest. His arms immediately wrapped around your ribs to steady you and somehow you didn't spill anything on his clothes.

"God, I'm sorry," you mumbled, his scent making you dizzy. You always had a register between you. Never before had you been that close, noticing he smelled like he had just gotten out of the shower and it was instantly overwhelming.

"It's alright," he said, his arms still loosely wrapped around your midsection. "But I gotta get this out before I lose my nerve, darlin'."

Darlin'. Your brows furrowed and before you could reply, he spoke. "I wondered if you wanted to go out on a date sometime? Maybe a movie or somethin'? I know you work alotta nights but I -"

"You want to go out with me?" you asked in disbelief. He looked at you like you had two heads.

"'Course I do. Wasn't it obvious?" he could feel the heat creeping up his neck.

"No! I thought... nevermind, it doesn't matter," you told him, a smile pulling across your lips. "Yes, I would love to. God, if you only knew-" you stopped yourself by slapping your hand over your mouth and he quirked a playful eyebrow at you but he was too excited that you agreed to go out with him to ask you to finish your thought. He handed you his phone as you shakily typed in your number, hoping your trembling fingers didn't mess it up before giving it back to him.

"I'm gonna text you tomorrow, set somethin' up, yeah?" he asked and you nodded numbly, your mind reeling as you tried to process everything that was happening. He grinned and slid his phone back into his pocket. "Have a good night," he said, the familiar phrase making you smile before disappearing into the crowd.

"Um, who the hell was that?" Courtney questioned the second you arrived back at your table.

"I need a fucking shot first and then I'll tell you, holy shit," you said, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves with no success. She laughed and got you each tequila shots, then you spent the rest of the night telling her all about Joel the hot flower guy.

The next morning, you paid for your crimes. Your head throbbed and your mouth was dry as sand as you stumbled into your bathroom to scoop water from the faucet, desperately trying to quench your thirst. You weren't normally a huge drinker, but after your run-in with Joel, you were so nervous that you found yourself tossing back a few extra drinks than normal. Fortunately, you didn't work until late afternoon, so after you fumbled around your cupboards for some crackers, you fell back into bed. Your eyes widened when you saw a missed text from an unsaved number an hour ago.

Hey, it's Joel. It was great running into you last night. I was thinking we could go to dinner this week, if you're still up for it. What nights are you free?

"Shit," you muttered, running a hand anxiously through your hair. Now that you were sober, the prospect of seeing hot flower guy outside of work made you inexplicably nervous.

You must have typed out and deleted fifteen responses before going with I would love to! I'm free Sunday, Monday and Wednesday nights. Or we could do something after I get out of work, we close at nine.

Did you sound too desperate? You chewed on your fingernail as you read your sent text over and over, then shrugged and put your phone down. Too late now, anyway.

It took a while to get his response, but to be fair, you didn't reply to him for an hour.

I can make Sunday work.

Sunday? As in, tomorrow?

"Oh, fuck," you groaned, fully not expecting him to set something up so quickly. You needed time to mentally prepare, but of course you agreed, then quickly texted Courtney, begging for her help on what to wear and how to do your hair.

Yay!! We can talk about it at work tonight!

After you ironed out a time and restaurant with Joel, you popped two pain relievers and chugged some water, hoping to get rid of your hangover before work.

"Okay, so where's he taking you?" Courtney asked excitedly as you stocked cereal together.

"This Italian place on Westwood. Here, I looked it up," you said, pulling out your phone and showing her the menu. "Have you been there before? What do I wear?"

She squinted at your screen and shook her head. "I haven't been there but we can figure this out. It doesn't look that fancy, but you should probably wear a dress or skirt."

"Ooo, do you finally have yourself a date?" Andy asked from halfway down the aisle, clearly overhearing part of your conversation. "Hot flower guy is going to be so disappointed."

You laughed and pocketed your phone. "It's with hot flower guy," you said triumphantly. Andy's eyes bugged out of his head, confused, until you and Courtney explained what happened the night before when he was busy staring at the bartender.

"You should have told me last night! So I guess that means he really is single."

You paused and cocked your head to the side, realizing all of the sudden you still didn't know why he bought flowers every Friday.

"Uh, yeah, I guess so," you replied, turning your attention back to the cereal. Andy and Courtney exchanged worried glances behind your back.

"I'm sure he's not stupid enough to buy flowers from you for another woman every week and then ask you out," Courtney said, glaring at Andy. He cleared his throat and nodded.

"Y-yeah, I mean, maybe they're for a grave or something."

You both turned to him and gave him an incredulous look.

"Hey, I'm just trying to help," he said, throwing up his hands and walking away. You bit your lip and glanced at Courtney.

"Don't worry about it. There's tons of reasons why guys would buy flowers weekly... maybe he just likes to have fresh flowers in the house. Maybe they're for his mom!"

"Yeah, good point. I bet they're for his mom," you agreed, feeling a little better as you ripped open the next cardboard box full of cereal boxes.

When you woke on Sunday morning, you were already nervous. You could have sworn your heart was slamming in your chest from the moment you opened your eyes, already overthinking your date with Joel.

You spent the afternoon texting Courtney pictures of outfits you hauled out of your closet and tossed on your bed, then decided you needed to try them on for her to get the full effect. You were sitting on your bed, wearing a light blue sundress, the last outfit you had tried on as you gathered your pictures. Your thumb quickly tapped all of the photos of you modeling your options and typed out what one looks the best? then hit send.

As you were unzipping your dress and sliding it down your legs, you heard your phone ping from your bed. You hung up the dress and pulled your sweats back on before reaching for your phone, hesitating when you saw Joel's name pop up. You felt a pit in your stomach, worried that he came to his senses and was asking to cancel, so you sat down on the bed before sliding your thumb over the screen to open his text.

You look great in everything, but I really like the pink one.

Your palms instantly broke out into a sweat and you felt lightheaded.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no," you mumbled, scrolling up in your text chain before cursing and throwing yourself into your pillows to scream. In your rush to send your text, you accidentally sent the pictures to Joel instead of Courtney. You waited until you got your bearings and tried to convince yourself it wasn't really that bad, that it definitely could have been worse, before replying.

Ha, sorry. I meant to send those to a friend, but if you like the pink one, then I guess that answers my question

You stared down at your phone, anxiously waiting for his answer, which didn't take very long at all.

You could wear a paper sack and you would still look beautiful.

The grin that stretched across your face was massive. He was probably just sweet talking you and trying to make you feel better about making such a stupid mistake, but damn, it worked.

Looking forward to tonight :) you said in response, then bit your lip and flung yourself backwards on your bed. Your eyes drifted to the light pink dress hanging in your closet and you smiled.

As it turned out, the Italian restaurant was owned by Joel's brother, Tommy. You met the younger man at the host stand when you walked in the door. He had a huge grin plastered across his face and although you were an only child, you could still tell when someone was itching to tease their sibling. Tommy's eyes flickered back and forth between you and Joel, silently communicating with his brother as you introduced yourself. You managed to catch Joel shooting Tommy a warning glare before nervously resting his hand on your lower back and guiding you through the restaurant to an empty booth in the back.

"Have I told you how beautiful you look?" Joel asked, his dark eyes sparkling even under the dim mood lighting. You giggled and shyly looked down at your lap.

"A couple times."

Joel smiled warmly and leaned forward, his eyes trailing over the soft curves of your jaw and the way your plush lips stretched when he made you smile.

Before the food arrived, you learned a little more about him. He worked in construction, doing mostly residential but some commercial property work. He was trying to go into business for himself, which he told you was difficult but he already had years of experience and contacts in the area. He preferred to do most jobs himself or with as little help as possible because he only trusted his own work, but sometimes he did hire Tommy for a job to help his brother earn extra money.

"And in return, he lets me eat here for free," Joel finished, wiping the small smudge of red sauce from the corner of his mouth.

"That sounds like a win-win," you joked, and Joel chuckled.

"Tell me 'bout yourself. You said you been workin' at the store for four years?"

"Yeah," you nodded, pushing your empty plate to the side. "It's just meant to be temporary. I'm going to community college three days a week. Trying to get my degree so I can get a job with normal hours."

Joel hummed and leaned back in the booth. "What'dya wanna do?"

You shrugged. "I'm not sure, really. Hoping I figure that out as I go. I just know being a cashier for the rest of my life isn't for me, you know?"

"Yeah, sure," he agreed. "I could ask 'round if you want. Maybe some place is hirin' a receptionist or somethin'?"

"Oh, it's okay," you waved him off with a smile. "I appreciate it, though."

Afterwards, he took you for ice cream. You sat together outside the ice cream stand on a bench. The temperature outside was perfect and the place was mobbed. Kids ran around playing tag while other families gathered around picnic tables, laughing and telling each other about their days while you tried not to stare at Joel licking his ice cream and fantasizing about what that would look like between your legs.

"I wouldn't've pegged you for a strawberry girl," he said, nodding towards your rapidly melting ice cream.

"It reminds me of when I was a kid. My grandma liked to take me out for ice cream when she babysat me and strawberry was her favorite."

He smiled, listening to you talk about your family, getting a brief glimpse into your life, leaving him wanting more.

You thought everything was going so well. The date went perfectly. There wasn't as much awkwardness as you originally thought there would be and Joel was very easy to talk to. So when he dropped you off at your door and you invited him inside, you were surprised and somewhat hurt when he declined after a quick glance at his watch. He only kissed your cheek before telling you have a good night and backing out of your driveway, leaving you confused and a little self-conscious.

"He's probably just a gentleman," Courtney assured you the following day, "wants to take things slow and all that."

And you agreed. Once you had time to process everything, that seemed like exactly what it was, and you began to feel better.

But then Joel took you on a second date, and then a third, and he still hadn't tried to kiss you or make a move whatsoever.

"Maybe he's just rusty," Courtney offered after the fourth date and still finding yourself being shot down. "He wouldn't keep going out with you if he didn't like you."

Once again, Courtney made sense and you agreed he just liked to take things slower than you were used to.

But on your fifth date, where he took you to a baseball game, you misjudged the size of the beers they sold and you found yourself tipsier than you expected. Joel seemed really into the game but turned his focus on you whenever you searched for it, which, as the night wore on and the alcohol buzzed in your veins, became more and more frequent. You would ask him questions about how the game was played, even though your father watched baseball your whole life, just so you could listen to him talk. You looped your arm through his when the game was over and you both shuffled out of the stadium with a whole herd of drunk fans, back out into the parking lot. You tightly held onto his bicep, the feeling of his muscles under you fingertips more intoxicating than the beer, as he escorted you to his truck.

On the drive back to your place, you could feel your confidence building. Maybe he's just shy and doesn't know how to make a move. Maybe he just needs a clearer sign. Maybe he's waiting for you to make a move.

So, when he walked you to your door and he leaned in to kiss your cheek, you turned your face at the last second and locked your lips with his.

You could feel his surprise when your lips met. He froze and stopped breathing as he tried to figure out what to do, so you decided to make things easier for him and draped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and massaging your lips over his, urging him to reciprocate.

And finally, his hands flew up to your waist and tugged you against him. His mouth began to move and he crowded you up against your door. When your back made contact with the wood and his large palms squeezed gently at your hips, you moaned into his mouth. You had been dying for this for weeks and you would be damned it you were going to let it stop too soon.

Without even asking this time, you reached behind you and fumbled with your doorknob, twisting it blindly without breaking the kiss so you could both stumble inside. He kicked the door shut behind him, tongue licking at the seam of your lips while he brought one of his hands up to cup the back of your head. You granted him access, parting your lips and tangling your tongues together as he continued to walk you backwards. He opened his eyes and glanced around the dark living room quickly before pulling away and whispering one word: bedroom?

The way he said it made your knees weak and your heart flutter excitedly in your chest. You pulled him down for one more kiss before grabbing his hand and practically dragging him down the hall. About halfway to your room, his lips latched onto the crook of your neck and you slowed down, closing your eyes and twisting around in his arms so you could kiss him again. He pinned you against the wall with a groan, his thumb and forefinger clutching your jaw, prying it open so he could devour you. You hooked one leg over his hips and he let go of your jaw so he could grab the backs of your thighs and haul you off the ground.

You tugged at his hair impatiently, then gasped when he ground himself against your core, your body jolting in his arms and knocking a canvas print off the wall.

"Shit," he muttered, barely sparing the picture a glance before peeling you off the wall and carrying you towards your bedroom with your ankles hooked together at his lower back. You giggled against his mouth then squealed when he tossed you onto your bed. His hands glided underneath your dress and up your legs, slipping his fingers around the the waistband of your panties and tugging them down, pausing once he got to your knees. He blinked a few times like he was snapping out of a stupor and glanced up at you.

"Is this okay?"

"God, yes," you said, reaching behind you to tug at your zipper. You tried to shrug off your dress but his lips found yours and you quickly got distracted. You nibbled at his bottom lip while simultaneously tugging at the hem of his shirt, pushing it up over his soft stomach and stopping at his broad shoulders. He broke away just long enough to lean back and toss the shirt over his head and he was back on top of you before you could even drink him in.

You dragged your mouth over his chin, biting and nipping as you went. He groaned as you left open mouthed kisses across his jaw, his prickly beard tickling your tongue. "My dress," you whispered against his cheek before mouthing at the skin there, "take it off."

His palms slid over your shoulders, pushing the straps of your dress down while you wiggled a bit, helping move the fabric down your body. You arched your back so he could pull your dress all the way off, his breath getting caught in this throat when your nipples brushed against his bare chest.

He couldn't resist. When your dress was discarded on the floor, he sat back between your legs to admire your naked body, completely transfixed. Too much time had passed without him saying anything and you grew self-conscious, so you slowly began to cross your arms over your chest, but he stopped you.

"No," he rasped with a shake of his head. "You're so beautiful, just wanna look at you another minute."

Your cheeks flared with heat but you dropped your hands and gazed up at him, watching his eyes flicker excitedly over your body, memorizing every curve and freckle he could find. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a twitch in his pants and you glanced down at the outline of his cock through his jeans. You bit your lip and he followed your gaze, palming his erection briefly before undoing his pants.

"Oh," you whispered to yourself when you saw his cock spring free. He wrapped his hand around his thick shaft and glanced up at you as he crawled back up the mattress on his knees. "You're big," you added, unable to look away. He blushed but didn't reply. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed you, this time slower. You shuddered in anticipation when you felt the tip of his leaking cock brush against your pussy and he froze.

"Shit, wait," he grumbled, sitting back on his heels before reaching for his wallet, which was still stuffed inside his jeans. You figured out the problem and leaned over to your nightstand, fishing around in the drawer until you found a condom and held it out for him. He looked relieved when he saw the little foil square and tossed his wallet back onto the ground before ripping open the condom and rolling it on.

"Sorry. It's... been a while. Wasn't exactly prepared," he explained, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. The endearing confession just made you want him even more.

"It's okay, come here," you murmured, reaching your arms out for him. He grinned and fell down onto his elbows, kissing you slow and deep. When you felt him rest his tip at your entrance, you tensed up.

"Relax," he whispered in your ear. You slid your eyes shut and snaked your arms around his shoulders, gasping sharply when he pressed forward. When he sunk his teeth into your shoulder, your eyes rolled to the back of your head, the pain mixing with the pleasure in a way that made you dizzy.

"Oh, fuck, Joel," you whimpered when he bottomed out, your body stretching around his girth, the sting setting your nerves on fire.

He groaned against your neck and began to rock his hips steadily, making sure to not go too fast. He could tell you were still getting adjusted but it had just been so fucking long and he liked you so much, it was difficult to hold back. He could feel the sweat collecting between his shoulder blades as he focused all his energy on going slow, and when he felt your thighs relax around his waist and your back arch underneath him, he sighed with relief.

"More," you moaned, pressing your body against his, trying to get as close as possible. He growled and dipped his mouth down to capture one of your nipples, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud, releasing it with a wet pop and reveling in the sweet noises you made for him.

He wanted to tell you everything. He wanted to tell you how much he thought about you, how long he wanted to ask you out, how he wanted to know everything about you, how nervous you made him with just a simple glance. But he didn't say any of that. It had been so long since he had gone on a date that he wasn't even sure what women liked anymore. So he remained silent, focusing on not coming too soon while paying close attention to your cues, memorizing what you liked based on the breathy whines in his ear and the way your fingers clutched frantically at his hair. You, however, took his silence to mean he wasn't enjoying himself and you really, really didn't want that, so you pushed gently on his shoulder, drawing his attention.

"Let's switch," you murmured, and he gave you a quizzical look. "Why don't you lay back and let me do some of the work?" you explained, nipping playfully at his jaw.

When his head settled into your pillows, watching with heavy lidded eyes as you straddled him before catching his gaze and slowly sinking down, taking every inch of his cock with a low moan, he thought for sure it would be the death of him. You looked so beautiful all spread out and full of him that he had to squeeze his eyes shut so he wouldn't come just looking at you.

Then you started riding him and his eyes flew open, his chest heaving as he watched your tits bounce and your head tip back in ecstasy and he knew he was done for.

"Wait," he rasped, grabbing your waist and stilling your hips. You stopped, swollen lips parted as you panted for air and looked down at him.

"What's wrong?"

"N-nothin'," he stammered, taking a few deep breaths in before chuckling. "I'm just... I need a minute, is all."

You could see the red beginning to stain his cheeks and the look of embarrassment flicker across his face, melting your heart. Leaning down, you cupped his jaw and kissed him tenderly.

"Is that why you've been so quiet?" you asked softly, leaning back so you could look into his eyes but still holding his cheek in the palm of your hand. He nodded, his fingers gently wrapping around your wrist.

"I'm sorry. I haven't been with anyone in years and I've been tryin' to take things slow with you but I think all the buildup just made it worse." You grinned and took his other hand.

"Don't be sorry. I think it's hot," you whispered, pulling his free hand down between your bodies. He splayed his hand out across your lower abdomen and you took his thumb between your fingers, pulling it down so it made direct contact with your clit. You sucked in a sharp breath when you felt the pressure and a slow smile spread across his face when he realized what you were doing.

"Yeah? Why's it hot?" he asked, drawing slow circles over your clit and watching your jaw fall open and your eyes flutter shut. Both your hands dropped to his chest, holding yourself up.

"Because," you began, then bit your lip and moaned when he picked up the pace. "Because it's l-like you c-can't control yourself. Like y-you need me so badly, you can't hold back." You knew it sounded pathetic but you didn't care. His touch was intoxicating and you needed more.

"I can't," he admitted, his eyes glued to your face, taking pride in how good he made you feel. "I can't control myself. Wanted you for so long. Been thinkin' about this for months."

You gasped and your eyes snapped open, locking onto his. "Me, too. I never thought, shit, never thought you noticed me."

"Are you kiddin' me? I noticed you the first day." Now that the truth was out there, the words wouldn't stop coming. "You were wearin' a yellow shirt and I saw these perfect fuckin' tits when you bent over. Went home that night and-"

He stopped himself, wondering if he was going too far, but you dug your fingers into his chest and urged him to continue, desperately gasping for air as his thumb applied more pressure.

"Say it," you whispered. His cock pulsed angrily inside you, begging for release.

"Went home and fucked my fist thinkin' 'bout you."

You groaned loudly and leaned back, grabbing your breasts and playing with your nipples. "Fuck, I'm close, Joel."

"Yeah? Can you ride me, baby? Wanna come with you," he begged, his voice strained. Immediately, you resumed bouncing on his cock, letting go of your tits so you could brace yourself on his chest once again.

He watched in awe as you gasped and squeezed your eyes shut, stilling for just a moment, pulsing around his length as you came, his name and curses tumbling from your lips.

He couldn't hold back any longer.

He grabbed your hips with both hands and slammed up into you, grunting louder and louder each time. And it didn't take long. You had barely recovered from your own orgasm before he groaned, his eyes trained on where you were connected, thrusting as deep as he could go while his cock throbbed inside you.

"Fuck," he whispered, his head falling back limply onto your pillow. You slumped forward and buried your face against his neck, each of you trying to regulate your breathing.

"That was..." you began, trailing off when you realized your brain was still a pile of mush.

"Better than I ever imagined," Joel finished for you, wrapping his arms around your ribs.

Regrettably, he eventually pulled out, making you both wince. You rolled over onto your back and watched as he made his way to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. If you had any energy left, you might have shot off a quick text to Courtney, but you were barely coherent by the time he slipped back into your bed.

You didn't even need to ask if he was staying the night. He pulled you into his arms, his chest pressed up against your back when you fell asleep, completely at ease.

It could have been the beer or the sex, but you didn't hear his phone go off in the middle of the night. You didn't feel him slip his arm out from under you so he could answer the call in your living room, and you definitely didn't hear him quickly dress and leave.

It was finally Friday and you were moments away from calling off from work. The thought of facing him again made your stomach roll and your head swim.

You hadn't heard from Joel since he left in the middle of the night after you slept together, days ago. You foolishly texted and called him multiple times, but he never answered. Eventually, you got the message.

Countless hours were spent crying, then more were spent stalking around your place angrily, and a mixture of the two happened at work when either Courtney or Andy asked you about hot flower guy.

They eventually learned not to ask.

As badly as you wanted to call off, you dragged yourself into work. Andy offered to take over the registers so you could hide in the aisles stocking shelves during the hour Joel typically showed up, and you shamefully took him up on it. But when it was close to closing time and you made your way back to the front, Andy shrugged his shoulders.

"He never came."

You had a moment where you worried that something happened to him and you considered texting him just one more time, but when you got into your car that night and opened your text chain to a long list of unanswered texts, you changed your mind.

However, the next morning you awoke to a handful of texts from Joel. At first, your heart raced in your chest, but then your anger crept up and you had half a mind to just delete them. After you had some coffee and a chance to think clearly, your curiosity won and you opened the texts.

I'm so sorry

Something came up

Can you call me back?

Please let me explain

Your fingers hovered over your screen as you debated on what to say. Then you decided to leave the messages unanswered. At least for a little while. If he left you hanging for almost a week, he could wait a few hours, right?

What you didn't expect, however, was for him to show up at the store on a Saturday. He only ever came on Friday evenings. You were cashing out a customer, zoning out a bit, grateful for the distraction. When you reached for the receipt, your eyes locked with his and your pulse began to race. He was holding a bouquet of white roses and looking at you with a guilty expression. Your fingers froze around the paper momentarily until the little old lady in front of him cleared her throat and you blinked, snapping out of it and handing her the receipt with an apologetic smile.

"Hey," he said, but you kept your gaze trained down at the scanner.

"Hi."

Your hands shook as you scanned his flowers, doing your best to get the interaction over with as quickly as possible. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Andy at customer service notice Joel in line, watching from a distance in case you needed rescuing.

"You didn't respond to my texts," he said quietly. You shrugged.

"I've been busy," was all you said, tapping the button on the register for credit.

After he paid, you handed him his receipt and forced yourself to look at him. You could see in his eyes he looked exhausted and run down and despite how upset you were, you felt bad. But you felt even worse after he pocketed the receipt and handed you the flowers.

"They're for you."

"Oh," you said, surprised, as you looked down at the roses. "T-thank you."

Joel looked over his shoulder when a young couple began to unload their groceries on the belt. You panicked, not sure what to do or say, and then you felt a tap on your shoulder.

"Why don't you take your break?" Andy offered, "I'll cover."

You gave him a shaky smile, both of you knowing full well you already had your break. "Yeah, okay." Glancing over at Joel, you tilted your head towards the front door and he nodded.

"I'm so sorry I left without sayin' anythin'," he began when you sat down together on a bench outside the store. "There was an emergency and I had to go."

"You could have texted me or left a note," you said sadly, looking down at the flowers clutched in your hands.

"I know, and I was gonna, but my damn phone died and I was in the hospital for days. I was outta town, couldn't leave, I even wore the same clothes the whole time," he rubbed his face and sighed. "And once we got back home, I wanted to explain in person what happened."

"We?" you questioned. He dropped his chin to his chest and nodded solemnly.

"I have a daughter," he confessed, and your jaw dropped in surprise.

"W-what?" you whispered softly, "why didn't you tell me, Joel?"

His eyebrows pinched together, still avoiding your gaze.

"I don't know. In the past, women haven't exactly been thrilled findin' out I come with baggage and I guess I was bein' selfish." He finally looked up and you could see the pain behind his eyes. "I was tryin' to find the right way to tell you but I was so scared of losin' you."

You shook your head in disbelief. "It doesn't bother me at all that you have a daughter, Joel," you told him, "it bothers me that you lied."

He inched forward on the bench and put his hand on your knee. "I know. I'm so sorry. It was stupid. If you gimme another chance, I promise I'll never lie to you again."

Your chest tightened and you had to look away. He was so sincere, you could feel your resolve crumbling. After a moment, you dragged your eyes back up to him and you could swear he looked like he was on the verge of tears.

"Is she okay?"

He blinked rapidly for a moment, surprised by your question, then nodded.

"Yeah. She's okay now. She had appendicitis. She was with her mom last week. She lives an hour outside Austin and I just went right there from your place. Scared the shit outta me," he finished with a dry chuckle. Then something clicked.

"Your daughter..."

"Sarah."

"Sarah," you repeated. "The flowers you bought every week. Were they for her?"

He smiled shyly and nodded. "Yeah. She gets nervous goin' to her mom's still. The situation is a little rocky so I always get her flowers. Whether she's goin' there or comin' back. They make her smile," he said with a little shrug, and your heart melted.

"That's... that's really sweet," you said, looking down once again at the roses he bought you. He watched you closely for a moment then sat back on the bench, scratching his chin and trying to read your mind. Everything was out in the open now. He should have listened to Tommy and just told you the truth from the first date, but he couldn't remember the last time he ever felt so strongly about someone else before.

Just when he was about to leave, wanting to give you your space to think things over, you spoke again.

"So when are you free next?"

Joel exhaled in relief, then laughed. "Tomorrow?"

You bit your lip and nodded, then leaned forward and cupped his jaw, giving him a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"It's a date," you whispered before standing up. He watched you from the bench as you walked towards the front doors. At the last moment you turned around, the white roses clutched against your chest, and called out, "have a good night."

He grinned.

"Have a good night."

[bloodibambiidoll]

Pussy Liquor (Eric Draven x Stripper!Reader)

Summary: It’s a slow, boring night at the club until he walks through the door.

Warnings: Eric is implied to have a lot of money(he’s in the music industry), unprotected public sex, lust at first sight, choking 18+MDNI

✰ I think this one has been a long time coming for me. I’ve never written stripper!reader but I was a stripper for several years so this is v personal to me. The songs reader dances to used to be my favorite set. thank u for always encouraging me pookie @babygorewhore ✰

It was a dreary, slow night. There were bodies in the club but no money to go along with them. A few dudes you can tell just turned 21 and are here for the experience, they’ll definitely spend the entire evening at the same table drinking cheap beer while they whistle at the dancers with their wallets closed. A few of the girls regulars are here, either in the back or cozied up at a table. If you were lucky they’d ask you to come sit with them and at the very least buy you drinks but you didn’t feel like entertaining someone for nothing more than a few ones and some shots. There was a couple in the corner arguing and a few older men with their eyes practically glued to the slot machines. Classic.

But there was one individual that caught your eye. He wasn’t someone you would usually see in a place like this. He was more like a pretty face you saw on the street and thought about for the rest of the week. He’s tucked away in a back corner booth drinking what looks like shots of crown royal, the whole bottle, always a good sign. He’s approached the stage and tipped each girl generously but hasn’t stayed for a set. You’ve noticed a few girls go offer him dances but he declines, offering them a tip anyway. You couldn’t blame them for trying. He was gorgeous. He’s extremely tall, still towering over even the tallest dancers in their heels. His toned arms are covered in tattoos and the white tee he’s wearing sits taunt against his chest. His distressed black jeans are tucked into beat up leather boots and his face is otherworldly. Those bright green eyes shine in the flashing lights of the club, the way they dance around his face accentuating different parts of his statuesque bone structure. He has full lips and a perfect pointed nose and you’ve never wanted to ride a customer right in the middle of the club until right now. You haven’t felt nervous to go on stage since you were just starting out dancing but the way his viridescent eyes raked over your body as you climbed the stairs to the stage had your heart pounding.

Your first song starts to play and you grab onto the pole lightly as you prance around it to the beat. You press the tip of your healed boot against the bottom of the pole and spin your body around it with your other leg pointed before pressing your back against it. You nearly trip when you see the man you’ve been fantasizing about all night sitting at your stage with a $20 bill sitting on the bar. You regain your composure, smiling at him sweetly as you slide down the pole onto your knees so you can crawl to him. The sound of Rob Zombie’s “Pussy Liquor” thrums through your body, making you feel like a succubus. You stop on your knees in front of the top bar, never breaking eye contact with him as you pluck it with your manicured fingers and stuff it into the band of your black bikini top.

“Thank you, that’s so sweet of you.” You press your tits together as you lean over and stick your ass out behind you. “I’m Bunny, what’s your name?”

“Well, that’s kind of forward, isn’t it?” His voice is much softer than you expected as he returns your smile with one of his own, it’s not condescending though, it’s almost playful. “I’m Eric.”

“Well, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. You can just watch me dance.” You wink at him before leaning back on your knees and pulling the string on your top so it falls down your body, your tits spilling free. Eric’s eyes sparkle and his tongue darts out to wet his lips as he looks up at you like he hasn’t seen multiple pairs of boobs just within the last hour.

You pull the bottom string free and then toss it to the side as you push yourself up on your 8 inch heels. You sway toward the pole, running your fingers through your hair as you purposefully wiggle the fat of your ass. You grab onto the metal and roll your body before swinging your foot around it so you can climb up. You lock your legs together and lean backward, suspending yourself in the air. You watch as Eric pulls out a roll of cash and throws a huge stack of ones followed by several twenty’s. You grab onto your tits and jiggle them for him before titling yourself back up to grab onto the pole. You timed it perfectly so when the beat dropped so did you, right from the top onto the ground in the splits. Eric claps, which you find absolutely adorable because who the fuck claps in a strip club? And then he throws a literal hundred dollar bill onto your stage right as your first song ends. You tease him all through the next song, “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails and when you’re leaning over to press your tits into his face he gives you this dopey smile and tells you that he loves the songs you choose. After your set is done you offer him a dance, and he insists on a private room.

You pull the thick red curtain back so you can lead him into the sectioned off area of the club. There’s walls on all three sides and an open face that’s completely blocked by curtains. You can’t help but giggle at the way he stands there awkwardly surveying the room. You can tell he’s never done this before.

“This your first time?” You grab onto a piece of your hair and twirl it, looking up at him through your lashes. He’s even taller than you thought he was and you have to stop yourself from clenching your thighs when how easily he could toss you around crosses your mind. You have no idea how you’re going to get through the next thirty minutes without getting turned on. You already are.

“Yeah. I’m just not sure how it works.” He chuckles lightly as he rubs the back of his neck but there’s this glint in his eye that tells you he isn’t going to make this any easier on you or your tiny thong.

“Well, why don’t you just sit down on the couch and I can dance for you?” You grab his hand and guide him to the couch, encouraging him to sit down. He obliges you and you lower yourself into his lap with your legs hanging over his. You’re back in your top now, but it leaves little to be desired and you feel your body heat as his eyes rake over you. One of his large hands lands on your thigh and he gives you a questioning look, instead of answering him verbally you swing your leg over his to straddle him and grab onto both of his hands, resting them on your hips. You throw your arms over his shoulders and grind down on him lightly and it has his grip on you tightening.

“I don’t know the rules and you’re making it really hard for me to control myself already.” Eric’s voice is a deep rumble that runs straight to your core and god you don’t usually let customers touch you like this but you’re starting to wonder if you can stop yourself from fucking him right here.

“Wanna know a little secret, Eric?” You ghost your lips across his pierced ear and you can feel his skin break out into goosebumps.

“Yeah.” He groans when you grind down on him harder this time, his grip on you turning almost bruising.

“I don’t usually let guys touch me, even for money, but you? You can touch me as much as you want.” You run your nose down his jaw before pulling away from him, flipping around on his lap and pushing yourself onto your feet. You roll your body and shake your ass for him while pulling your top off again. You shimmy back onto his lap with your back pressed to his chest and grind against his now hard bulge. You can’t help the little whine that escapes you. His large tattooed hands grip onto your tits and that’s when you lose all sense of reality.

“I really liked your songs, ya know?” Eric’s breath tingles against your neck, his lips just barely brushing your skin. “You’re the only girl here I wanted to talk to.”

“Yeah? You’re the only guy I’ve ever seen in here that I actually wanted to dance for.” You throw your hands behind your back so you can lace them behind his head as you continue to wind on his lap. “And it’s so fucking against the rules but I’d let you fuck me right here.” You lean your head back so you can look up into his eyes and his expression has changed drastically, it was like your words flipped a switch inside of him and he wants nothing more to eat you alive.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble, bunny.” He chuckles and brings a finger up to your cheek. He runs it down your face to your jaw before ghosting it over your lips and you can’t help but dart your tongue out to lick the pad of his finger. “Let me take you home with me.”

“Well, I’m not really supposed to do that either. But I really feel like breaking some fucking rules tonight.” You wind your hips in a circle and his cock slides perfectly between your thong covered ass.

“They can’t be too mad if I pay them off, right?” He squeezes your boob, rolling your nipple between his fingertips.

“That would cost a lot. You’re hot enough to lose my job over. There’s other clubs. I want you to fuck me.” You whine and pull the strings of your bottoms so they fall down your hips. You never thought you’d be here, sitting on a customers lap begging him to fuck you like a bitch in heat. But something about this man was making you lose all rationality.

“Money isn’t an issue for me baby. Hell, I’ll get you out of here permanently if you want.” He runs that perfect nose along the column of your throat, inhaling the expensive perfume one of your regulars bought you a few months back. “And you don’t need to beg, the minute I saw you I knew I’d give you anything you asked for.”

“Fuck, Those are some big promises, honey.” You giggle, sugary sweet, and it makes him melt. He grabs onto your hips and pushes you to stand, your tiny thong falling at your feet, leaving you exposed to him. Eric grabs onto the globes of your ass and spreads them open, your pussy lips coming apart with a click from how wet you are.

“Would you look at that? So fucking perfect.” He grips onto your hips to turn you around, making sure to steady you when you stumble in your heels. You watch with wide eyes as he reaches for his playboy bunny belt buckle and your jaw practically drops to the floor when he pulls his cock out. It’s fucking huge and pierced. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep, bunny. Come sit on it.”

Eric pulls you forward and you straddle him, your knees sinking into the leather of the couch. He grips onto his shaft and runs it through your wetness, the balls of his piercing bumping against your clit. He taps the head against your sensitive bud before lining up with your entrance and slowly pushing inside your wet walls. But it’s not enough, you want to feel the burn of the stretch while he splits you open so you slam your hips down onto his, taking him to the hilt in one thrust. It nearly knocks the wind out of you and a moan so loud that the music barely drowns it out.

“Oh fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” Eric grips onto your ass and bounces you up and down on his cock as he stares into your eyes deeply. “You sure nobody is gonna come in here?”

“Nobody will, they’re definitely watching on the cameras and I’m definitely fucked as soon as we walk out of here but they’ll let it play out.” It’s like you gave him the green light because he plants his feet firmly on the ground and starts to fuck up into you. He grips onto your throat so he can pull your lips to his in a filthy kiss, not wasting any time intertwining your tongues together. The metal bar in his cock caresses your walls as his thick head bullies your g-spot and your toes curl in your boots. “Choke me harder.”

“Yeah? You like it rough, bunny? I’m going to have so much fun with you.” Eric squeezes your throat tighter and his free hand comes to run circles on your clit with his thumb. The way he’s talking about you like he already owns you combined with the pleasure he’s giving you has you already teetering towards the edge. “I’m gonna keep you, make you my pretty little fuck doll. You want that?”

“Yes, fuck yes.” You whine, drool starting to drip down your chin as your eyes roll back. Your manicured fingers scratch at his back through his shirt and you wouldn’t be surprised if it has tiny rips in it by the end of this.

“Look at me when you fall apart on my cock.” Eric grunts as he shifts his hips so he’s fucking into you even deeper and it has euphoria washing over your entire body the minute your eyes lock with his. Your pussy clenches around his cock like a vise grip and you moan so loudly there’s no way it can’t be heard outside of this room. But you’re way past giving a fuck. “Oh, that’s a good bunny, come for me.”

“Oh my f-fucking god! Fuckkkk me!” Eric’s thrusts don’t let up as he chases his own high, his hands grip onto your ass again and he’s practically folded in half on the couch as he bounces you like a fuck toy on his dick.

“I’m gonna fucking come.” Eric grunts before he’s pressing your hips flush against yours with his cock twitching inside you. You watch as he throws his head back, exposing his tattooed neck and you can’t help but lean forward and bite down on it. “Fuck yes, fucking bite me.”

You suck and bite on his skin until he goes limp underneath you, panting as he tries to catch his breath. He pushes himself up with his cock still nestled inside of you before pulling you close so he can kiss you with a passion no man ever has before. Who was this guy? And why did you never want to leave him?

“Alright, we should get out of here so I can go lose my job.” You chuckle as you stand up and grab your bikini, tying it back on while Eric tucks himself back into his pants. He comes to stand in front of you, taking your face into his hands.

“I meant that shit I said. I know we don’t know each other, hell, I don’t even know your real name. But come home with me, I’ll pay off these assholes and buy you whatever you want.” Eric smiles at you so sweetly you feel like you’re going to melt into the beer soaked carpet and how can you say no?

“Fuck it. Let’s go.” You giggle and push yourself up on your tiptoes to kiss him before pulling him out to face the music.

You definitely lost your job that night. But Eric fucked you so good you couldn’t even bring it in yourself to care. And he kept his promise. He kept you as his little doll and gave you everything your heart could ever desire.

Tagging a few moots who might be interested: @nailbatanddungeon @myspacebrat @ghoul-friendz @taintandviolent

Divider is by @cafekitsune

[wannab-urs]

Title: Handlebars

Pairing: Logan Howlett x f!reader

Summary: Logan teaches you to ride a motorcycle.

Warnings: smut, public/semi-public sex, overstimulation, i know nothing about motorcycles, Logan picks up the reader but he’s a mutant and is superhumanly strong so like… he could pick you up babe, pet names (baby), somewhat dom!Logan but that’s not explicit he’s just bossy, no use of y/n. WC: 1.2k

A/N: This is based on a dream I had because, yes, the brainrot is that bad. Thanks to @pr0ximamidnight for the encouragement to write it and the advice along the way.. And thanks to @just-here-for-the-moment for the beta <3. This is my first ever Logan fic and my first ever non-pedro boy fic as well, so forgive me if it’s OOC or weird.

Logan Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

Logan is teaching you to ride a motorcycle. You’ve always been fascinated by them, but the sight of him straddling one really sealed the deal. He looks gorgeous, powerful thighs astride the gently roaring machine. He leans back, gesturing for you to climb on in front of him. 

You throw your leg over carefully and settle onto the bike. His thighs bracket yours and his chest is pressed snugly against your back. It’s already getting dark out, and you’d be worried about driving at night if it wasn’t for the reassuring weight of him behind you. He slides his hands down from your shoulders to your hands and gently places them on the handle bars. 

“I’ll take care of shifting the gears this time, you just focus on the throttle.” You’re not sure you can focus on anything with him this close, but you nod anyway. 

He kicks up the kickstand and starts walking the bike backward onto the road. You hold on for dear life. He shifts the gears as he helps you turn the throttle. You’re nervous as hell, but he keeps a steady grip on your hands. You start to settle into the feeling of driving and your mind drifts. You think about his body pressed against yours, about the steady vibration of the motor between your legs, and you start squirming. 

It’s dark out and you can barely see a thing outside of the range of the headlight. But you feel everything, almost as if your senses are heightened. You grind against his erection, inadvertently pressing your clit harder against the seat and you whimper. 

“Pull over,” he growls in your ear. 

You nod, his nose brushing your neck, and slow down. You guide the bike into a seemingly abandoned parking lot. Logan turns the bike off and drops the kickstand. He pulls you tight against his body. 

“Are you gonna let me fuck you right here? Out in the open?”

“Please,” you whine. 

“Lean forward,” he commands, his voice so low you barely hear him. 

You lean forward, lifting your hips. You hear him unsheathe a claw and you tense slightly. He carefully slices a hole in your leggings and panties, exposing you to the night air. 

“I liked these, Logan.”

“I’ll buy you more.” That’s all the warning you get before he sheathes his claw and buries two fingers inside you. 

You cry out, gripping the handlebars hard. He steadies you with a gentle grip on your waist while he fucks his fingers in and out of you, You’re soaking wet and already desperate, grinding down on his fingers. His hand on your waist slips down and finds your bundle of nerves. Your left hand drops from the handlebars to grip his wrist as his fingers circle your clit. Your fingernails dig in hard enough to leave marks on anyone but him and your cunt pulses around his thick digits. He hits the spongy part deep inside you, making you shake and whine as you come on his fingers. 

While you catch your breath, Logan unzips his jeans. He grips your waist in his huge hands and lifts you with his superhuman strength, easily spearing you on his cock. Even with the preparation, he stretches you almost painfully. Your hands search for something, anything, to hold on to and land on the handlebars again. After giving you a moment to adjust, he starts bouncing you on his cock. You moan loudly and his grip on you tightens. 

“Feel good, baby? Filthy thing, riding me out in the open like this.”

You aren’t capable of speaking, not with his cock hitting you so deep inside. You’re not really riding him so much as he’s using you like a fleshlight. Your eyes roll back into your head as you come on his cock. He doesn’t stop bouncing you until your cunt stops clenching around him. His hand presses firmly in the middle of your back, pushing you forward until your head is past the handlebars. 

“Give me one more,” he orders. “Not done with you yet.”

You’re powerless to deny him, and really you’d give him anything he asked for. He wraps one arm around your waist and brings the other hand to your clit again. He pounds up into you, setting a brutal rhythm and hitting a spot that makes your vision white out. You cling to the handlebars for stability, crying out as his tip hits your cervix. You tense up in his arms, whole body going taut with ecstasy.  

“That’s it baby, come for me,” he growls. 

The rolling waves of pleasure feel endless, still speared on Logan’s cock as he fucks into your clenching pussy. His grip on you tightens impossibly, bruisingly as he floods your cunt with his cum. You cry out, writhing in his arms. When you finally come down, Logan’s strong arms pull you back against his chest. Your head lolls back onto his shoulder.

“Are you okay, baby?” Logan’s voice is tinged with worry. 

You nod weakly and mumble a yes into the chilled air. 

“Did I hurt you?”

“Mm mm,” you slowly shake your head from side to side. He didn’t hurt you, you’re just completely overwhelmed. 

He gently lifts you off his slowly softening cock, keeping an arm around you as he tucks himself away. He holds you tight against him until you eventually come back down to earth. You press a chaste kiss to his neck and nuzzle against him a bit before sitting up. You grip the handlebars again and wince as your oversensitive clit presses into the seat. 

“You sure you’re alright?” Logan asks, lifting the kickstand and starting the bike up. 

You whimper as the vibrations of the motor course through your body but bite your lip and nod.

“Hang on tight, baby. I’ll get us home.” You can almost hear Logan’s smirk.

Again nestled between Logan’s thick thighs and pressed firmly against his broad chest, but now with your bare cunt pressed into the seat of the bike, the ride home is absolute, exquisite torture. You can feel his cum leaking out of you, making a mess of what remains of your leggings and the seat beneath you. You’re shaking by the time you make it back to your apartment. 

Logan parks the bike and shuts it off. He climbs off and helps you to your feet. You stumble a little but manage to stay upright with his help, giggling to yourself at your jello legs. You unlock the door of your apartment and you’ve barely stepped inside before Logan sweeps you off your feet. 

“I can walk, Logan. Seriously, I’m fine.”

He huffs and carries you to the bedroom. “I know, but I want to take care of you.”

He lays you gently on the bed, unlaces and removes your boots, and strips off your ruined leggings. Left only in a t-shirt, you watch him methodically remove his clothing and admire his thickly muscled torso. The smattering of hair on his broad chest glinting silver in the moonlight – he’s so perfectly gorgeous you can hardly stand it. 

He crawls into bed beside you and pulls you against his chest. He grabs your thigh and pulls it across his body so that you’re nearly laying on top of him. He presses a kiss to the top of your head and you fall asleep in his arms, wondering if he’ll make you clean the bike seat tomorrow.

part two

[buckets-and-trees]

Taking You Home

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark Ari Levinson x Female!Reader, soft!dark Curtis Everett x Female!Reader, Ari x Reader x Curtis Word Count: 6.2k Summary: After waking up in Curtis's booth at Obsidian Stain Studio, you decide to explore more with the two men who've just ruined you.

Content/Warnings: explicit smut, mfm threesome, kissing, oral (female and male receiving), spit roasting, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, marking, overstimulation, after care, insatiable sexual appetites, praise kink, innocence kink, corruption kink, manhandling, allusions to voyeurism/exhibitionism

Author Notes: While not strictly a series, this is the second of probably four stories I plan to write for these three...

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You groan as you blink back into consciousness, the light too bright, and the the sound and feel of everything not as familiar as it should be.

And then there’s a warm hand on your cheek, and you lean into it, but that doesn’t seem quite right either.

“Welcome back,” Ari says with a soft chuckle.

You gasp and jolt up, memories flooding back to you now all at once. You're still in the tattoo chair, but it's been adjusted to a more upright position. A large, soft flannel shirt drapes over you, its sleeves hanging past your fingertips. The scent of pine and musk clings to the fabric, oddly comforting in its unfamiliarity.

Ari places a hand on your shoulder, easing you back into the chair. Your eyes scan around the room, taking in your surroundings with remembered clarity. The harsh fluorescent lights that had seemed so bright moments ago now reveal the familiar setting of the tattoo parlor booth. The buzz of machines has been replaced by a gentle hum of activity and soft rock music playing from a distant speaker.

"Easy there," Ari murmurs, his voice low and soothing. "You're alright. Here, have a drink."

He reaches behind him, retrieving a bottle of water and handing it to you.

You reach for the water bottle with shaky hands, your fingers brushing against Ari's as you take it from him. The cool plastic feels grounding against your skin. You unscrew the cap, the faint crackle of the seal breaking seeming unnaturally loud in the quiet booth. The first sip of water is a relief, soothing your parched throat. You hadn't realized how thirsty you were until the cool liquid touched your lips.

As you drink, you become acutely aware of the aches in your body - a dull throb from your freshly tattooed ribs, a deeper, more intimate soreness that makes you shift uncomfortably in the chair. The flannel shirt - Curtis’s, you realize - rustles softly with your movement, the fabric soft against your bare skin.

As if thinking of the man has summoned him back, Curtis returns to the booth, his hands full of cleaning supplies.

Curtis's eyes meet yours, a mix of concern and something darker flickering in their icy depths. "How are you feeling, sugar?" he asks, his voice low and gravelly.

You take another sip of water, buying yourself a moment to gather your thoughts. How do you feel? Sore, certainly. Overwhelmed, definitely. But there's also a strange sense of contentment, a warmth that has nothing to do with the flannel shirt draped over you.

"I'm okay," you manage to say, your voice a bit hoarse. "A little sore."

Curtis nods, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "That's to be expected. You took us both so well."

The memory of what transpired earlier floods back, causing heat to rise in your cheeks. You look down, suddenly unable to meet either man's gaze, and you take another swig of water.

Curtis gets to cleaning his tools and his station. Ari seems to give you a moment, but you can feel his eyes on you, and then he lays his hand on your knee and squeezes gently. You look up and give him a tight smile.

As you take another drink, your eyes roam over Ari's face, taking in the soft concern still etched in his features. His blue eyes, which had been dark with desire earlier, now shine with a gentler light. You notice a faint sheen of sweat on his brow, a few strands of his hair sticking to his forehead. It's a strangely intimate detail that makes your heart flutter.

“Do you have plans after this?” he asks.

“Um…”

“Because we’d like to take you to our place, do this more properly, see where things go.”

Your eyes widen at Ari's suggestion, a mix of excitement and apprehension coursing through you. The idea of going home with them, of continuing this unexpected adventure, is both thrilling and terrifying.

"I..." you start, then pause, unsure how to respond. Part of you wants to say yes immediately, to dive headfirst into whatever this is. But another part, the more cautious side, hesitates.

Curtis looks up from his cleaning, his ice-blue eyes locking onto yours. "No pressure, sugar," he says, his voice surprisingly gentle. "But we'd like to take care of you properly."

Ari nods in agreement. "We got a bit... carried away earlier," he admits, a hint of regret in his tone. "We just want to make sure you're okay, and, honestly, we'd like to explore this further if you're interested."

You bite your lip, considering their offer. You look from Ari to Curtis. His ice blue eyes are intense, but there's a warmth there that wasn't present before. "We don't usually do this, sugar," he says, his voice low.

“And by ‘don’t usually,’” Ari interjects, “he means we’ve never done this.”

Your eyes widen at this revelation, a mixture of surprise and intrigue coursing through you. The knowledge that this is as new for them as it is for you adds an unexpected layer of vulnerability to the situation.

"Never?" you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Curtis shakes his head, a rare hint of uncertainty in his usually confident demeanor. "Never like this," he confirms. "We've had our fun, sure, but…"

"But nothing like what happened here," Ari finishes for him. "Never in the studio, and certainly never shared anyone before.”

“Until you,” Curtis confirms.

The weight of their words settles over you, and you find yourself at a crossroads. The rational part of your brain screams caution, reminding you of the risks, the unknowns. It tells you to politely decline, to go home and process everything that’s happened. But there's another part, a part that's been awakened by these two men, that yearns to explore this connection further.

"Okay," you hear yourself say, surprising even yourself with the decisiveness in your voice. "I'd like that."

But maybe you shouldn’t be surprised. Getting your first tattoo had been significant, a mark of a new chapter in your life where you made more bold choices about your life. Coming back for the second one had been wanting more beautiful ink on your skin, yes, but this time around it had also been to see what you had left unexplored with Ari, only to end up with Curtis, and then to have such strong connections with them both.

If you were trying to let go of rigidity in your life and make more decisions based on being happy, not on the expectations of others, to allow yourself to explore, this certainly hit that mark.

And that’s what you remind yourself of when you’re in the shower in their home just over half an hour later. You’d ridden over with them in Curtis’s old truck - old but beautifully well-kept - taking the middle of the full-length leather bench seat. Ari spoke more than the quieter Curtis, but the conversation had been easy between you three together.

They’d shown you quickly around the modestly-sized bungalow house, then Curtis suggested you shower while they waited for the dinner Ari had already ordered ahead to be delivered on the drive over. You’d agreed, feeling sweaty and sticky from the earlier sex, and also wanting a moment to yourself. The hot water running over your skin felt nice, but after the first few minutes, you found yourself more anxious being alone and eager to be back with them. It seemed strange to be away from the men while you were in their house, and you also wanted to uncover more of what this might be.

You only showered from shoulders down, keeping your face and hair dry, while also being careful around your freshly tattooed ribs. Stepping out of the shower, you quickly towel off, and hang the towel on the rack. When you look to the bathroom counter, your clothes are gone, but have been replaced with a pair of grey sweat pants and a soft looking, forest green t-shirt. They’ll both be big on you, but there’s a drawstring in the waistband of the sweats.

You slip into the borrowed clothes, the soft fabric a comfort against your clean skin. The t-shirt hangs loosely on your frame, the neckline dipping low enough to reveal your collarbone. You roll up the hem of the sweatpants and cinch the drawstring tight around your waist.

Taking a deep breath, you open the bathroom door and pad barefoot down the hallway. The smell of food wafts through the air, making your stomach rumble. You realize you haven't eaten since before your tattoo appointment, and suddenly you're ravenous.

You hear the low murmur of voices as you approach, which die away as you enter the living room. Ari and Curtis were setting out takeout containers on the coffee table. They both look up at you, their eyes roaming appreciatively over your form in their clothes.

"Feel better?" Ari asks, a soft smile playing on his lips.

You nod, returning his smile. "Much better, thank you," you reply, your voice soft. The smell of food draws you closer, your stomach growling audibly.

Ari chuckles. "Sounds like someone's hungry.”

“Come on, sugar,” Curtis reaches for your arm and tugs you closer, “let's get some food in you."

You move to join them, settling on the plush couch between the two men. The coffee table is laden with an array of Chinese takeout containers, the aroma making your mouth water.

Ari hands you a plate and a pair of chopsticks. "Help yourself to whatever you like," he says, his hand lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary.

As you start to collect an array of the delicious spread on your plate, Curtis reaches for another of the containers, watching you. "So," he says, his voice casual but his eyes intense, "tell us more about yourself. What do you do when you're not getting tattoos and driving tattoo artists wild?"

You laugh and bite your lip a little. Driving them wild? The notion that they’d really been thinking about you makes your heart race.

You play off the latter part of the question, but do begin to share some of the standard stuff.

Plate filled with a good array of food to start off with, you sit back and settle in, acutely aware of their warmth on either side of you. The domesticity of the moment - sharing a meal, dressed in comfortable clothes - contrasts sharply with the intensity of your earlier encounter, creating an intriguing dynamic. That had been surreal, overwhelming. This is tangible, even cozy. Yet, there's still an undercurrent of electricity, a tension humming just beneath the surface.

The three of you eat and talk. Bouncing between the three of you, it’s across the board from where you’re from, where you work, hobbies and interests, friends and family, nothing too deep, but all of the good beginning pieces.

As the conversation flows, you find yourself relaxing more and more. The initial awkwardness fades, replaced by a comfortable camaraderie. You're surprised by how easy it is to talk to them, how naturally the conversation flows.

Curtis, you discover, has a dry wit that catches you off guard, making you laugh unexpectedly. Ari is more openly charming, his stories animated and engaging. You find yourself drawn into their world, fascinated by the glimpses they offer into their lives.

Their dynamic fascinates you. At times they seem like oil and water. You learn that they met working at the tattoo parlor - both of them had ties to Steve, the owner of Obsidian Stain and Sin. They admit they would never have ended up roommates except Curtis had been closing on this house about the time Ari and his wife separated (then divorced), and timing just seemed to make it convenient. From what you see, though, three years of cohabitation has forged a strong, almost fraternal bond between them.

Curtis reaches for your empty plate, his fingers brushing against yours. "All done, sugar?" he asks, his voice low and warm.

You nod, suddenly aware of how close he is. "Thank you, it was delicious."

Ari stretches, his arm coming to rest on the back of the couch behind you. "So, now that we've fed you," he says, a hint of mischief in his eyes, "what would you like to do next?"

As the question hangs in the air, you feel a rush of heat flood your cheeks. The earlier encounter at the tattoo parlor flashes through your mind - intense, frenzied, almost dreamlike in its surreal passion. But now, in the cozy comfort of their home, you find yourself craving something different.

"I…" you start, then pause, gathering your courage. "I'd like to take things slower this time. To really savor it."

Curtis's eyes darken with approval, while Ari's lips curve into a slow, sensual smile.

"Slow can be good," Ari murmurs, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your shoulder through the borrowed t-shirt. "Very good."

Curtis leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "We can do slow, sugar. We can take all night if that's what you want."

A shiver runs down your spine at Curtis's words, his low voice sending tingles across your skin. You turn your head slightly, meeting his intense gaze. The icy blue of his eyes has darkened with desire, and you find yourself drawn in, unable to look away.

Ari's hand slides from your shoulder down your arm, brushing the backs of his fingers along your skin, drawing goosebumps in their wake. "Why don't we start by getting more comfortable?" he suggests, his voice a low purr that makes your breath catch.

You nod, not trusting your voice to remain steady. Curtis stands first, offering you his hand. You take it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Ari follows, his hand never leaving your body as he rises.

They lead you down the hallway to a spacious bedroom. The king-sized bed dominates the room, its dark sheets inviting and intimidating all at once. Ari gently turns your face towards him, his blue eyes dark with desire. "May I kiss you?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

You nod, your breath catching in your throat as he leans in. His lips meet yours in a kiss that's both tender and passionate, a stark contrast to the frenzied encounters earlier. You melt into it, your hand coming up to rest on his chest.

As Ari kisses you, you feel Curtis shift behind you. His strong hands find your waist, slipping under the hem of the borrowed t-shirt to caress the soft skin of your lower back. His touch is deliberate, exploratory, but mindful of your freshly tattooed ribs, and it sends shivers of pleasure through your body.

Ari breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as you both catch your breath. You feel Curtis's lips brush against the nape of your neck, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your shoulder. The dual sensations make you dizzy with desire.

"Is this okay?" Ari murmurs, his hands cupping your face.

You nod, unable to find words as Curtis's hands slide around to your stomach, his fingers splaying wide across your skin, seeming to have no cares for your soft belly, touching in a way that dispells your own typical self-consciousness over your figure.

“Words,” Ari is insistent to prompt.

"Yes," you manage to whisper, your voice breathy and low.

Ari smiles, then leans in to kiss you again, this time with more intensity. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, seeking entrance. You part your lips, granting Ari access as his tongue slides against yours. The kiss deepens, becoming more passionate but still maintaining a languid, exploratory pace. Curtis continues his ministrations on your neck, alternating between soft kisses and gentle nips that make you gasp into Ari's mouth.

Ari's hands slide down your sides, avoiding your freshly tattooed ribs, and come to rest on your hips. His thumbs trace small circles on your hipbones, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through your body. Curtis's hands, still splayed across your stomach, begin to inch higher, his touch feather-light and teasing, brushing up against the underswell of your breasts.

Ari breaks the kiss again, his eyes dark with desire. "Let's get you out of these clothes," he murmurs, his fingers playing with the hem of your borrowed shirt.

Since they took your bra and panties to the laundry along with your other clothes, you’re acutely aware of how little - only the shirt and sweatpants - stand between you and nakedness. But you nod, lifting your arms, and Ari slowly peels the shirt off. As your top half is laid bare, you feel momentarily exposed, but the way both men look at you - with hunger and appreciation - quells any insecurity.

Then Curtis turns you in his arms and traces a finger under your jaw. “You need to know we will always take care of you, but we also want to thoroughly ruin you.”

A ripple of fear and intrigue surges through you, and you shiver, pressed between them.

"Is that what you want, sugar?" Curtis asks, his voice low and gravelly. "To be thoroughly ruined by us?"

You swallow hard, looking up into his intense blue eyes. "I think I'd like that," you whisper, surprised by your own boldness.

Ari's hands slide around your waist from behind, his chest pressing against your back. "We'll take it slow," he murmurs in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "But we won’t hold back unless you tell us if something is too much."

You nod, unable to find your voice for a moment. Then, remembering Ari's earlier insistence, you whisper, "Yes. Please."

A slow, predatory smile spreads across Curtis's face. He leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that leaves you breathless. His tongue explores your mouth, dominating and possessive. You moan into the kiss, your hands coming up to clutch at his shirt.

Meanwhile, Ari's hands roam your hips, fingers tracing the waistband of the borrowed sweatpants. He hooks his thumbs under the elastic, slowly sliding them down your legs. You step out of them, now completely naked between the two fully clothed men.

Curtis breaks the kiss, his eyes raking over your exposed form. "Gorgeous," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire.

Ari's hands glide up your sides to cup your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples, causing them to harden into tight peaks. You gasp at the sensation, arching into his touch.

"Sensitive," Ari observes, a smile in his voice. He continues his gentle ministrations, rolling your nipples between his fingers and Curtis watches, his eyes dark with lust.

Then Curtis drops to his knees in front of you, his hands running up the backs of your thighs. He looks up at you, his ice-blue eyes dark with lust. "Spread your legs.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you comply, widening your stance. Curtis's hands slide up to cup your ass, kneading the soft flesh appreciatively. His hot breath ghosts over your inner thighs, making you shiver with anticipation.

Ari's lips find the curve of your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses along your pulse point. His fingers continue to work your breasts, alternating between gentle caresses and firmer kneading. The dual sensations of Ari's ministrations and Curtis's teasing touch have you trembling with need.

Curtis leans in and presses a kiss first to your mound. You whimper, wanting those lips lower. He chuckles, but a moment later he satisfies your craving, dipping lower, his tongue darting out to taste you. You gasp at the contact, your hips jerking involuntarily. He chuckles against you again, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you.

"Steady, sugar," he murmurs, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place.

Ari's lips brush against your ear as Curtis's tongue delves deeper, exploring every fold and crevice of your most intimate area. "Look at you," Ari murmurs, his voice low and husky. "So beautiful, so responsive. Wet and eager for us, aren’t you?”

You whimper, unable to form words as Curtis's skilled tongue finds your clit, circling it with exquisite pressure. Your legs tremble, and you're grateful for Ari's strong arms supporting you from behind. “Can you feel how good Curtis is making you feel?"

You can only moan in response, your hips rolling against Curtis's face as his tongue tortures your clit, undeterred, a desperate edge of hunger to it. Ari's hands continue their ministrations on your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers.

"I bet you taste divine," Ari continues, his breath hot against your neck. "Curtis is savoring every drop of you, isn't he? Look at how eagerly he's devouring your sweet pussy."

Blinking open your eyes, you peer down to witness Curtis's ice-blue gaze unwaveringly locked on yours as he diligently presses his lips and tongue against your sensitive flesh in a delightfully intoxicating rhythm.

Ari's voice continues to weave a sensual spell, his words sending shivers down your spine. "Watch him explore every fold, every crease. Can you feel how he's drinking you in?"

Curtis's eyes remain locked on yours as his tongue delves deeper, alternating between broad strokes and focused flicks against your clit. A sudden involuntary shift of your hips is met by his strong hands gripping your waist, maintaining control.

"I bet you taste like honey and sin," Ari purrs, his lips brushing against your ear. "Sweet and intoxicating. Curtis can't get enough of you, can he? Look at how he's losing himself in your pussy."

A soft moan escapes you as the dual sensations of Ari's provocative words and Curtis's expert exploration create an all-consuming sensory experience. The gentle scrape of Curtis's stubble against the tender skin of your inner thighs leaves a pleasant tingling sensation in its wake while he sucks on your clit, holding you firmly in place.

“We started to talk about you, about all the things we wanted to try,” Ari continues. “And anytime you came up, it escalated, until we started scheming over what we could do to you together,” Ari's voice drops even lower, his words a sensual caress against your ear. "We imagined tasting every inch of your skin, exploring every curve and valley of your body. Curtis would fantasize about burying his face between your thighs, just like he's doing now. Can you feel how hungry he is for you?"

Your breath hitches as Curtis's tongue flicks rapidly against your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. Ari's hands continue their assault on your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples until they're almost painfully sensitive.

"I'd picture how your eyes would flutter shut in ecstasy, how your lips would part in a silent scream of pleasure," Ari continues, his voice thick with desire. "But silent screams won’t be good enough for what we’re going to do."

Your breath catches in your throat as Curtis's tongue flickers with increasing speed and precision over your clit, sending electrifying waves of pleasure coursing through your core. Ari's hands persist in their exploration of your breasts, teasing and tormenting your nipples with an urgency that leaves them tingling and hypersensitive.

“You have no idea the things we’ve talked about,” Ari presses on. The pressure in your core builds, aching for release as Ari's seductive words fuel your desire. "Dirty things. Depraved things. Things you’ll only ever experience with us. We want to make you lose control, push you past your limits, see how much pleasure you can truly handle."

You moan louder now, unable to keep quiet any longer as the two men continue their assault on your senses. Their combined efforts push you closer and closer to the edge until finally, with a shudder and a cry of pure ecstasy, you reach orgasm.

Curtis eagerly laps up the remnants of your pleasure, a satisfied moan escaping him. Though you are momentarily lost in the haze of bliss, Ari brings you back to the present with a sudden slap to your breast. You gasp and flinch in his embrace, but before you can react further, he scoops you up and tosses you onto the bed. Following closely behind, he hoists you upwards by your hips until you find yourself on all fours, vulnerable and eager for the next stage of this illicit exploration.

You feel Ari shifting to remove his shirt behind you, hear him toss it to the floor, all the while your body still tingling from the sensations that just overwhelmed it. You look around for Curtis, pleased to find him coming around to the other side of the bed. You watch, mesmerized as Curtis shrugs out of his shirt and laying it aside, revealing a toned chest covered in coarse hair and intricate patterns of ink. His stomach muscles ripple under your gaze as he steps closer.

Curtis approaches you, his eyes dark with desire. He reaches out, caressing your cheek before gripping gently at the nape of your neck. "Open," he commands softly.

You comply without hesitation, parting your lips as Curtis guides your head towards his crotch. With his free hand, he unbuttons his jeans and pulls down the zipper. You watch, breath quickening, as he frees his hardened length from the confines of his underwear.

Ari leans down and presses himself against your back. You feel the heat of his body and inhale the scent of his cologne. His large hands knead your hips, stoking the needy ache in your core back up. “You're so fucking beautiful," he says, his voice dripping with desire. “You ready for both of us?”

Curtis guides the tip of his cock to your lips. "Take me in, sugar," he says, his voice low and gravelly. "Show me what that pretty mouth can do."

You part your lips wider, welcoming Curtis's thick length into your mouth. As you take him in, you feel Ari's hands spreading your legs further apart. The anticipation of what's to come makes you tremble with desire.

Curtis groans as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. "That's it," he murmurs, his fingers tangling in your hair. "Take me deeper."

You comply, relaxing your throat to take more of him in. The taste of him, musky and masculine, fills your senses. Behind you, you feel Ari's hands caressing your ass, kneading the flesh appreciatively.

"Look at you," Ari says, his voice thick with lust. "So eager for us. Your pussy is dripping, begging to be filled."

You moan around Curtis's cock at Ari's words, the vibrations eliciting a deep groan from him. His fingers tighten in your hair, guiding your movements as you bob your head up and down his length.

Behind you, you feel the blunt head of Ari's cock pressing against your entrance. He teases you, sliding it up and down your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. "You want this?" he asks, his voice husky with desire.

Unable to speak with Curtis in your mouth, you push your hips back, silently begging for Ari to fill you. He chuckles, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "So impatient," he murmurs, then slowly, torturously, he begins to push inside you.

You gasp around Curtis's cock as Ari stretches you, filling you inch by inch. Ari's thick length stretches you deliciously as he pushes deeper, his grip on your hips tightening. "God, you're tight," he groans, his voice strained with pleasure. "So wet and hot for us."

Curtis's hand in your hair tightens, guiding you to take him deeper into your mouth. You relax your throat, allowing him to slide further in until you feel the coarse hair at the base of his cock tickling your nose. He holds you there for a moment, your nose pressed against his pelvis, before slowly pulling back.

"Go on," Curtis growls, his ice-blue eyes dark with lust. "Take it all."

Ari begins a steady rhythm, his thrusts deep and purposeful. Each time he pushes in, it forces you further onto Curtis's cock, creating a delicious cycle of penetration. The dual sensations of being filled from both ends overwhelm you, pleasure coursing through every nerve in your body.

"That's it, baby," Ari purrs, his voice dripping with lust. "Take us both. You're doing so well, stretching around my cock while you swallow Curtis down." His hands grip your hips tighter, fingers digging into your flesh as he pulls you back onto him with each thrust.

Curtis's grip on your hair tightens, his other hand coming to cup your jaw. "Look at me," he growls. You raise your eyes to meet his intense gaze, ice blue eyes dark with desire. "Good girl," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the apple of your cheek as your eyes well with tears.

The intensity of their ministrations overwhelms you, pleasure and sensation flooding every nerve. Ari's thrusts grow more forceful, each one driving you further onto Curtis's length.

"So fucking tight," Ari groans, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. "Taking us both so well. You were made for this, weren't you?"

You moan around Curtis's cock, the vibrations eliciting a deep growl from him. His hand tightens in your hair, guiding your movements, holding you far down on him, and he goes for a shallow rut, pulling back only a fraction with each rock of his hips, dominating your mouth.

Your eyes water as he pushes deeper, testing the limits of your throat.

Ari's hands grip your hips tighter, his fingers surely leaving marks on your skin. "You're ours now," he pants, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Gonna fill you up, mark you from the inside out."

Their bodies continue to move in unison, sweat dripping down their flushed skin as they moan and curse.

"Fuck," Curtis hisses, his hips jerking. "I'm close."

His cock twitches in your mouth, and you know he’s close to the edge. His hips buck more wildly, but he keeps his eyes locked on yours, until finally, with a loud cry, he spills his seed down your throat. You stare into each others eyes, and the possessive intimacy of that moment rocks your to your core, as you do your best to swallow every bit of him.

Seemingly as affected as you, the second he withdraws his cock from your mouth, he’s stooping to claim it in a kiss, even while you’re gasping for air. He doesn’t care, desperate to devour you. His release is on your tongue, and that seems to make him feral, but you also taste yours in his mouth, and both of you moan into each other, tongues stroking and tangling. You don’t need to breathe, you need him consuming you like this, his lips as eager against your lips as they were against your cunt.

Ari's thrusts become more frenzied, the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing with your moans.

“Fuuuuck,” Ari’s voice is primal from behind you. “You were right, watching someone else wreck her while inside her is unreal.”

Your brain glitches at his claim - that they talked about you like this, that he’s saying it right now? Your cunt clenches around Ari’s cock, and he groans. You feel him twitch inside you, and you whimper.

“Mmm, you like that, baby,” he says, no question at all. His hand snakes beneath you, and he begins tapping your puffy clit.

You cry out, bucking at the assault, and Curtis pulls away to watch you fall apart even more.

"Come for us, sugar," he growls, still holding your face in his hands. "Let go."

And the combination of his words with Ari’s thrusts and the torment of your oversensitive clit have you shaking and shouting out incoherently.

“Flip her,” Ari instructs Curtis, and Curtis deftly and swiftly grips your shoulders and has you on your back the next second. You grip his arms, needing to hold on to something as your head is spinning in pleasure and with the swift repositioning. As you look up, it’s to the intimidating but glorious sight of these men looming over you. Curtis is still watching your face, and it’s with difficulty that you tear your gaze away from him, but Ari’s grunts and heavy breathing beg for your attention, and you watch, transfixed, as he furiously fists his cock, bringing himself to finish. He cocks his head up in triumph as he groans and shoots his load over your stomach and chest, hot ropes of cum sinfully marking you.

You lay there panting, your body trembling with aftershocks as you try to process the intensity of what just happened. Curtis and Ari hover over you, their eyes roaming your body appreciatively, taking in the sight of you marked and thoroughly debauched, face flushed, chest heaving.

"Incredible," Ari murmurs, his hand tracing patterns through his release on your stomach.

Curtis leans down, capturing your lips in a deep, possessive kiss. When he pulls away, his ice-blue eyes are dark with satisfaction. "You did well, sugar," he praises, his voice low and gravelly.

He cups one of your cheeks in his hand, and you lean into the touch. Then he licks the trail of salty tears from your other cheek, and the gesture deals a bolt of heat through you again, though you feel exhausted and boneless.

“Think I could become addicted to you,” he murmurs quietly, and Ari grunts in agreement.

Ari disappears for a moment before returning with a warm, damp cloth. He gently cleans you up, his touch tender in contrast to the roughness of moments before. The care in his actions makes your heart flutter.

Curtis takes the chance to step away briefly, as well. He’s back once you’re clean, and helps you sit up, supporting your back and handing you a glass of water.

You accept the glass gratefully, your throat parched from exertion. As you sip the cool water, you feel the bed dip on either side of you as Curtis and Ari settle in next to you. Their warm, solid presence is comforting, grounding you after the intense experience.

Curtis keeps a steadying hand on your back as you finish the water, then takes the empty glass from you.

"How are you feeling?" Ari asks softly, his hand resting on your thigh.

You take a moment to assess yourself. Your body feels pleasantly sore, used in the most delicious way. There's a lingering tingle of satisfaction coursing through you, mixed with a sense of vulnerability that's both thrilling and slightly overwhelming.

"I'm... good," you manage to say, your voice a bit hoarse. "Really good, actually."

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. "Glad to hear it."

Curtis takes the now-empty glass from your hands. His eyes rarely seem to leave you, always intense on you. It’s as intimidating as it is captivating. It truly takes someone with Ari’s charisma and assertive manner to compete with the way Curtis’s intense stoicism draws you in. They’re a dangerous force to be reckoned with.

They both lean in to you, beginning to slowly kiss and touch you again, and you hold onto each of them, one hand tangling into Ari’s luscious hair, the other snaking around Curtis’s strong back.

As Curtis and Ari press closer, hands and lips exploring your body with renewed curiosity, you can't help but marvel at their seemingly endless stamina. Their touches are gentle yet purposeful, igniting sparks of pleasure across your skin.

Curtis's lips trail along your neck, his stubble scratching deliciously against your sensitive skin. His hand cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple, coaxing it to a hard peak. You gasp at the sensation, your body still hypersensitive from your recent orgasms.

Ari's hand slides up your inner thigh, his fingers dancing teasingly close to your core. His lips find yours in a deep, languid kiss that leaves you breathless. When he pulls away, his blue eyes are dark with renewed desire.

"Think you can go again, beautiful?" Ari murmurs, his voice low and husky.

You swallow hard, your breath catching in your throat. "I... I think so," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly.

Curtis smirks, his ice-blue eyes glinting with approval. “Think we may have you passing out again?”

Ari laughs, and your face flushes as you bite your lip. You let out a shaky breath, both intimidated and thrilled by the prospect of more. "Maybe," you admit softly, "but I'm willing to find out."

Curtis's smirk widens into a predatory grin. "Oh, sugar," he growls, his hand sliding down your stomach, "we're going to have so much fun with you."

Ari's lips find your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses along your pulse point. "We're going to take you apart," he murmurs against your skin, "piece by piece, until you're nothing but a quivering mess of pleasure."

Their words send a shiver down your spine, arousal pooling in your core despite your recent orgasms. You feel almost drunk on their attention, their touches, their promises of more pleasure to come. You surrender yourself to their touch. The night is still young, and you find yourself eager to discover just how much pleasure these two men can wring from your willing body.

read the next part: Worship in the Bedroom

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I got to the end and realized I did not feature their gorgeous tattoed bodies nearly enough, but I GUESS THAT MEANS I'LL JUST HAVE TO WRITE MORE OF THEM ASAP!

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[holybibly]

Unholy thoughts of the day: Yunho could fool anyone with his cute looks and gentle demeanour, but only you knew that underneath that cute facade was a real freak in the sheets. Or you thought Yunho was a typical vanilla guy, but it turned out he had too much spice for you to swallow.

Yunho has a big, thick cock. In fact, a huge, veiny cock that he knows exactly how to use. He's definitely the type of guy who likes to use his cock to play with your tiny, sweet pussy. Yunho knows that he can fuck you senseless and he doesn't have to prove anything, so he enjoys himself completely and takes his time to caress your cunt sweetly for as long as he likes.

The sight of his thick cock sliding between your swollen, sticky from his saliva pussy lips drives him crazy. He moans deeply, rubbing the head of his cock against your folds, coating them in a glaze of his pre-cum, before slamming his huge cock against your pussy, watching the thick, sticky strands of your mucus mixed with his sperm stretch from his cock to your pussy as he pulls it away from you.

Yunho can't get enough of the way you slide your pussy all over his long, veiny cock without penetration. He's lying on the bed like a king, his legs spread wide and his hands cupping your tits as you lather his cock with your slick. One of your hands is on his chest while the other is behind your back, massaging his tight, cum-filled balls.

Yuyu also likes to slap his wet cock your cheeks and tongue and make you suck and lick his balls as he rubs his length all over your face. He'll torture you for hours just by sticking the head of his cock into your tight little hole and making you warm it up while his fingers fuck your mouth sensually and deeply.

Yunho looks sweet, but he is a total freak in the sheets, with many kinky tastes and fetishes. He will use his big hands to spank your ass, your tits, and your sweet princess-pussy.

Imagine you sitting on his hands in front of a mirror, your legs spread wide, and his cum pouring out of your used hole. He slaps your pussy gently with his palm and whispers dirt in your ear, getting rougher with each slap. Imagine how after another slap you squirt and Yunho moans deep and guttural, his dick pressing against your lower back, and you feel how he cums untouched. "Fuck, do it again. Squirt for me again." He slaps your swollen, squirting pussy again, and more fluid spurts out in copious streams. He wants to see it a few more times before he impales you on his cock and pounds your cunt until it's full.

He likes to watch you jerk him off, your fingers barely covering his cock; you can't get it in your mouth either, so he slaps you in the face with his cock and patronisingly whispers to you to try again. He also likes to jerk off on you while you're being fucked by a sex machine. 

Yunho is dirty, very dirty, and perverted, so he buys you a dildo with a container for synthetic cum. And then Yunho shyly whispers in your ear that he has a big kink for sperm, or rather sperm coming out of your trembling little cunt.

He would watch as a fake cock stretched and stuffed your pussy, pouring synthetic cum into you in abundance, coming out of your hole in thick, milky streams. This sight would drive him crazy, and he would jerk himself off as you moan and squirm for him.  He also loves to fuck your breasts and shoot his cum all over them. Oh,  Yunho is definitely one who wants to cum all over your face, smearing cum all over your cheeks and lips. And he wants to cover you all over with his cum.

You'll never admit it to him, but it's his perversions and dark, dirty sexuality that drive you crazy, and every time you cum with his name on your lips, you fall more and more in love with him.

[mypussytasteslikeharibo]

Tight plans

Summary: Viktor buys Reader a nice little (lacy) present. They discover it while Viktor is still working hard at the lab. Maybe they put it on to see if it fits.

No gendered pronouns used for reader. Afab reader. Not proof read, no guarantee for quality oops

Notes: I'll probably do a part two, depending on how fucked my time management and sleep schedule is going to be the following week. Sorry about the language, I'm not a native speaker. My English professor would be disappointed at my use of inverted sentence structures. I'm sorry. You'll see me again next semester still. Anyway, have fun everyone! Hope you'll never be able to wear tights again :)

It's not unusual for Viktor to be home late from the lab. He's always working hard, that's what you love about him. His attitude towards his passion and his great mind to match it make him as endearing as he's always been to you.

What IS unusual though is the present sitting on your bed. No special occasion. Did you forget your own birthday? No. You might be getting slower but not that slow. Maybe it's meant for someone else. But you throw that idea out of the window as you're holding a small card in your hands, spelling out your name and signed by your loved one with a Love, Viktor.

Well. As it's not an anniversary, and there's not been any big, big news about his or your work either, you decide to just open it. If it was a bomb then Viktor probably had his reasons to blow you up anyway.

You unravel the bow on top of the golden present, hands slightly shaking in anticipation. You wonder what could be inside? Maybe it's the earrings you've looked at longer than necessary at the shop three weeks ago, or a useful tool for your work in the lab. Even though that would not require a bow as decoration. It would've been enough to just... Lay it on your desk and let it find it's way to you while you're working.

But no, it is instead... A pair of tights. Well even with winter on the way, these tights are not made for cold weather or even day to day going out, no matter the season.

Made of black net, with an artistic rose pattern on the back of the calves and sitting at an angle that makes the seam disappear into your ass, these tights can only have one use.

They're... sexy.

A shudder runs through you. There has to be an explanation to this.

Yes, you and Viktor have been together for a few months now and it's going amazing. He's affectionate, he's gorgeous and he understands you better than anyone else in this whole city, if not world. You love even his droopy morning faces or his annoyed expressions when he comes home frustrated after an unsuccessful lab day. But what you love most, right now at least... Yes, well, it's the sex.

You've been with people before and you've had great sex before. But for Janna's sake, the way this man makes you quiver under his body while he fucks into you like a machine built only for one purpose and one purpose only, it drives you insane. He isn't rough but loving in a way that still makes you see stars for the next hour.

So you are not only confused at the reason for this kind of foreplay but also incredibly and utterly horny about it. The thought of Viktor having to shop at a store and pick out this pair of tights specifically for you, paying for them with his hard earned money while he thinks about you and the way you would look in these tights... Him having to plan when and where to give these to you and ultimately deciding on leaving them on the bed while he's at wor-

He's at work. He's at work, knowing that you'll be home earlier than him. He knows that you will unpack this present as soon as you see it, knows that you get too impatient otherwise. And he counts you opening it without him, alone. In your bedroom, right in front of your bedroom mirror. He's thinking about you, seeing these tights and figuring out all of his plans, even playing along with them.

He knows that you will put them on and he knows that you will be waiting for him at home.

Your pussy pulses.

To think that this is the same man that couldn't hold your hand without getting crimson red ears four months ago.

A shudder runs through you. You don't even know what to do. Viktor could be home anytime but he could also stay at the lab for two more hours. It would be nonsensical to put on these tights without him here, just walking around in them without him there, knowing that he pictures you in them but doesn't see them until he's finished at the lab-

Ah, yes.

That makes sense.

It is slightly cool in the apartment when you take of your clothes bit by bit. It's not that you're freezing or anything. You're cold but it's not uncomfortable, it's... ironically, very hot.

You can feel your nipples getting hard underneath your lace bra.

You've put it on since you've had plans of your own on your way to Viktor's place. It doesn't help that your skin feels overly sensible right now. The thought of Viktor thinking about you at this very moment and what you could be doing in his bedroom without him there to observe...

It drives you crazy.

It tingles at the spots where your bra meets with the sensitive skin of your nipples. You can feel your pussy getting wetter by the second, pulsing to your heartbeat. All you can think about is Viktor, his hand on your lower stomach, your tits, your throat, the other directing itself to your burning core, only waiting to be touched by his calloused hand-

You snap out of it, panting. You've not even finished undressing, let alone putting on the beautiful pair of tights driving you crazy right now.

You wonder what his reaction will be. Before you lose yourself in thought again, you decide to finally let this pair of art decorate your body as you wait for the artist to arrive.

You bunch up the fabric until it reaches the toe end of it. Slowly, you let the toes of your right foot enter the smooth net. It stretches beautifully around your foot and spreads up your calves. As it reaches your knees, you see how the pattern paints the back of your calf with black roses and thorns. They follow your hand up to the start of your thighs, as you become a hot mess again.

It is as thought they are his hands wandering over your body. His eyes following every movement your hands make up your body, landing on your inner thighs and the burning desire waiting between them.

What a cruel man to do this to you.

You continue. The tights crawl up your thighs as you enter with your left foot. The same torturous process plagues you until both ends off the tights have reached your hips. At this point you've reached the part where the tights should end and close at your waist.

Instead they continue.

They're not normal tights.

Pulling them further up, you realize that these tights also double as a lace bra. They are as see-through as the rest of the tights but they also repeat the pattern from the calves in the stomach, leading up to your breasts. So you take of your own lace bra, letting it fall to the floor as you don't expect Viktor to have a problem with that later on. He would probably be too distracted to notice anyway.

As you lay the fabric down onto your breasts, one by one, you shiver from the sensation. The pattern and the lace of the fabric stimulate your hardened nipples and make you yearn for a hand similarly stimulating as the pattern, smelling of cologne and freshly brewed coffee.

The fabric closes in the middle of your breasts, creating an oval hole on your stomach. Not only does it look incredible, it also grants easy access for... Later activities.

As you put the straps of the tights on your shoulders, you turn to the mirror standing in the corner of the bedroom. The view makes you gasp. Not only that you feel so hot and ready to be banged against all surfaces of the apartment, you also look unbelievably lewd. It's not something you're used to but it makes you feel powerful. Like you're a goddess waiting for her pray to seduce. Letting your eyes wander across your breasts, your stomach, your hips you turn to look at your ass, which looks fucking burning hot.

But you also notice the hole cut into it.

Hm.

You can feel how wet you are without touching yourself. The anticipation is wrecking your body apart. How much longer is he going to take to come home? You can't walk around like this for hours. It would drive you to the brink of insanity.

You run your hands down your breasts, your sides, your stomach. You can barely touch your thighs before your knees buckle. As you turn your ass to the mirror again, your hands follow your direction. You massage it, feeling the net prickle at your skin and sending irritating shock waves towards your wet pussy. It is driving you bananas.

You bend forwards, looking back to your ass. As you actually see how wet and hot you are between your legs, you clamp your knees together from all the arousal. How can this little piece of fabric make you feel this unbearable way?

As the mirror stands directed towards to bed, you get up on the edge of it on all fours. Bending down your head, shoulders and upper back to the soft plush of Viktor's bed, you look back towards the mirror again.

Wow.

You've never seen yourself in this kind of state before. As you're only hearing your heart beat and your own panting, you don't even register the door keys turning in the front door.

"My fucking god."

You sit up out of surprise.

"No, no please stay like that! My love, you are simply..."

He sighs from endearment.

"...enthralling."

You blush. How come you still blush at his compliments seven months into dating?

"Well-" you lay down your upper body again. "-you were the one who chose and bought this for me, correct?"

You spread your legs just a little wider.

"Frankly, I feel like I should thank you for this gracious present."

You lock eyes with him while running a finger down your dripping pussy.

"How may I repay you, Darling?"

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

A/n: Hope you enjoyed this small... Whatever this is :) I'll try to do a part two soon. Hopefully ruined your night with this open ending, let me know if so. Love you xoxo (no, I don't have any lacy underwear to give you)

[bitchlessdino]

boo-ty call 👻 (m)

Pairing: perverted ghost!jeonghan x cute neighbor!seungkwan x afab!reader Genre: supernatural comedy, smut Word count: 11.1k tags: a lot of puns, human body possession (con and dubcon), threesome by definition if you count a ghost, mention of food, cunnilingus, some degrading (slut), light spanking, unprotected sex Summary: As far as unwanted roommates go, your ghostly companion was one you never anticipated. But when this specter began to assert himself and meddle in your dating life—or lack thereof—you started to reconsider your stance; maybe having a roommate wasn’t so bad after all. Especially if he's helping you get laid. author note: it's sluttober! when did i last write anything and have it posted. that's crazy sorry about that yall, but i'm really trying my best to be more active, but ngl its hard. life really gets in the way and we have to remind ourselves to take a back sometimes, even from our hobbies. Thank you to @multi-kpop-fanfics and @seokgyuu for beta reading and helping me perfect this masterpiece and thank you to you guys for your patience. Enjoy! Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @kyeomiis @wonwooz1-blog @horanghaezone

You should’ve known better than to find an apartment listing in the same place where people get lied to about the types of dogs they’re buying. To this day, your aunt is convinced her Chorkie is supposed to be pure Maltese.

Meanwhile, you’re about 99.999% sure your apartment is haunted, and whatever ghost this was, they really liked stealing your underwear. It should’ve scared you. It should’ve driven you away and rushed you out to find a newer, less haunted place to live. But it was cheap, fully furnished, and came with a walkable laundromat and a family-owned market with homegrown tomatoes. Nothing could beat that.

You could tolerate it. It was better than mooching off your parents, who ask every five minutes when you’ll get a 'real' job. Living away from your parents was necessary for your sanity and a dead pervert is much preferable to a live one.

“Can you fucking stop leaving the bathroom light on? I get that haunting is your job and all, but you’re not the one paying the electricity bill.”

If anyone could see you talking to thin air right now, they would’ve had you committed.

“And while we’re at it, could you stop stealing the lacy underwear? They’re gifts, and I don’t wear them, but I might someday, so leave me the option!”

The hallway light flickered before it finally stopped and swift air breezed past you in response, but no returning underwear. You let out a frustrated sigh and shove the rest of your dirty clothes into the hamper before proceeding with laundry day. 

You’ve never seen any part of them, yet you’re always aware of their presence. It was creepy at first, but that quickly turned into annoyance when you realized how limited their grasp on the living world truly was—just a bit of theft and light tinkering. It was manageable, but you still felt uneasy knowing you couldn’t change without feeling watched.

“I’ll be back. Don’t piss me off more when I do. It is not my week.”

Not a day had passed since you two became acquainted that he didn’t find some way to bother you, but there were definite perks to living in hell’s best apartment lease. As your feet scraped across the tiled floor, the afternoon sun briefly flushed your skin, and a familiar flutter stirred in your chest as the thought of something popped into your head. Instead of the usual contempt, longing filled your chest as you made your way to the machine.

“What do we have today, m’dear?”

Your ears perked up at the sound of his voice, and you pretended to nonchalantly turn around, as if you hadn’t just spent several minutes hoping for his appearance. “Oh, you know, the usual—interview clothes, some sweatpants, and a few coffee-stained rags.”

Seungkwan’s lips curled into a soft chuckle, his laugh warm as he tossed his own laundry into the machine beside yours. “Sounds spicy. Mrs. Whirlpool is in for a gourmet meal today.”

He said the weirdest, most ridiculous things, but the real mystery was how you still ended up wanting to kiss him anyway. There was something about his easy smile, the effortless way he tossed his dress shirt into the machine like it was some kind of party trick.

He had a knack for brightening the atmosphere as if he possessed a magnetic otherworldly charm. Whenever you arrived, you couldn't help but wish he would be there, transforming the ordinary task of laundry into an intimate little affair—just the two of you amidst a heap of dirty clothes.

You observed him from the side, noting that his stack of clothes was noticeably smaller than usual. This made you question why he would wash such a small load. “Today isn't your regular laundry day. It’s usually Fridays and Mondays, isn't it? Today’s Thursday.”

The second the words left your mouth, you cringed internally. Great. Way to sound like a total stalker. Creep much?

Seungkwan cocked a smile. “I’m flattered you’ve memorized my laundry schedule.”

You laughed awkwardly, scrambling for cover. “I pass by here and just happen to have a really great memory.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, this might sound kind of gross and embarrassing, but I found these abandoned at the back of my closet. They’ve been there forever, and I had some extra change, so I figured, why not? You know, especially since I’ll be gone at the end of October.”

“You’ll be gone for Halloween?” Well, don’t sound too disappointed.

“Yeah,” Seungkwan said with a soft chuckle, glancing your way. “Family traditions. Can’t miss them. You know, the usual—handing out candy, our neighborhood haunted house contest, all that.”

“That sounds like so much fun. Way better than my Halloween growing up.” 

“Aw, thanks, but trust me, it’s way more chaotic than it sounds. Kids screaming, neighbors going overboard with decorations—it’s a lot." He shrugged as he folded his laundry, a hint of nostalgia creeping into his tone. “What about you? Got any plans?”

“Um… I’m not sure yet. Still figuring it out, I guess,” you answered earnestly, suddenly feeling like a loser with no plans–which you were by definition.

Seungkwan hesitated, his hands stilling mid-fold, the fabric dangling loosely between his fingers. You could see something flickering in his eyes—a jumble of thoughts swirling in his mind like a muddled cloud, visible in the furrow of his brow. “Oh. Well, um…” His voice trailed off, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as if he were battling whether or not to say what was really on his mind.

"What?" Your curiosity spiked, your heart quickening as you waited for him to continue. For a moment, the only sound was the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall, stretching the already lingering silence.

He quickly shook his head, offering a faint, almost apologetic smile before turning back to his laundry, his hands moving again, but less sure than before. “Nothing. Just—never mind.”

“Oh, okay.” The disappointment weighed on you, heavier than you wanted to admit. You glanced at the washing machines, trying to focus on the steady hum of the cycles, but your eyes kept drifting back to the numbers, slowly counting the seconds until the minutes ticked over, all while the silence between you grew louder.

You finished your load long before Seungkwan could wrap up his, the awkward tension of unfinished business hanging in the air like a thick fog. You glanced at him, hesitating for a moment before mustering a tight smile, trying to shake off the discomfort. “Well, that’s it for me. See you around, Seungkwan.”

He looked up from his laundry, the corners of his lips tugging down slightly. "See you, neighbor," he said, his tone laced with a hint of regret. The moment lingered in the air between you, thick with unspoken words, making it even harder to walk away.

With one last glance at his face, you stepped back, the soft chime of the door ringing behind you as you passed their glass doors.

As you walked  back toward your apartment, you couldn’t help but drop in confidence, thinking to yourself that maybe you didn’t deserve good things like cute laundromat boy. The hallway felt more confining than usual, the walls seeming to close in, echoing the insecure thoughts making rounds in your head.

You leaned against the cheaply painted walls of your cramped apartment, sliding down to sit on the floor with your head in your hands. It was just a childish crush—fleeting and meaningless—yet the thought of him going away scared you more than any real-life danger you'd ever faced. He was the only upside to moving to this part of town, the one thing that made the mundane feel even remotely worthwhile.

As you sat on the vinyl floor, you could still picture the sparkle in his eyes when he first opened those double doors, the warmth of his voice as he introduced himself. What had once been just laundry had turned into something to look forward to, a small break from the routine and a chance to brighten up your day in this sparse town. 

Maybe, if you were lucky, it could turn into a little small-town romance. But now, you couldn’t help but wonder if he even saw you beyond the casual pleasantries. Did he just see you as another neighbor, or maybe just a friendly face? 

The familiar flickering light in the kitchen pulled you back to the reality and up from the ground of your haunted apartment. With a frustrated sigh, you turned your attention to your unwanted roommate. “Yeah, yeah, I’m home,” you muttered, trying to shake off the feeling of melancholy.

As you walked toward the living room, the flickering lightbulbs in the lamps followed your path, their erratic dance a reminder of the presence that lingered in your space. Maybe getting rid of them wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. It could be a way to finally cut ties with the ghost that seemed determined to remind you of your solitude. You chuckled softly at the thought. Perhaps an exorcism could clear out both the ghost and all the pointless overthinking.

But that was a problem for another day. Rotting in bed sounded far more appealing right now. You shuffled into your room, the soft glow from the streetlamp spilling in through the window, casting faint shadows on the walls as the evening deepened. The coolness of the night crept in slowly, the faint hum of the city blending into the background.

As you sank into the familiar embrace of your blankets, the exhaustion in your limbs finally settled, but your mind lingered for a moment longer. You glanced outside, the dim light catching in the leaves of the trees below, and for a fleeting second were at peace. No ghosts, no old washers or dryers, no obsessive crush. Just sleep.

You sighed, pulling the covers tighter around you, letting the hum of old furnishing–and probably the old pervert ghost–as you drifted off into sleep.

Your rest was cut short by a full bladder, ready to burst. With heavy eyelids, you stumbled toward the bathroom, barely aware of your surroundings. As you relieved yourself, everything felt normal—the creaking of the bathroom door, the sporadic running of the faucet, and the occasional flickering of the lights above, indicating his restless presence.

You groaned, rubbing your eyes with your fists. “This wasn’t an invitation, Casper,” you muttered, irritation creeping into your voice.

As if to taunt you, the faucet suddenly turned on full blast, running wildly before shutting off completely, leaving you with nothing but the simmering annoyance bubbling inside of you. With a frustrated huff, you quickly flushed the toilet and turned to the mirror. The lone reflection staring back at you looked as tired as you felt.

With dark circles under your eyes and a complexion that could only be described as dull, it was starting to feel like you were one bad hair day away from getting "gave up" tattooed across your forehead. And suddenly you were wondering whether you looked more dead than the ghost.

Instead of wallowing more self-pity, you washed your hands under the running faucet. If the ghost wanted to bother you, it certainly wasn’t going to be about your hygiene. You kept that on lock.

You glanced back at the mirror and no longer were you alone. Instead, where your reflection should have been was the unsettling visage of your ghost, staring back at you with a smirk that sent a shiver down your spine. His pale features were striking, almost ethereal, with an undeniable charm that twisted your gut. Those mischievous eyes sparkled with a playful malevolence.

Your ghost was attractive–strikingly so–and for some reason that made you dislike him even more.

You shot your shared reflection an unamused smile. “Was that supposed to scare me?”

His reflection chuckled, leaning over his sink to give you an unfiltered view of every extraordinary detail etched into his face like a sculpture. “What? I thought I could finally introduce myself.”

“After months of me already living here? I feel the moment has passed,” you shot back, crossing your arms in defiance.

“Well, I had to pass my own judgment, didn't I? Do you know how many coke-huffing, cheese puff-grubbing, athlete-foot-walking slobs I’ve encountered in my place of residence?” He leaned closer, his expression mockingly serious, the flickering light casting playful shadows across his sharp cheekbones.

“May I remind you that those people were renters? If they paid to be there, who were you to deny them that?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Like I didn’t pay when I was alive? Plus, Muriel definitely wasn’t paying, nor was Monty. They were beyond sketchy.” He rolled his eyes dramatically, clearly relishing the chance to air his grievances from beyond the grave. “Now that I think about it, there was definitely some laundry going on around here—and I’m not just talking about your underwear strewn all over the place.”

“Thanks for the reminder. Would you please leave the undergarments alone?” you replied, trying to keep the irritation from creeping into your voice as if you didn’t sound crazy enough talking into a mirror.

He shrugged nonchalantly, the flickering light casting shadows across his smirking face. “I will once you learn to toss them in the hamper like a normal humie. Upside to being dead: no laundry.”

“I don’t have to take this from someone who can’t even wear underwear anymore.”

“So you assumed I died without any on? How morbidly perverted of you.” His playful smile widened.

You scoffed, incredulous at the absurdity of the conversation you were having—with a ghost of all people.

“You know I’m right…I could sense your heart racing the moment you laid eyes on me,” he teased, a playful grin dancing across his lips as his jaw hung slightly slack in intrigue. His gaze swept over you, lingering on the way your breath caught in your throat, as if he were drinking in every detail, alive in the way his eyes glowed with mischief despite their soulless depths.

His ghostly figure was lean and toned, the contours of his form faintly visible like a lingering shadow, brimming with an energy that felt both alluring and infuriating. The flickering light cast an ethereal glow around him, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaws and the way his seemingly wet hair fell carelessly over his forehead. He leaned closer, the air thickening with a mix of annoyance and something dangerously enticing as if he relished the effect he had on you.

“Are you…flirting with me?” You couldn’t believe you had to ask, but the glint in his eye was undeniable.

“It’s not illegal. Not in the afterlife, anyway. Anything goes here.” He leaned back against the sink, bloodless veins pulsing against his forearms, enjoying the encounter more than he should.

“I…need sleep.” 

You peeled yourself away from the mirror, shaking your head in disbelief, and headed to bed without looking back. You slipped through the sheets, found comfort in their familiarity, and sighed, thinking you escaped.

“You know—”

“Jesus!” you burst out, your heart racing as you instinctively clutched your chest. Opening your eyes, you found the ghost looming above you, his expression a mix of amusement and annoyance. “What now?”

“Walking to a different room isn’t exactly a proper goodnight,” he said, crossing his arms over his spectral chest as if he were the arbiter of etiquette in the afterlife. His expression was mock-serious, and the playful glint in his eyes suggested he found the whole situation amusing.

“As if ghosts even sleep?” you shot back, rolling your eyes.

“No, but it’s polite,” he replied, feigning indignation, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a barely contained grin.

“Is this going to keep happening? You annoy me until I scrape together enough money to move out, or, if I’m not fortunate, end up penniless and homeless,” you lamented, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you threw your hands up in frustration.

“You tell me.”

With a sigh, you shut your eyes again and threw the blanket over your head, seeking refuge. “At least save it for the morning.”

And the ghost did just that—he saved all of it for the morning, better yet the afternoon. Since that’s when you woke up anyways.

“Do people always eat breakfast past two p.m., or is that a recent trend from the last two decades?” his voice called, cutting through the haze of your half-sleep as you started to eat 

“How old are you even?” you mumbled, cereal gnashing between your teeth.

“Old enough to know that you need more than cereal to sustain a healthy human body.”

“Riveting,” you muttered sarcastically, sipping the milk from the bowl. “Next, you’ll tell me that ‘ghosting’ is a real thing in your realm, too.”

“Actually, it is,” he retorts, his presence somehow stronger than it was in front of a mirror, “Happen to be doing it right now. Having some fun.”

“Is that your idea of fun? Stalking me from beyond the grave?”

“Call it what you want, but I’m just trying to keep you company,” he replied, his voice low and smooth, like honey dripping from a spoon. “Besides, who else is going to breathe some life into your dull existence other than someone who’s already checked out of theirs?”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms with a playful huff. “Great. Just what I need—my own ghostly life coach. What’s next? A seminar on the benefits of double-scrubbing the bathtub?

It was meaningless stuff, really. The kind of chatter that filled the air like background noise, a gentle distraction from the world outside your walls. Yet, for someone who was supposed to be dead, he had an uncanny knack for conversation, it only made you assume the type of person he was alive. He could turn the mundane into clear images, painting vivid pictures with his stories about the afterlife—or, more accurately, his gripes about it. Not that you asked for it, but, it was like being told a grand story. Stories you could not for the life of you stop listening to for some reason.

“Okay, ghostie—”

“Jeonghan,” he corrected. “Say it with me slowly. Jeong. Han.”

“Mmh, ghostie! I’ll be back after the laundry is done.”

“No way you’re saving money with how often you—”

“Bye bye, poltergeist!” You cut him off with a wave, stepping out with a load full of laundry.

You had noticed how quickly the days were slipping by, how time seemed to blur when you shared your space with someone—or rather, something—that could actually respond to you in real-time. It was a strange kind of companionship, one that made you forget just how much solitude had weighed on you before.

The passing days also reminded you just how much you needed a breather, to clear your head from this bizarre living arrangement. And somehow, your laundry had piled up, more than it ever should have for someone unemployed who barely left the house. It was odd. Almost like time itself was moving faster, dragging the mess along with it.

“Hey, right on schedule—Thursdays and every other Monday and today’s Monday..”

You almost forgot about Seungkwan amidst all the supernatural nonsense swirling around you, but seeing him brought back memories of your last encounter, and you quickly put on a smile. “Hey there! Look at you, recognizing my laundry schedule too.”

“Thought I’d return the favor since you were kind enough to remember mine. Hope that’s okay,” he replied, his tone light.

You piled your laundry into the machine, carefully measuring out some freshly opened detergent. “It is.”

“Okay… I just want to apologize for being weird the last time we talked,” he said, shifting slightly as he leaned against the machine, his expression turning a bit more serious. 

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” you assured him.

“I just… I don’t know.” He glanced down at the floor, his brows furrowing slightly. “My mind went blank, if I’m being honest.”

You smiled reassuringly. “I get that. Don’t worry your pretty little head over it.”

He looked up, a playful grin spreading across his face. “So you think I’m pretty?”

Fuck. “It’s… just an expression.”

He leaned against his machine, his gaze fixed on you. “Didn’t deny it, though.”

You chuckled, feigning exasperation and mirroring his posture against your own machine. “You’re a lot more cocky than I realized, Mr. Seungkwan.”

“Do you like that?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were left speechless. Your mouth dropped open in surprise as your thoughts bounced from one corner of your mind to the other until finally, they found themselves running down between your legs in a new form of discomfort. “Umm…” 

You turned away for a moment, breathing to steady yourself, gently patting away your very alive heart.

“I made it weird again, didn’t I?” he said, his voice laced with a hint of regret.

You spun back around, shaking your head. “No. No! It just took me by surprise.”

“Sorry about that.” Not sounding all that sorry.

“That’s…more than I’m used to,” you admitted, a slight heat creeping onto your cheeks.

“Thank you?” he replied, a grin tugging at his lips.

You let out a soft laugh, the sound brightening the air between you and making the moment feel lighter and more vibrant. Just then, the machine beeped, a sharp sound signaling that your clothes were done, pulling you away from the heated exchange.

A comfortable silence enveloped you both, but this time it felt different—like the crackling of kindling in the perfect moment when fireflies come out, illuminating the night as brightly as the stars in the sky. You exchanged a quiet glance, catching a glint reminiscent of those stars in his gaze, and for a second, it felt like the universe was telling you, ‘Hey, maybe there's something here.’

When you finally turned to leave, your smile was the biggest you’d ever had. And when he matched yours, it was like you had just won a bizarre lottery. You probably looked a bit unhinged, standing there grinning at nothing while swaying in the damp weather, but you didn’t care. The butterflies in your stomach danced happily, and you found yourself wishing you could hold on to this moment just a little longer, savoring the warmth it brought.

“You look happy.”

Not even the Ghostbusters’ final boss could ruin that for you.

“Cram it, Beetlejuice Lite,” you shot back, because although you’re in a good mood, you relished finding new names to call Jeonghan besides his own.

You hummed to yourself as you folded and neatly put away your clothes, feeling his cool, lingering presence behind you. He watched, like always—probably thinking up who put sugar in your cereal this morning for you to be in such an uppity mood.

“Well, I’ll be. You’re actually putting your clothes away like a functional human being?” His voice oozed mock surprise, but today, it just rolled right off you.

“Yep! Just felt like it,” you replied cheerfully, sliding the last of the shirts into your drawer with a satisfied nod.

“Strange. I thought laundry was your natural habitat now, seeing how often you’re in there… but I guess that’s thanks to a certain ‘living,’” 

You snapped your drawer shut, the sound echoing through the room as you whipped around to glare at him, immediately pulling you away from the happiness you felt not that long ago. “You—”

“Seungkwan, wasn’t it? Cute kid. Didn’t quite peg him as your type, though.” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

Your eyes narrowed, heart doing an involuntary somersault. Of course, he’d noticed. He seemed to notice everything, like some twisted version of a nosy neighbor, only this one didn’t have the decency to keep his opinions to himself. You wanted to fire back, but your brain was moving a step too slow, still caught up on the casual way he dropped Seungkwan's name. How long had he been watching you both at the laundromat?

“You’re stalking me outside of the apartment now?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“My spirit may be bound to this place,” he replied with an air of nonchalance, “but my soul can roam as it pleases.”

“Spirit? Soul? Aren’t they the same thing?”

He tilted his head, giving you a patronizing smile. “Not quite. My soul travels freely, observing everything within a reasonable distance—it’s not tethered to the apartment like my spirit is. My spirit stays here, out of my control.”

“So, you spied on me just because you could?”

"Call it research. Gathering intel." He shrugged. "Besides, it's not like you were doing anything interesting."

"Oh, I'm so glad I could provide you with such riveting entertainment.”

You shook your head, leaving the bedroom and closing the door behind you, only to have Jeonghan pass through it. "You know, for a ghost, you're surprisingly annoying."

"For a flesh-and-blood mortal, you're remarkably unfazed," he observes, his ethereal voice echoing slightly. "Most wouldn't last a day with my...unique brand of housekeeping."

You paused, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah, well, I'm not most people."

“So,” he began, “about this Seungkwan guy…”

You stiffened, feeling your cheeks heat up. “What about him?”

“Just curious,” he replied casually, though there was a glint in his eyes. “He seems... nice.”

“He is,” you mumbled, suddenly finding your laundry far more interesting than the conversation again.

“And you like him?”

Your heart raced in your chest. “I don’t know,” you admitted, the words almost sticking in your throat. “Maybe.”

“Does he like you?”

You hesitated, fiddling with the edge of your sleeve. “…I don’t know yet.”

There was a beat of silence before he offered, “Want some help with that?”

“No. What? How would you even do that?” You narrowed your eyes, already regretting entertaining this conversation.

He started circling you, wearing a grin that screamed trouble, like a cat ready to pounce. “The only time my soul and spirit are truly joined,” he began in a low, conspiratorial tone, “is when I possess a body and take control of their flesh.”

You rolled your eyes. “Where is this going, Bloody Maury? Skip to the part that makes sense.”

He stopped directly in front of you, arms crossed. “Well, if you’re interested in ‘skipping to the good parts,’ I could possess your body. Help you say what’ll win over Seungkwan in no time.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “Why in the hell would I be dumb enough to let you do that?”

He snickered, leaning in with a smug look. “Because you’re desperate and haven’t slept with anyone the entire time we’ve lived together.”

“…You talk too much.”

“Think about it,” he continued, unbothered by your glare. “You’ve already got a foot in the door with him. You just need a little boost. I can help.”

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. “This sounds like some high-level scheme to take over my body. Then I’ll end up stuck sharing it with a ghost, screaming into the depths of my soul for eternity. Thanks, but no thanks.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ve been watching too much supernatural TV. And besides, if I wanted to possess your body for good, I would’ve done it a long time ago. I do have some principles, you know. Consent and all.”

You shook your head, unimpressed. “Nope. I still can’t trust you, ghostie.”

Jeonghan, ever the persistent undead, didn’t know the meaning of giving up—and by now, you should’ve expected as much. And maybe, just maybe, his constant, incessant persuading was starting to wear you down. Sharing the same space day in and day out gave him the upper hand. He knew your quirks, your weak spots—the best and worst parts of you.

These past few days, you weren’t sure if you were going insane by agreeing with a ghost, or if he was actually starting to make some sense.

As you stared off at him, basking in the cool autumn air slipping through the balcony, you started to wonder if his intentions were not as venomous or malicious as you initially thought. There was a strange, quiet sadness in his eyes as if he longed for something he couldn’t put into words. Something that you couldn’t understand even if you tried.

“Am I really so pathetic that the ‘phantom reject’ is willing to help me with my love life?”

Jeonghan glanced at you with mild interest, noticing the way your curiosity had piqued. You sat comfortably on the couch, your elbow propped on the armrest, cheek nestled in your palm, as you observed him. He quietly approached, given that his feet were intangible and didn’t reach the ground, the silence was deafening and he lowered his head to level with you, staring back at you with so much intent it burned to feel his gaze.

He titled his head, brimming with pride. “Well, let’s just say I’ve never been rejected in my life. So.”

“You really think this’ll work for me?”you asked, skepticism lacing your tone.

“Of course,” he replied, with a grin. “You’ve got me.”

You were really considering it—letting a ghost help with your love life. Was this truly insane? Maybe. But it felt like it was worth a shot.

God, this was pathetic. And for once, you had something to be genuinely afraid of. And funny enough, it wasn’t possession. Until, well… maybe it was.

Life had never quite prepared you for this. Standing in your bedroom, surrounded by the overflowing pile of dirty clothes in the corner, you realized you’d put this off long enough—both the laundry and the body possession. You let out a shaky breath, glancing nervously from the mess to Jeonghan. 

His presence loomed, just as insistent as the neglected chores, and you had to steady yourself, mentally sorting through how you’d ended up in this bizarre situation. Laundry? Fine. Ghost possession? Not something you thought was possible. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to assess the ridiculousness of it all.

“Okay, Grim Peeper, let’s do this.”

Jeonghan chuckled softly as you tried, and failed, to shake off the nerves. His movements were deliberate as he approached, eyes narrowing in focus. He watched how the tension gripped your shoulders, the way your breath quickened despite your best efforts to stay calm. His presence felt heavier, and as he took his position in front of you, the air around him seemed to still. 

You could feel the weight of what was about to happen, the looming absurdity of it all. Jeonghan, who usually exuded a kind of careless charm, now looked oddly concentrated, as if he were preparing for something he rarely had the chance to do. His expression, though still smug, carried a certain gravity. But in all honesty, he wasn’t really sure what to expect.

“I’m about to make contact,” Jeonghan said, his tone unusually serious. “It’s going to feel a bit disorienting at first—like a cold shiver running down your spine. But after a few seconds, your mind will adjust, and it’ll feel like nothing ever happened. My voice will echo in your head, almost like it’s your own thoughts. I’ll let you know when it’s me taking control.”

His hands hovered over your shoulders, a ghostly chill brushing against your skin. For a split second, there was something oddly reassuring in his dead, sullen eyes. "You'll be okay. I promise, nothing will go wrong."

You sighed, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down. "Alright, I trust you." Then you glanced at him, a small smirk forming. "But seriously, what do you get out of all this? Helping me, I mean. I won’t judge... Boo-dini."

He let out a short laugh, tilting his head slightly as if considering how to answer. “I…want to remember what it’s like to feel alive again. See what I missed out on.”

“That’s fair,” you nodded, understandably.

“Expected more from me, humie?”

You shrugged. “Thought you’d have a deeper back story, but that’s fine.”

Jeonghan scoffed softly, giving you a teasing smirk before he began. In an instant, he was there—and then he wasn’t. The shift was so sudden it left you reeling. Just as he’d predicted, a shiver rippled down your spine, cold and unsettling. But what he hadn’t mentioned were the flashes of unfamiliar images that flickered behind your eyes, moments you’d never lived but somehow felt were real.

They came and went so fast, you couldn’t make sense of them—fleeting fragments of his past, perhaps, or echoes of something even older.

‘How are you?’ he voice said, interrupting your thoughts.

You quietly nodded, reassuring him.

‘Very well then. Your lead, dear host.’

You wandered into the laundromat with your overstuffed hamper, feeling a bit like a laundry pirate hauling treasure—or dirty socks—across the high seas. You’d made the executive–and rightfully cowardly–decision to skip your usual laundry day, and now it was leading up to this very moment. Jeonghan stayed mostly dormant in your body as you claimed an empty machine, the back of your head itchy knowing another being was sharing your body that has led you this far. And now it was going to lead you to get laid.

It was like clockwork. Any minute now, Seungkwan would stroll in, and Jeonghan would take over, handling all the nerve-wracking nonsense you'd rather avoid.

‘Don’t be nervous,’ his voice echoed, ‘I almost thought it was my own heart racing, then I remembered I’m dead.’

“Sorry,” you muttered softly under your breath, ignoring the supernatural’s attempt at a joke.

‘It’s fine. Everything will be fine.’

“I know,” you sighed.

“You know what?”

You spun around, facing Seungkwan, who’d entered with that casual, friendly energy you always admired. He smiled, raising an eyebrow at your startled expression.

"Seungkwan!" you blurted out, trying to push the embarrassment down as far as it would go.

“Hey, neighbor,” he greeted, already moving toward his machine, gently separating colors from whites. “How are you?”

“Good—Great! Why do you ask?”

He gave you a light shrug, glancing up with a playful grin. “Just sounded like you were talking to yourself.”

“Well, who doesn’t?” you quipped, trying to play it cool. “Sometimes thinking out loud helps clear the head noise, right?”

“Right,” he said, stretching with an amused smile, clearly entertained by your odd, jittery energy.

‘Wow, thank god you have me.’

You quietly cursed Jeonghan in your head for making this harder than it needed to be, before mustering up the nerve to approach Seungkwan, fingers nervously fidgeting.

"Hey, so... you mentioned you were going to be out of town for Halloween, right?"

Seungkwan looked up, surprised and then grinned. "You remembered! Yeah, what’s up?"

You hesitated for a second, feeling Jeonghan’s smug presence lingering somewhere in the back of your mind. "I thought..."

Seungkwan leaned casually against the now-humming washer, hands tucked in his pockets, his curious gaze fixed on you. "Yeah?"

You tried to keep your cool, but the moment the words "we could do something" left your mouth, your brain started to short-circuit. Seungkwan turned to you with that easygoing grin of his, waiting for you to elaborate, and you could already feel the awkwardness creeping in.

Jeonghan’s voice chimed in, ‘You’re fumbling. Let me take over.’

Before you could protest, the familiar shiver ran down your spine. Suddenly, everything felt distant—your limbs moved, but you weren't fully in control anymore.

Jeonghan’s smooth voice came out of your mouth as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I was thinking, maybe we could hang out before you head out of town? You know, catch a movie, grab a drink, something low-key, say my place?"

Seungkwan's smile widened, surprised but clearly intrigued. "You want to hang out with me?”

Jeonghan, still in control of your voice, replied effortlessly, "Of course." Before you could even process what was happening, your feet began to move on their own, gliding across the floor like a spy on a secret mission. Jeonghan closed the distance between you and Seungkwan, and suddenly, your hands were fidgeting with the hem of Seungkwan's shirt. “I figure it’s a good excuse to steal some of your time before Halloween hits."

Your heart raced, and you mentally screamed at Jeonghan, Okay, okay, that’s enough! I can take it from here!

But he was on a roll. "Tomorrow?" Seungkwan asked, leaning casually against the washing machine, though the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot betrayed his nervousness. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty.

"Tomorrow’s perfect," Jeonghan responded smoothly, maintaining the effortless flow of the conversation. "I’ll text you the details."

With each word, your body felt like it was moving on autopilot, and while you were horrified by the lack of control, a part of you couldn't help but feel a rush of exhilaration. Jeonghan was nailing it, but the closeness to Seungkwan was almost too much to handle.

Suddenly, Seungkwan playfully entwined his fingers with yours, his touch sending a jolt of warmth through your hand, as his grin graced his face. Your eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, savoring the warmth of the connection. When you opened them, you found an unreadable expression on his face—intense and smoldering. “Sounds like a plan,” he said, his voice slightly softer now. “Looking forward to it.”

The way he held your gaze made your heart skip a beat, and for a moment, the world around you faded into a soft blur. Even though Jeonghan was in control, your thoughts tangled with the heat of the moment, coursing through you like a fever. 

As soon as Seungkwan turned away to his laundry with a lingering grin, Jeonghan released control, and the reins were back in your hands. You blinked, still a bit disoriented from the possession.

‘See? Easy,’ Jeonghan’s voice echoed smugly in your mind.

‘You’re impossible,’ you shot back.

‘But effective.’

That night, you tackled all the prep work you knew you needed to get done. It had been a while since you’d done anything like this, and you definitely had some dust bunnies and spiderwebs in your attic.

“Humie–oh.”

“Jeonghan! What the hell?” Your eyes flew open as you scrambled to pull the shower curtain over your bare legs, the chill of the water sending a shiver up your spine from the products strewn haphazardly at the edge of the sink. “Do you fucking mind?”

“Well, well. Look at you, all cleaned up. At least yourself, anyway. Can’t say the same for the bathroom floor—or that mountain of grooming products over there.”

You gripped your makeshift cover-up a little tighter, groaning in frustration. “Privacy, please! I barely have any as it is.”

“I’m just saying, I’m proud of you. Now, if you manage to sweep up after, I might even give you a round of applause.”

“Out!” you snapped, glaring.

He shrugged, turning to leave with an impish grin. “Hey, roommates catch each other with their pants down one way or another.”

If you weren’t already a bundle of nerves, Jeonghan was getting far too comfortable for your liking. Leading up to that night and the big day, he had been dishing out advice on everything from what to wear to what movie to play, right down to critiquing the meager food stock in your fridge.

“That’s it, you need to go grocery shopping.”

“I can't afford that right now!”

“Just get Instacart. I don’t care. This apartment is as bare-bones as it gets.”

“I have popcorn, soda, and some chocolate for Halloween when I'm giving them out.”

“First of all, popcorn isn’t actually food. Second, prebiotic soda doesn’t count as real soda. And if you can get chocolate, then you can definitely manage to buy some real groceries.”  

But just as you were about to respond, luck decided to abandon you with a sharp knock at the door. “No time!” you hissed, “now scr—oh, you’re already gone.”  

One moment he was there, and the next, he had vanished. Now, it was all on you, and nothing felt more nerve-wracking. You tugged your shorts down just enough to cover the rest of your bottom, anxiety buzzing in your chest. Your hand hovered over the doorknob as you took a deep breath, trying to muster some confidence before swinging it open to reveal who was waiting outside.

“Seungkwan, hey!”  

“Hey!” he grinned, his Halloween-themed vest adding a playful touch to his outfit as he juggled a couple of bags in his arms. “You didn’t ask, but I thought I’d surprise you with some food. Pumpkin-spiced spaghetti and meatballs.”  

“Oh, uhhh…”  

He burst into laughter, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m just messing with you! It’s actually butternut squash gnocchi and some stuffed peppers that look like pumpkins.”  

“Oh, thank God! That sounds amazing.”  

“Yeah, it’s festive without going overboard.”  

You nodded in agreement, feeling a warm rush of relief. “Come in.”  

As you stepped aside to let him in, you couldn’t help but notice how wholesomely he was dressed compared to your casual attire. Suddenly, you felt a pang of self-consciousness.  

“I like your sweater,” you said, trying to mask your growing insecurity.  

He looked down, a hint of modesty crossing his face. “Yeah, I think it’s just the right amount of festive, but—”  

“It’s festive but not overboard,” you responded, playfully tossing his words right back at him.  

He grinned, “Exactly!”  

You smiled back, feeling a wave of warmth as Seungkwan's presence began to calm your nerves. As he settled into the familiar space of your apartment, you couldn’t help but discreetly scan the room for any signs of your ghoulish roommate. Half-relieved to find nothing, half-disappointed that your spectral “backup” was nowhere in sight, you let out a quiet sigh. And now it was just you—and the human you actually invited in.

Hesitantly, you eased into the spot next to him on the couch, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach. Your hands were jittery as you picked up the remote, scrolling through the movies you’d lined up, your mind racing to figure out what to do next. 

You glanced at him, hoping for some sort of sign or direction, but the words caught in your throat. The longer you scrolled, the more painfully aware you became of the silence, as if it only heightened the nervous tension taking over your body, weirdly missing Jeonghan and how flawlessly he executed what he did yesterday.

"So, movies," you said, aiming the remote at the TV.

"Movies," he echoed, mimicking your tone.

“I mean,” You raised a brow. "What do you have in mind? And there is a right answer."

He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "Alright, I love Halloween, but..."

"But?" you pressed, leaning in slightly.

"I... really can’t handle scary movies. Halloween Town is probably my limit."

"Halloween Town? The kids’ movie?"

"Hey, don’t knock it. They had great graphics!"

"They had awful graphics!" you shot back, incredulous.

He grinned, half-joking but clearly standing by his point. "Yeah, now. But for its time?”

You shook your head in playful disbelief, unable to hold back a smile. “You’re ridiculous. But fine, your choice.”

You were left with very few options. Seungkwan had suggested a few festive, family-friendly titles, but you managed to persuade him to consider a couple of mild thrillers—some stupid but perfectly on theme.

“The zombie version of Twilight? Seriously? Zombies?" he repeated, stressing the idea with disbelief.

You shrugged, smiling from his reaction. “You might like it.”

He dropped his head in defeat, cute little whines escaping his pursed lips. “Fine, but you’d better be my shield for this, okay, neighbor?” 

The movie began to play, the take-out boxes popped open, and your nerves were on high alert, vibrating like something else does on a normal Friday night for you. Except now, it was just you and the incredible realization that the man you're very much interested in was mere inches away. You were a fucking wreck.

Surprisingly, Seungkwan was genuinely enjoying the film, finding unexpected humor and charm in the cringeworthy blockbuster. His laughter was soothing and infectious, gradually easing your nerves until you started to feel normal again. Why were you like this?

Wait, you felt normal again, but what was normal?

Before you fully grasped what had happened in that fleeting moment of clarity, your hand made contact with Seungkwan, trailing lightly up his forearm. He immediately turned to face you, and your eyes locked, but suddenly they felt as if they belonged to someone else as if you were watching a different kind of film—a film where you were a separate character, experiencing everything from an alternate reality.

“Seungkwan,” your voice spoke, sounding foreign and distant as if someone else were taking control. Jeonghan? 

‘It was so painful to watch.’

Jeonghan guided your hand to brush against Seungkwan's ear, teasingly grazing the tip and relishing the warmth that bloomed between your fingers.

“Hey,” he replied, his nerves speaking for him. “Is something wrong?”

A low chuckle escaped from the depths of your throat, echoing Jeonghan’s playful menace. “You didn’t think we were just going to watch a movie, did you?”

Seungkwan audibly gulped, his eyes darting around as anxiety crept in. “We aren’t?”

“What’s the matter?” Jeonghan leaned in closer, your lips brushing against Seungkwan’s ear. “Where’s that confidence you had yesterday?”

Seungkwan suddenly tossed a pillow onto his lap, speechless and blushing fiercely. “Sorry,” he stammered, caught off guard. “I never anticipated—”

“Oh, really? You never expected to do something other than watching movies?” Your hand gently cupped his cheek, and you could feel Seungkwan melt into your touch with a gentle whimper.

A delighted sigh escaped you, fueled by Jeonghan’s newfound confidence coursing through your veins as your thumb traced the curve of Seungkwan’s Adam’s apple, feeling the rapid thrum of his pulse beneath your fingertips.

“You didn’t think for a second, I’d–you know–keep the night as is, did you?”

He softly groaned in his throat, feeling the tension seep inside him. “Are you suggesting?”

“I don’t want to just watch movies with you, Seungkwan. It’d be more fun to make our own. Isn’t that right?”

“...yes. God, yes.”

He leaned in, cradling your face in his hands, and pressed his lips to yours in a swift, hungry kiss, sending a surge of electricity through you as your tension unraveled in waves. His weight dipped against your body, pinning you against the rough tweed of the couch. His soft moans mingled with your breaths, muffled yet threatening, as if he were desperate to let loose and explore the desire in his heart while you were within reach.

‘That’s it.’

Your hand held the back of his head, catching strands between your fingers and tugged, ravaging his lips as if it’d be the last time you’d get a chance. You weren’t sure when Jeonghan gave you back your control, but in the heat of the moment, none of it mattered.

He tasted like a life force, fueling the fire burning in your loins and the fire kindling in your stomach; he had you wanting more with every passing second. His hands grabbed you recklessly, throwing his weight against you and squeezing your flesh until it was tender and malleable in his hands. This wasn’t something to unfold on the couch, you thought—not when a big, inviting bed lay just a few steps away, calling for you.

Your feet regained enough feeling to guide you off the couch, and before you knew it, you were stumbling toward your room, feverish and driven, with no thought of turning back. Your hands found his clothes, teasing beneath his holiday vest and up his torso, admiring the smooth flush of skin that graced your senses. He gasped, succumbing to your excitement and leaned into it, falling seamlessly into your rhythm.

“Didn’t want to stretch this, but,” he pulled the vest and shirt beneath over his head, tossing them aside in the corner. You let your hand linger longer on his body, running along the curve of his spine as he pulled you closer.

Seungkwan grasped your waist, savoring your lips with gentle strokes of his tongue before lifting you from the ground and onto the bed. Your bodies crushed against one another, peeling off articles of clothing one piece at a time until you were almost bare, expertly taking you apart to have you whole. All to himself as far as he knew.

“Seungkwan,” you called out in pleas, hands cradling the back of his neck as his hair fell over his eyes. “I want you so bad…”

“You’re telling me,” he managed to breathe out,  gripping your underwear at its hem and scrapping it over your hips as he pulled them down. “I’ve thought about you ever since I met you.”

Your heart bloomed in your chest, pleasantly startled by his confession. Your hands ran through his hand, pushing them over his forehead despite knowing they’d only fall back in place. “You were always so…friendly.”

He smiled, pressing it against the corner of your lips and decorating your cheeks and jaw with kisses. “Yeah. I always hoped that we’d be more than just friendly.”

“Well, mission accomplished.” You pulled him back into a lip lock, parting your legs to give him access.

‘Look at all the fun you’re having.’

Jeonghan was like a wandering whisper, weaving through your thoughts as Seungkwan enveloped your senses. Seungkwan’s hands were on your body, touching what’s yours and making it his, where Jeonghan could feel it as much as you could, and you knew it. He got off on this just as much as you did.

‘Feel him rubbing that pretty pussy of yours.’

“So wet…” Seungkwan said with ache, sounding like he was pleading.

His digits found your sensitivity and thumbed over your clit, stimulating you until your voice rang but the last thing you were doing was speaking. You became fluent in moans, fluid in body language, and perfect in Seungkwan. Your breath dragged on, panting against him as your leg hooked to his side, holding him with urgency.

‘So fucking horny…you were begging to be fucked, hmm?’

You couldn’t help but nod, hand lowering to find Seungkwan’s raging erection just within reach. He softly gasped, thrusting into your touch as you held his shaft, stroking his length that felt so full in your hands. So stiff, yet warm to the touch, almost tasting the tension on your tongue. 

‘Look at that size, huh? Imagine how that feels in you. Stretching your pussy and making you feel so full? Doesn’t that sound amazing?’

“I need you in me Seungkwan.” You begged in desperate pants, gripping him by the forearms. “I want to feel you inside me.”

There was a certain eagerness in his eyes, the kind that said he would do anything and everything for you in a heartbeat and succeed. You weren’t dealing with any average guy that wanted to get off. “Fuck,” he whispered, before lifting his upper body, putting himself on full display.

His physique was magnificent in every way, tantalizing and captivating like nothing you’ve ever encountered. You had an inkling of what he looked like under all his clothes, the veins always so prominent on his forearms and hands when he strained to reach something on a shelf, the line of his back when his lifted shirt revealed just a sliver of skin, or his wide hips, baring an ass so round and full they look like they came straight out of the oven. Never have you ever wanted to run your hands over something, nor have you ever wanted to sink your teeth into something. Yet, here was Seungkwan: utterly delectable.

Seungkwan dragged you by the ankles, moving you effortlessly as he angled himself between your legs, your molten heat practically dripping at the sight of him. His groan bounced off the walls, hand coming over your inner thighs and gently massaging your skin. As his kisses started to pepper over your legs, you felt your pussy physically throb, damned to eternal craving.

“You look like heaven,” He cried against your thighs. “Any protection?”

“It’s right–oh.” You picked up a rubber conveniently left at your nightstand, then handed it to Seungkwan. You‘re welcome.’

He set it aside with a smile and instead of putting it on, his face fell on your heat. He tasted you like it was worship; the dance of his tongue was his prayers, while your response flowed like a cascade of blessings. You whined when you felt him pursed around your clit, teeth barely grazing you as he sucked down like you’re the last bit of syrup in a dessert.

At the same time, his eyes glazed over to yours, a hand hovering over your chest, inaudibly asking permission, and when you gave him a wordless nod, he grabbed handfuls of your breasts. He kneaded you between his knuckles, rolling your buds between his fingers, and having you surrender to his chase.

“Seungkwan, please…”

Seungkwan’s eyes glimmered with pride, a sultry testament to the depth of his exploration. The longer he ventured, the more you found ogasmic relief, feeling every ounce of his efforts and every ounce of his pleasure. You held him by his hair, leg anchoring over his back, feeling his tongue massage your inner walls. His voice vibrates inside you, somehow stealing your breath, and filling you with utter euphoria. 

‘You feel that? How much he wants you? How much he craves you. He’s been waiting for this day. And you should reward him. Don’t you think?’

You tugged him up, watch him gasping for air, replace one pair of lips with another. You flipped him on his back, gaining momentum, and relishing in the power of control, and swallowing his gasps. You aligned the hilt of his cock towards you, ensuring you wrapped it protection before it sat between the slit of your folds. 

Seungkwan tilted his head back, his eyes glistening with desire as he admired you, his gaze revealing his thoughts like an open book.  "You're so sexy," he murmured, the words spilling out without hesitation. While his look said it all, hearing it felt like a heated rush of affirmation, and it made you want him more.

You pushed his length in you, feeling his size pulsate through you, and a moan managed to pass through your lips. Shivers ran down through you, goosebumps pebbling your skin, and you realized the raging presence of Seungkwan was going to be the death of you. As he rocked inside you, he held your hips in place, guiding your form up and down on lap, adjusting to your squeeze, and adjusting to how it contracts. “Oh my god, please, you’re driving me crazy.”

“Just like I wanted,” You teased. 

Your lips brushed against his neck, grazing your teeth over his skin before making passionate kisses to his neck, grinding down on his body until there isn’t a hint of space between your bodies. You were growing weary–albeit needy–chasing a high that was so close to be conquered. You felt it, Seungkwan felt it, and damn well Jeonghan felt it. You needed more, just a little more.

Suddenly, the air was knocked out of your lungs, as if something vital had escaped from within you, and your movements were put to a halt. 

“Sorry,” you apologize, pushing the hair way from your face. “Not sure what happened. I promise–”

“Don’t apologize to me, Humie.”

You heard his voice—or rather, an echo of Jeonghan’s voice—calling from below you, and as you met his gaze in Seungkwan’s eyes, your expression widened in shock. “Jeonghan,” you declared menacingly.

“In the flesh. Well, not my own, but you get the idea,” he quipped.

You nudged at the body beneath you, careful of not hurting the host. “Get out of this poor human’s body right now! What happened to consent?”

“Oh, he’s very much consenting to the thrill of this level of intimacy,” Jeonghan replied, a teasing grin spreading across his face.

“Not when it involves a literal ghost!”

“Relax, he won’t remember a thing. My spirit won’t let him. All he’ll recall is the good time he had,” the body thief winked playfully.

“Bullshit! Do what’s right and let the boy go.”

“But I am doing what’s right.” His grip tightened around your hips, pushing Seungkwan’s cock deeper in you as if it was possible and ebbing weak moans from as he pulled you closer, a wicked smile dancing on his lips. “So right.”

“J-Jeonghan,” you stammered, your pulse quickening.

“I just couldn’t take it anymore, Humie. You looked absolutely ravishing. I had to experience you for myself.”

Your head was screaming all kinds of denial, but your body thrived off his confidence, his energy was flowing through you, splitting through you and hitting a spot of pliancy. This was so wrong. “This…this is violating…for him…”

“But you love it, don’t you? It’s like a wicked thrill, a tantalizing pleasure that feeds your deepest, most tumultuous desires.”

You scoffed, trying to ignore the pulsating cock rocking your very core. “And what kind of desires is that?”

“You want us both,” he answered plainly. “The human and me.”

You shook your head, fingers tightening around Seungkwan’s shoulders in a desperate bid for security as you fought against Jeonghan’s seductive temptations. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Then, why don’t you get off of me?”

“It’s Seungkwan I can’t get off of,” You clarified.

You could recognize Jeonghan’s smile, even though it was plastered on Seungkwan’s face—so conniving, so devilish. It exuded an intoxicating power that was inhumane, but irresistible. “But it's me you’re riding–and fucking hell–you look so good doing it.”

“Jeonghan…” You whimpered, pleading for release from his coercion, but as you feared, mercy eluded you entirely.

“Yes,” His palm rode up your body, his lips parting in haughty confidence. “Beg for me, beg for me to fuck you full.”

“...Fuck it. I want you to fuck me full.” You accepted him, feeling the tension of the cock inside you, ripple waves straight into your heat. 

Mindlessly, you accepted his domineering hand that landed on your mouth, feeling it travel past your lips, parting way with his thumb. You wrapped your lips around his digits, sucking them like candy, and the shame that once enveloped your paradoxical feelings dissipated, leaving only a deep hunger in its wake. 

Whether it was Jeonghan or Seungkwan beneath you, it was all true to its very core. You had an undeniable infatuation for your cute neighbor and a strange fascination with the handsome ghost. The connection you felt with both was more than palpable, leaving you with an unexplained frenzy of emotions that would require extensive therapy. You knew the logical choice was the one who was alive, but you had never considered that you could have both—especially not in such a chaotic, unorthodox three-way.

“Look at what a slut you are for us, your lips so perfect wrapped around these slender fingers of his.”

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” you quietly muttered to yourself, grinding harder, sucking Seungkwan’s fingers deeper, and gradually succumbing to Jeonghan’s demands.

Jeonghan let out a deep, rolling laugh that resonated from Seungkwan’s core, a sound so rich and dark it sent a momentary unease through you. “You’re simply giving into your desires, why fight it?”

“You damn well know why,” you spat out his fingers and gritted your teeth.

“Now that’s not nice,” His hand covered the shape of your ass, cupping them in his palms, “Do I need to show you how to be nicer to me?”

“Jeonghan,” you groaned, feeling his digits dig into your flesh as he spread them apart. 

“What’s that, baby?” he experimented, “Looks like I have to make this a teaching opportunity after all? Because you can’t show your gratitude?”

“Jeonghan, please.”

“Well, if you insist.” With an unexplainable, arcane, supernatural force, the dynamics were switched and Jeonghan had you on your stomach, ass conveniently placed in from of him. 

“Jeonghan!”

"I always knew you looked good from every angle, but wow—this one is something else." His hand glided over your curves, Seungkwan’s cock splitting down your divide, you grasped your thirst.

Anticipation was wreaking havoc on your sanity, leaving you in a deafening silence as you waited for Jeonghan to make his move, impatience following. “Will you just–”

A hand clashed against your backside, your skin stinging from impact, and relieving you from a ched yelp. Jeonghan braced you against a groin, the erection nudging at your skin. “So needy,” he chuckled. You felt the tip tease along your slip, eventually filling you up in that familiar way.

You whimper, the size still enticingly foreign, and back into his weight, feel yourself travel all the way down to the base.

“An impatient,” Jeonghan softly groans, grounding himself to you in careful, yet sharp thrusts.

You balled your sheets into fists, your voice muffled as you buried your face in a pillow.

He chuckled against his skin. “That good?”

“Y-yes,” you helplessly whispered.

He slammed down on you, releasing a squeaky spring sound from the bed, both embarrassing and strangely arousing. “Even when I do that?”

“Yes…more please…”

Jeonghan repeated the move, finding a steady rhythm, and watched as your skin and flesh recoiled back against him. He could feel his host basking in the intensity of this pleasure, tears swelling his eyes as your moans echoed in his ears, memorizing from the decibels your voice reached, to the way you looked from behind, and even how the flesh of thighs spilled when you collapsed wearily on the mattress.

“Insane,” He said in hushed whispers.

“Stop it,” you whined.

“Stop what? Showing you how fucking perfect you are taking my cock?” He grunted.

You pressed your lips in a firm lip, clawing down on the bed as your core tightened, every pound drilling into you, giving into his indulgence and taking you along with him. He made every thrust count as the echo of skin slapping faded into the background.

“Oh please, help me cum.” You begged. “Please, please, please…”

His pace quickened, his rhythm erratic. “Yeah, you want you cum coat around my cock like a good little whore.”

“Yes, Jeonghan please, just give it to me.”

“You asked, and you shall receive.”

Finally, he bottomed out into you, unleashing the reins he held to prolong this moment and cut them lose. Your body was no longer yours, weakened by the spirit draining your energy. Your jaw fell slack, unable to close, a waning moaning stretching for miles, ecstasy coursing through your veins. 

You said one name, then another, and then again. This was really confusing but you were here, pounded into obvious for what it seems like endlessly, until you realized you were full and not with what you had initially anticipated. In the remenance of fatigue from the sex, you fail to notice the lack of protetction seeing as proof of you supernatural rendezvous was seeping out of you like a slow river.

“Jeonghan!” 

“What?” he drowsily answered as he claimed the side of the bed besides you, evidently using the extent of Seungkwan’s body.

“What the fuck happened to the condom?”

“Please, that’s my own cum.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ectoplasm, you know. Comes from all sorts of places.”

“I hate you so much—am I gonna get pregnant with ghost kids?”

“Relax, and no you aren’t. It’s as effective as…something really ineffective–fuck, I’m tired.”

“And Seungkwan. What about Seungkwan?”

“He’s fine and his release became as good as mine when I possessed his body. His soul is asleep right about now, having a catnap. Now come here.” he pulled you towards him, throwing your covers over you and keeping you away from the draft into to room, slipping you into his arms. “Stop tiring yourself out any further and rest. Everything will be fine when he wakes up like a man that got laid: amazing.”

“Fine,” muttered with heavy eye lids, “but only because im really tired.”

And from that moment sleep was easy.

You woke up to those same arms, now only asleep and less “ghost-like” and snuggled up closer to him, a newly acclaimed heat source. A soft chuckle escaped him, holding you tighter in his embrace as a kiss fell on the top of your forehead. “Hey there.”

You smile, cupping the side of his face in your hand. “Hi.”

“That was amazing, you’re amazing,” he said, planting another kiss on your nose. “Is it weird to say it felt so good I kinda blacked out?”

“Ha,” you shook your head, knowing the truth, “No, but thank you for the massive compliment.”

He grinned, a flush of red coating his cheeks, before pulling you into a deep and wonderful kiss, entanging his legs with yours. He seeped into realization when he found the mess between your legs, untouched since sex. “Oh shit, i did that, didn’t i?”

“It’s okay, I…have some sort of protection.”

“One moment.” Seungkwan came up naked from the bed, momentarily left the room, and with a noticeably wet hand towel. “I usually have an extra clean one on hand for after my workout. Glad I brought a backpack for no reason today.

As he inched closer, he sat between your legs, uncovering you from the blanket, and politely asked if he could help. When he received your consent, he brought it up to the mess, gently swiping between every crevice, ridding any remnants of cum that might have been left over. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” you reassure, visibly gushing.

“Of course, I do.” He insisted, a sincere smile gracing his features. “It's my pleasure taking care of you.”

It was so disorienting going from the original to Jeonghan’s version and back to the original Seungkwan. As if you were once looking through a window of an alternate reality. Still a lot to process what happened.

“I don’t usually do this,” you try explaining yourself, “I just…I’ve been into you for a long time and I just thought, maybe, you felt the same.”

“I do,” he pressed his lips to your inner thigh. “A lot.”

“So you wouldn’t mind seeing me again?”

“I wouldn’t object to the idea,” he grinned, “especially if we get to do what we did to make me black out in the first place.”

[lilithandherharlots]

Too shy to tell you

miguel o’hara x fem!reader

Miguel hides your heals in hopes of making you forget you ever owned a pair...he confesses about his theft during a hot and heavy night of sex.

Warnings: This might be interpreted as possessive or an unhealthy bond. Though its supposed to be just a very shy and respectful Miguel who let's loose during sex.:]

Authors note: I am not a writer!! This is my first time righting fanfic.. like.. ever!!! So don't attack me. Though honest, constructive criticism is something that I would love to hear. Sorry if there are spelling mistakes. Also, I don't know how to put proper description..... enjoy!!!!

:::

"Miggy?" I call out to my boyfriend who's currently towering over the coffee machine, waiting for it to brew.

"Yes, my love?" He responds with a look over his shoulder.

"Have you seen my black pointed heals? I can't seem to find them."

"No. Have you checked by the door?" He was lying.

He was lying. He was lying, and he didn't feel bad about it. The truth was he had stuffed them in the highest cupboard of the laundry room. He knew you couldn't reach it. He liked it that way. He couldn't let you open it since he had stuffed at least 4 pairs of heals in there.

"No miggy, they aren't here." You say after checking everywhere by the front door.

"Idk what to say, baby... we have to leave soon. Just throw on a different pair and I'll buy you some new ones later."

He was a liar... and he was damn good at it... until he wasn't.

:::

It was 2am. This insanity started hours ago, but Miguel's stamina wouldn't let down. Your soft moans could fuel him till sun rise, and he would love to do this forever. But unlike him, you have limits. Limits to your ability to stay strong, or at least keep yourself up right. But he doesn't really care. Your begs for a break won't succeed with a constantly starving man like him.

"One more round, please baby... please. I need you." His desperate begs caress your tear stained cheeks as he whispers them softly, leaning over you and filling you with sloppy thrust.

"Miguel- please.. It's too much.." You whine as you try to pull away, gripping desperately onto the sheets.

"Last one.... I promise..." he lies.

He said the same thing the last 4 rounds. If he could have it his way he'd continue. But he knew you couldn't keep going for much longer, so he used this opportunity to tell you what he couldn't bring himself to say otherwise.

"I lied..." he confesses. Watching your tits bounce with every rough trust, keeping himself busy while you tried to form a reply. It took you a while, but you managed to let out a soft hum, waiting for him to explain himself further.

"I took them. Your heels.. I fucking hate those things.." he thrust get faster as he says it. Hoping to make your brain foggy enough to not remember his confessions in the morning.

"I like your height, so why do you wear those weird things?" His heart felt lighter as he told you.

"I like that your height forces you to get on your tippy toes every time you want a kiss from me.. and even then, I have to bend over to reach you.... I like that you rely on me to reach those high shelves. Every time you ask me, you grow as red as a rose...."

You can feel his movements speed up. You can barely hear him... your mind fuzzy from pleasure. Lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin felt like white noise at this point. The dim shadow of his frame covering you completely.

"You're so small under me.. your body falls any way I bend it..." At his point, he was just speaking the first thing to cross his mind.

You didn't hear him, and he knew it. Seconds later, you feel his weight shift, the mattress by your head sinking under his heavy hand as he leaned in and whispered.

"Please don't take that away from me."

His words were demanding. He felt exactly what he said. Even though your eyes were shut tight, you knew his eyes were locked on you. His breath heavy, as if he just confessed a dirty secret. He kinda did...

"Promise me.... Promise me you won't wear them and I'll help you cum."

As tired as you were. You wanted it. You needed it. You needed him. So you give in.

"F-fine... I promise."

"You promise what?" He smirked hearing your whiney voice.

"I promise I won't wear the heels!!"

The pleasure he got from you saying that was immense. He shifted his weight once more as he changed your position like a marionette doll. Spreading your legs apart. His hands wrapped around your thighs, and his claws dug into your skin. The stinging pain of it was a wake-up call, causing you to gasp for air.

This position caused him to go deeper. The sticky mess from your previous rounds was being pushed out of your aching hole. The sound of his hips hitting your ass grew louder with every precise thrust. They got louder and louder until they stopped. Your thighs had clenched closed as you hit that high you were chasing. And you took him with you. Tightening around his pulsing cock in a way that made him fill you to the brim once more.

He watched your body shake. Your hips jerking forward. He would usually take that as his sign to keep going, but your fucked out face was telling him you couldn't take another thrust.

"You did great my love..... my little angel~" He cooed gentle praises as he rubbed your claw marked thighs.

"I'll buy you the cutest flats."

:::

A thing he didn't know.. is that you lied, too. His secret cupboard was emptied, and your heal collection was restored... and yes.. he pouted in silence.

The end

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓪 𝓢𝓽𝓻𝓪𝔂

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You always knew deep down that getting involved with the Kook prince himself would result in nothing but heartache. Unsurprisingly, like an absolute sucker you had allowed yourself to get pulled into his orbit, hook, line and sinker.

The two of you were always unlabeled, two people just trying to take the edge off; so it shouldn't have stung when you caught him with another girl on his arm. But it's completely unfair when he comes crawling back as soon as you attempt to move on.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Rafe, 18+ content (so minors go somewhere else), AFAB, fem aligning pronouns, toxic relationships, lack of communication, infidelity if you really squint, stalking, hints of dark!Rafe, Soft!Rafe (because I'm a sucker), Rafe refers to himself as Daddy once (I'm sorry, it's so in character), Oral (F! Receiving), Unprotected sex (reader is on the pill), public sex (they do it in a bathroom at a party), dubious consent (both Rafe and reader are intoxicated).

ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: 25K words (the Lana Del Ray and Chase Atlantic continuously playing in my headphones wouldn't let me stop). Not proofread (as per usual, I'm sorry), Pogue!reader.

You love your life. The simultaneous merge of monotony and spontaneity. Sure, it is boring in certain aspects. The schedule of your job demanding that you wake up nearly every day of the week, pulling yourself out of the warmth and comfort of your bed before the sun has even bled across the horizon in hues of pale gold and soft lavender to begin opening up the restaurant; passing through the door that always squeals sharply on its hinges. No amount of WD-40 has managed to correct the offending, metallic shriek, but Deborah, ever the penny-pincher always brushes off the notion of simply replacing the hinges. Huffing and shrugging it off whenever you suggest it. One of these days you plan to go down to the hardware store yourself and buy a fresh set of replacements. 

The ritual of your mornings is often tedious. The one before it the same as the one that comes after; setting the chairs down from their places tucked upside down on the tabletops to be seated on their designated positions on the floor, turning the coffee machines on to begin brewing a fresh pot for the early risers and regulars that stop in for a quick uplift before they head off to their jobs, checking to make sure that you had properly stocked up the night before you left; that the sliced lemons and creamers and ketchup bottles have all been filled. You sometimes have a habit of accidentally skipping out those tasks when you've been on a double. Sometimes on purpose if you know that you're going to be the opener the very next day. 

Though more often than not it ends up with you cursing yourself out for leaving more unnecessary work for yourself. 

You're at your job more than you're at your own home. But with how high Deborah's turn rates are, and how little people do actually come in to retrieve an application, it's practically been up to you to try and hold down the fort as best as possible. Apart from Charlotte, who does her best to cover as many shifts as she can (though that isn't always possible if one of her kids falls sick or the babysitter calls off), and Rusty. But as the main cook, he practically lives in the restaurant to begin with. So much so, that it has become a joke among the staff that he should just call it quits and put up a cot in the back so that he could takes naps in between shifts. He's always at the restaurant long before you are. Piddling around in the back of the house to get a head start on the day ahead and prepping for what he'll need. 

It's dull work, sure, and the breaks that you get are few and far between, but the threat of oncoming bills always looming overhead like a fucking hydra. As soon as you manage to cut off one head, another immediately seems to grow in its place. Plus, you also have a difficult time in saying no to Deborah. You think everyone does honestly. She could be hard to navigate at times, seeming to seesaw between being almost sickeningly sweet and intimidatingly disgruntled. Skulking around the restaurant with a sharp anger glinting in her eyes, a harsh scowl pulling at the wrinkled corners of her lips as she barks orders and huffs over crumbs and stains that aren't there. 

But you try, like the others, not to hold it against her. You know that she's just stressed. Struggling to pick up the pieces that her son had left behind; to keep his dream alive as best as she can. 

Still, you can't help but to revel in any chance you get to have a day to yourself. Even though the reprieve that you do get is typically spent at your own home. Basking outside underneath the warmth while you soak in the small layer of water contained in the old sun faded kiddie pool, reading one of your unfinished books, or reclining against the lip of the hard plastic while the music from your old Bluetooth speaker drifts down from the steps of the small, worn porch attached to the front of your trailer. 

Every once in a while, if your budget is willing, you might head down to the quaint thrift store that lies just on the outskirts of town. Though calling it a "store" is being quite generous. It's pretty much just a shed that had been repurposed as a business in Metilda Clark's backyard; the walls boarded with shelves for books and DVD's and VHS tapes, and racks filled with garments donated from families whose children have grown out of their clothes or family members that have passed on and they can't bear to look at their personal belongings anymore. 

So you suppose that in a sense, it's a graveyard of sorts. A place for people to bury or move on from their pasts without entirely discarding the items that they need to be free from. Given that that a large chunk of the island's population is in part of the working class, a vast amount of the wares and goods found at the store are a little lackluster. Every once in a while, you manage to find something good. A piece of clothing or shoes that have managed to trickle down from the Eight, like a pair of vintage heels that you were able to snag for twenty-five bucks. But for the most part it's just plain knickknacks, fishing lines and old bodice rippers - many of which are wildly amusing to flip through. 

If only you had a nickel for every time you had seen a man's dick referred to as a "pulsing hot member" or "engorged manhood." It never fails to remind you of Ms. Perky from Ten Things I Hate About You trying to write smut in her office. 

Still, it does sometimes prove to yield some interesting finds. Like the magenta lava lamp that now sits on the shelf posted along the far side of your room or the rooster shaped tea pot that you always use on stormy nights. That purchase might have been a little dumb, just maybe, but you had thought it was cute when you saw it. 

But if you're being honest, you mostly go to the thrift store for the small ceramic bowl full of candy that Metilda keeps along the front counter; always full of strawberry bon bons, Tootsie Rolls, and hard caramels. You always make sure to pluck one up as she tallies up your purchase on her archaic cash register, squinting through her glasses as her bony fingers skitter across the buttons while she shares the latest bit of gossip to you. She's always in the know it seems, like some sort of P.I . . . or maybe Batman. It's almost a talent. But you suppose that being a member of the church, the local book club, and attending bingo every weekend would get you in on a lot of the gossip that circles around town. 

It's how you found out the Janice Morty was cheating on her husband of twenty-three years with his own brother, or that Sammy Kennedy has been breeding and selling exotic reptiles in his basement illegally. Sometimes you'd find yourself standing in front of that little desk long after your purchase had been bagged and paid for, just listening intently as she gives you the scoop on everything. Watching the earrings dangling from her lobes quiver and shake animatedly as she passionately recounts all of the drama she's heard - she's always got a new, fun pair on every time you see her. Many of them are retro, 80's style, but a large majority are shaped after everyday objects. One of your favorites so far would have to be the odd pair of small rotating fans, colored in that vintage mint green shade with pink blades. But the fuchsia gumball machines have to be a close second. 

You love to come in and see what pair she's going to be wearing, to hear all of the local drama. But the sound of a single name had made you regret the trip entirely. 

"- all of a sudden the screen had lit up! Just set alight without any warning." She recounted, tucking a book alongside the others inside of the recycled bag, the wrinkles in the plastic causing the smiley face to become disfigured. "Well, one of my customers saw the culprits - or at least who they suspect to be. They saw a big group of them scatter once the chaos erupted; that Thorton boy, and old Heyward's kid was there. And even Rafe Cameron, that spoiled little nuisance -" 

Your brain had blanked then. Falling flat and somehow chaotic like static filming over a TV screen. It had made it difficult to tell what you were truly feeling in that moment as it all seemed to crash over you into a still hush. But the elements of it all was certainly there: irritation, resentment, and that pathetic sense of longing that never seems to truly go away. It sticks to you like a nasty parasite. Burrowed deep and latched onto your flesh, the disease in it seeping into your bloodstream. 

No matter how much you try, it seems that you can't get away from him. The woes of living in a small community. It feels like a sort of damnation. A limbo that you can crawl yourself out of. You've gotten so close to it too. All but throwing yourself into your work - even more so than usual, if that was possible. It was to the point that your coworkers have begun to notice. You can see the way they all watch you curiously as you talk to your tables and flit about the dining room floor. Charlotte had even thrown away any attempts at subtly and had directly confronted you about your "situation." Claiming that you've seemed distracted as of late. Tense. And shit, maybe you have been a little uptight lately. Forcing plastic smiles and pretending that there isn't a hurt that's aching deep in the pit of your chest. You had promised her that you were alright, while the words felt fake, almost acidic on your tongue. She hadn't looked convinced. 

You had been doing good at pretending that you're alright. For the most part at least. With the distraction of your job and lounging around at home, diverting your attentions with old comedies and comfort watching the same old TV shows, you had nearly convinced yourself that you were alright. Though you mostly owed that to your recent proclivity for eating your feelings with Ben and Jerry's and sunbathing. Cliche, maybe. But effective. Indulging and pampering yourself has become your new means of deflecting the heartbreak that you so desperately want to pretend isn't there. And it had been working so well too. 

Until Matilda had to go and ruin it. The sound of his name leaving her red lips might as well as been nails on a chalk board. You know it was well meaning. There is no way that she would know, not even with all of the tabs and connections she's got running through the island. And that had been the point of it all. There was no label for whatever the two of you had been. The only agreement there was that your "relationship" - friends with benefits or whatever you were - was to remain on the down-low. A quiet, airtight secret lest the population of Kildare become privy to the fact that the Kook prince himself had been fucking a Pogue. 

It had been fine in the beginning. Well, not exactly fine. If someone were to ask you how you had begun seeing Rafe Cameron of all people, you wouldn't have a good answer. You yourself aren't entirely sure. It had sort of just happened. Like a wildfire that had grown out of control. The both of you have always been at each other's throats. The bullshit roles thrusted upon you by the divide of the classes on the island seeming to demand that you be enemies. Though he was more interested in maintaining those characters than you. 

You had never cared much for the Kook vs Pogue ideal. It seems archaic, tired and outdated. An unnecessary dissection that often gets grossly out of hand by the other locals.  Sometimes violently so, with the clashes ending in busted lips and bloodied knuckles. Not too long ago a fight had broken out during an after-storm party, where it was claimed that a gun had been drawn and fired. Just another reason why you found the blatant classism in the town to be entirely too much and downright threatening at times. 

But no one else believed in it more than Rafe Cameron. Topper Thronton might give him a run for his money, but you'd still have to give the victory to the prince himself. That's why it came to a complete shock to your own system when your relationship with had gone from scathing, sardonic quips and passive aggressive remarks to something balancing on almost playful. You had seemed to dangle precariously between that fine line, rocking back and forth between a genuine disdain and a delicate sort of camaraderie. 

It was an explosive mix that was just waiting for the trigger. And the anticipation of it had suspended over you like the humidity that taints the air outside, like the heavy quiet before a great storm before the lashing and booming of lightning and thunder rattles across the sky. Still, the both of you had blindly ignored the signs - the fleeting glances, the jealously that would fester in your gut whenever you saw him with someone else, the way that he would seek you out while you worked to hover over you as you poured sugar into shakers or bussed tables after your customers left. Hiding his interest in the guise of immature taunts and corny insults. And you'd do your best to deny the temptation suspended over you, writing it off as hatred and irritation whenever you crossed paths. 

You would see Rafe sparingly in your day-to-day life. Though he would fleetingly come into the restaurant every now and again. Typically to bring his newest fling in for the slices of lava cake or malted milkshakes. The Backyard Grill - or more simply, the Backyard, is a seafood restaurant first and foremost, but one thing that cannot be denied, even by the likes of the upper class, is that it has the best desserts in the entirety of Kildare Island. People of all walks of life come in to get a warm slice of apple pie, or a rich piece of red velvet. 

But it's the floats and milkshakes that are the most popular. Usually among couples that are trying to have a romantic evening. Or as romantic as it can be while in the ambiance of a ramshackle dining room, with scratched, defaced tabletops that have the initials of lovers etched into the (once) polished wood, and an old A/C unit that hisses as it spits out air. 

It's hardly a place that you'd imagine someone like Rafe Cameron frequenting, but he would still pop in every now and again. Usually with a new girl on his arm, trading them out as just easily as he'd change clothes.

It had made you tempted to speak up about it. To dare to make a subtle warning in the guise of a joke to clue the girls in, but he would always look up at you with a knowing gleam in his eyes. As though he was challenging you to spill and make a scene; to give him a reason to lash out with that scornful tongue of his and somehow pin the blame back on you. It always left resentment bubbling just underneath your skin, hot and angry while you forced yourself to hold your words back, all while a sharp, mocking smile threatened to show on your face. 

You had loathed when he would walk through the door. The infrequent nature of his visits making it feel like a sort of roulette as to whenever you'd hear the squeal of the hinges, and the dainty chime of the bell posted above the threshold - if it would be him passing through the door or not. Each time it was him, irritation would flare throughout you, but some traitorous feeling that you couldn't name would quickly follow; light and almost warm. Horrendously close to what could only be considered affection. You'd always shove it down as soon as you would register it. 

Rafe was unpredictable. A notorious hothead with a proclivity towards handling any offence he deemed against him with violence and hostility. The echoes his past rampages are still frequently on the town's lips despite being old news. Much like the time that he had reportedly attacked Matthew Bailey in the hallway of the private school for accidentally brushing against him. In Rafe's words, Matthew had rudely shoulder checked him and tried to walk away without apologizing. Regardless, the beat down that had proceeded had been a complete overkill, with Matt ending up on the flat of his back on the floor while Rafe pinned him down and repeatedly struck his face with a closed fist. He only managed to deliver two blows from what you had heard before he was pulled back, but the force behind it had been enough that Matthew's nose is now permanently bent. 

Everything about him should have repulse you. From his insistent belief that the less financially fortunate aren't as important or deserving as the wealthy, from the downright volatile way that he behaved. Like a rabid dog on a fraying lead. Morality should have been enough to repel you from him. To get you to steer clear of Rafe Cameron and pretend that he didn't exist. 

But that night on the beach, with bonfires burning high along the shore like blazes and the rowdy scattering of people cheering and laughing around you, everything that had been restrained between you both seemed to finally tear free from the grip you had on it. Maybe it had been the influence of the alcohol in your system, buzzing about your veins in a rush of warmth, or a side effect of the excitement thrumming throughout the air, but when you had saw him enter through the mass of bodies, something - some kind of resistance seemed to break.  

It was pitiful how your eyes had found him through the masses, fastening onto him as though he was the only thing that had mattered. But the way that the firelight had casted onto his skin had been gorgeous, panting him in hues of amber and vermillion and dramatic shadow. The traces of it glimmering clearly in his eyes, still visible from the distance that had separated you. A few strands of his hair dangling above his eyes in a way that you found a little too appealing, the glow of the flames highlighted the traces of brown and red in the strands.

It was almost offensive; how attractive he looked. Even while wearing one of those stupid polo shirts that he's so fond of. The color of it was a soft sort of blue. A shade that you knew would bring out the color of his eyes, gunmetal and baby blue. 

It felt like all of the oxygen had been siphoned from your lungs when the pair of them had flickered over to you and the shadows that you had found comfort in while you watched over Becca as she danced with some random guy, her laughter twinkling over the exuberant chaos letting you know that as of now, he was being respectful and minding his manners. But being under the sudden observations of Rafe had caused the dancing and socializing around you to melt into a dull background until it was nothing but the soft sand beneath your shoes and the balmy glide of the breeze shifting over your skin, slightly damp with humidity and tinged with the salt of the waves crashing along the surf. 

You had expected him then to simply alter his path and seek out some of the other Kook's that were mixed in along the crowd, but he hadn't. He kept on his trajectory, walking straight towards you, unworried as the rest of the people around you were too caught up in their own affairs or too intoxicated to notice. 

There was a determination and intensity in his eyes that had made you feel uncertain. Almost awkward in your own body, leaving you to pluck at the neon glowstick bracelet around your wrist and absentmindedly swirling the mixed drink in your red solo cup, that had long since gone warm. Once he had been standing directly in front of you, the conversation that had taken place was almost delicate as it was playful. Something new was stretching out in front of you both, strange and tricky to navigate. 

"Hey, Pogue," had been his greeting. As though he was trying to remind himself of who - of what you were to him. But it had been said so oddly, not laced with the usual contempt, that it nearly sounded endearing to you. It had been enough to warrant a smile, and the sight of your apparent amusement had been enough to have the tension melting from his posture. The rigid set of his shoulders sagging into something more relaxed and familiar, allowing him to settle into that arrogant stance of his. 

"Hey, yourself," you responded and raised the edge of your cup to take a sip of your drink. You had to fight off the urge to wince as the alcohol went down, sharp and stinging on your tongue from the cutting edge of hot vodka and the sickly-sweet syrup of cranberry and orange juice. "What the hell are you doing here, consorting with the enemy. Try not to get to close, yeah? You might catch our diseases." 

He had seemed then, to take your words as a sort of challenge. Like a raise to a sort of bet. He had stepped closer, crowding himself into your space in a way that should have felt invading, but you had only delighted in it. Free of a shirt, with only a bikini top to conceal your chest, your skin was unprotected from the subtle warmth that radiated from his body. His sudden proximity washing over you with the scent of his cologne and the gel in his hair, that seemed to have come unruffled from its usual slick back style. 

You had felt hypnotized as he pulled himself closer into your presence; engulfed by the ardor in his stare. A like of which you had never seen aimed at you - not so unabashedly, at least. You had only gotten glimmers of it. Small doses given behind the cover of hard glares and snide remarks. But then, the want on his face was bare. Shown freely underneath the cover of the dark while he leaned close enough for you to feel the gentle trace of his breath on your neck. His eyes bore into your own, demanding that you meet his stare and bear the weight of it. 

"Maybe I wanna get close." 

It had all been a flurry after that. A rush of playfully passed words and hushed, almost covetous whispers. You had allowed him to tug you into the night, far away from the illumination of the bonfires and the possibility of seeing eyes to carve a space just for the two of you. Guiding you into the thicket of trees surrounding the festivities, far off until the laughter darting over the air and the calming rise and fall of the waves had dimmed; softening so that your focus was fixed entirely on him. 

He'd taken you against a tree, fucking up into you harshly as though he'd been waiting a lifetime to do it. Splitting you open on his cock and driving his hips forward like he hated you, leaving you to claw at his back through the fabric of his shirt, nails catching and slipping up towards the nape of his neck where they left marks deep enough to have him hissing in pain. You could have felt guilty for it, but the subtle agony seemed to spur him on more. Somehow causing him to pump himself into you with a new vigor, leaving you to hang on and take it while he punched the air from your lungs. Pinned in place uselessly while the bark of the tree he had you pressed against scraped and nicked at your back. It left marks on you for nearly two weeks. 

You had thought that would have been the end of it. A night of regret fueled by alcohol and hatred, but the both of you hadn't stopped afterwards. He had begun to seek you out afterwards. Not too brazenly. He couldn't have the locals of the island finding out about your little trysts. But he would often sneak up to your house, around the late hours, always long after your neighbors had tucked in to sleep and the sun was well past the horizon. 

At first, it was fully apparent what he wanted from you. He'd stay long enough for the both of you to get what you wanted. A simple transaction of the flesh. The boundaries had been clear then. Just two people working out their frustrations and using each other to take the edge off. Put then he had started spending the night. You aren't sure when he had stopped leaving and begun staying over, tucking himself next to you in bed, burrowing under the covers while you watched the shitty action movies that he always requested you put on. 

And pretty soon he began leaving pieces of his clothes. Small things. A shirt or two. Because he liked to see you wearing them; that's what he had told you. But then there had been pants, and the odd sock, and a few pairs of his boxers, all of which you washed with your own clothes and then kept folded in a corner of your closet. 

His toothbrush was placed next yours on the bathroom counter, colored white and blue. And there was a bottle of his cologne tucked in the shelf underneath the sink, right next to some of your hygiene products and rolls of toilet paper. He kept spare shampoo in the built in shower cubby, so that he wouldn't have to use yours. He'd smell too feminine, that's what he told you. 

He'd spend the night whenever things would grow to be too much with his dad. Their relationship was always so strained. So full of resentment and insecurity. He had shared that with you one night, while you were held to his chest, your head tucked just underneath his chin while you stared up at the fairy lights strung up around your room. The scent of sex was still heavy in the air, the sweat from it clinging to your skin while you counted the thrum of his heart racing under your ear, gradually mellowing out to a steady beat as your breaths calmed. 

You had tried to nudge him to stop, promising that you didn't expect for him to share any of it with you. Warning him that it was just the influence of sex and the rush of dopamine and oxytocin thrumming steadily in his veins urging him to open up. You didn't want him to regret it. To regret what you had between you. But he had promised then that he wanted to. That he needed to tell someone. There had been a vulnerability in his voice that you had never heard from him before. A mild tremor as though he was trying to hold onto himself. To keep himself from potentially falling apart while he confessed about his home. How his stepmother was always present and yet entirely absent, how his father saw him as nothing but a failure, how Sarah paid him little mind. A psycho, she had called him once. But he was always sweet to you in those simple moments, when he would scatter kisses up your neck, tender and light while he drew you to him with the wide grip of his hands. 

There were so many lines that had been crossed. Lines that just "fuck buddies" don't cross. Not without a clear conversation at the very least. Perhaps it had been your fault, for reading into things that weren't there. For applying meaning to all the little moments you had spent together. All of the times you had ate leftovers together in your small kitchenette, laughing and playfully insulting each other while you ate away at Chinese food or reheated burgers in between jokes. Childishly nudging at him with your foot underneath the table while he complained or made remarks about his day. 

It's just fuck buddies who ask for you to pick a box of Lucky Charms during grocery runs because it's a quick meal to eat after fucking, when the weed gives him an appetite; it was just being a fuck buddy when he would lay in your arms for hours, molding himself against the shape of you to try and burrow himself along your skin, breathing tiredly into your neck; and it was perfectly casual when he bought you a necklace with a pendant of his first initial - 14 karat gold he told you. He wanted to go for 24k, but it would have been too weak and malleable, and 18k wouldn't be as scratch resistant. He wanted it to last. That's what he had said as he sucked and nipped at the skin on your neck, around the thin, golden chain; turning the flesh tender and marked. 

Maybe it truly was all your fault. So you shouldn't have been at all surprised when he had ghosted you for four days straight and then you had seen him strolling around town with Casey Ellis; her head tucked into his neck while she laughed, her hand placed to his chest. She was a gorgeous girl with highlights in her hair and a body that didn't have so much as a hint of a single stretchmark or a dimple of cellulite, wearing Luis Vuitton sunglasses and an outfit that must have cost a fortune. She was perfect, and she wasn't you. 

You were smart enough to connect the dots. To put two and two together. You had been replaced. Just all the girls before you had, and it made you feel like a complete idiot. How you had let yourself be so blinded by affection, to let the wool be pulled over your eyes and tricked into believing that you wouldn't fall to the same fate. Letting something that feels dangerously close to love delude you into thinking you'd be different. It dug deep. Slicing through you and reaching to grip a hold of a vulnerability that you hadn't even known was there. Still, you hardly even thought it over when you had skimmed through your contacts and blocked his number; doing it as though you had been put under a sort of spell, detached and numb while anger seared underneath it all in a burning undercurrent. You sent him a single message before cutting him off and out of your life. Affording him at least that little curtesy, unlike what he had done to you. It was curt. Cut and dry, if not just a little personal. 

it's clear that you've found another person to cry to and fuck. that means we're done. Dont come back 

Was it a little juvenile? Perhaps. But it had felt good, even if you hadn't done it face to face. But he didn't deserve that much. And it was nice to be so detached about it. To do something as shitty as cutting things off over a text message. It was disrespectful, a slap to the face, and you hoped that it had hurt and confused him. That his brows had pinched in the way that they do when he's bewildered, that he had paced around his room and combed his fingers through his hair while he read those letters over and over again as though it would help him make sense of it. 

You had ignored the curious, perplexed stares of your neighbors when you threw his clothes and toothbrush into the containment of the firepit behind your trailer, dousing them with lighter fluid and setting them alight. It had felt therapeutic to watch it all burn. Charring around the edges and turning black as it melted from the unforgiving heat to turn into an indiscernible pile. You'd like wish that the memories with him would do the very same, but you've had no such luck yet. 

But it's difficult to forget someone when they're determined to be remembered. Skulking about like a wild dog in the shadows, wandering up to your door in the night, pawing to be let in. The first week after you had cut ties, he had shown up at your trailer, forgoing all attempts at being quiet to bang his fist on your front door. Loud enough to all but tear you from your sleep, causing you to jerk up with a gasp, your heart thumping wildly in your ears as his muffled voice bled past the walls. 

"C'mon, baby! Listen - I - I know I fucked up, but we can work past this, alright?" A dull bang had punctuated it, and it left you to wonder if he had dropped his forehead against the door, defeated and desperate. Good. "It's not that - can't we just back to the way things were?" 

You had ignored his please to be heard and turned over in your bed. Drowning out the sound of his voice by turning on the TV and waiting him out until he left, deterred only by one of your neighbors' dogs, agitated by the sound of his shouting. After that he only tried to approach you one more time. Turning up at you job and all but ambushing you once you stepped out into the parking lot. You had done your best to ignore him. To keep the venom and contempt that longed to rise up past your lips as he trailed after you like a shadow, demanding that you stopped and just listened to him while you beelined for your car at the far end of the dirt lot. 

He had only touched you once you clutched your keys and turned them into the lock and reached for the door handle, grabbing ahold of your shoulders to shove your back to the driver side door, caging you in with his body while he clutched at you like a drowning man reaching for a buoy in a storm. You swear that there were tears in his eyes then, glinting in the dim cast of the nearby streetlamps. The emotion in his voice had been so raw. Broken, as though he was hanging on by a thread and just barely holding himself together. It made you feel like you were being dragged under. 

"Just look at me - just let me speak, okay?" His words nearly melded together in a quick rush, as though he couldn't spit them up fast enough. But your heart was in your throat, adrenalin running rampant in your veins while you stared into his eyes. Lost in the desperation in them. The dark of his pupils like hollows, threatening to swallow you whole. All the while your hand remained latched onto the door handle, frozen as he sucked you into the raw emotion that could only be described as a sort of anguish. "I fucked up, I know that, but we can get through this. "

His hands had slipped up to your face then. Cradling you as though it might keep you with him, secure in his palms, a fine porcelain that might shatter if handled too harshly. But you couldn't stand to listen to him. To feel him on your skin, to smell the scent of him after trying to wash the fragrance of his cologne out of your sheets. It had you jerking in his grip like a wild animal, even while a pathetic part of you longed to draw him closer. Before he could fully register it, you had tugged the driver's side door open, slipping out of his grasp and into your car. You had yanked the door shut and slammed your hand down on the main button to lock the entirety of the car down. Keeping him out. 

You didn't spare him a glance as he banged on the window, asking that you step back outside in a tone that was so soft. So broken. But you swallowed down the urge to comply. You fueled yourself with the anger buried beneath it all instead as you twisted the key into the ignition and sped off and out of the parking lot, gravel and dust spewing behind while you left him behind. Standing alone in an empty parking lot with only the dim sound of his voice trailing after you like a wounded, violent howl. 

"Fine! Go on then! I don't fucking need you!" 

It's only been a few weeks since then, but you've done well to move on from it all. It was a simple, few month-long fling. Nothing more, nothing less. And that's all it would ever be. Thankfully, eventually, after a few weeks, he had given up. He stopped coming by your house, he quit stalking around the outside of your job. It was as though he had never even existed. All traces of him were gone from your life. For the most part. Until Matilda had gone and opened up her mouth, accidentally drawing up old memories and picking at a wound that had just begun to heal.  

It had been enough to put a blight on the remainder of your day, looming above like the thick of storm clouds. You're suffocating. Being pulled beneath crashing, tossing waves that threaten to fill your lungs with the sting of water and leave you lifeless and adrift. All of the vibrancy and enthusiasm for life that had been there just this afternoon seems to have fizzled out like a sparkler that's been dropped in a puddle. 

It makes you frustrated and tired with yourself. Exhausted by how much you've paled in comparison to the person you were only weeks ago, and here you are groveling in self-pity and loathing all because of an egocentric, insecure man who runs around town with all of the self-restraint of a rabid dog. He doesn't deserve your heartache or your tears. He never cared about you or your feelings. You had just been a hole to fuck, a pair of arms to run into when his life at home fell into shambles. 

For the first time in a while, you found yourself calling Becca in the hopes of wrangling her into going out. There was a party going on tonight, and an invitation had been extended to you, passed on by Allen Thatcher when he had come into the Backyard yesterday for his usual. You declined then. In any other circumstance, you would have accepted, schedule willing. Then the idea of attending a party, as relaxed as the environment might be, had seemed daunting. Far too much, too overstimulating while you still struggle to grapple with the torrent running rampant within you. But now, with anger and betrayal breaking through it all, bursting between the hurt like a fire spreading through a dead forest, the prospect of blaring music and the sting of alcohol sounds like a relief. 

It had been enough to have you dialing Becca and asking if she was free. She had seemed surprised on the phone, and she has a right to be. She's spent close to two weeks now trying to draw you out of the fog that you had fallen under. Doing her best to be supportive and keep you grounded while you try and weather the onslaught of your emotions, often swinging by your place if your work schedules allow to spend hours talking and exchanging some of the local drama with each other and catching up on the little things. She had also goaded you into bleaching and dying her hair late at 3 a.m., a task that you weren't fully confident in, but now the final result isn't too bad. 

She knows what happened between you and Rafe. She's the only one on this entire island that's aware of the precarious fling that had taken place between you and him and the sudden "break up" that had followed. She was the only person that you had trusted to share your secret with, and once your mood had taken a steady decline after cutting him off, you were unable to deny that the shift in your demeanor was entirely obvious, and she of all people, deserved to know the reason why. 

You received about what you had anticipated. A confused, somewhat disappointed stare in turn, as she no doubt processed why you hadn't told her sooner. The shock clearly written on her face as she wondered just how and why you had chosen to have a fling with Rafe Cameron of all people. But thankfully she had kept (most of) her thoughts and feelings to herself. For now, at least. Once the wound in you heals, you know that she'll be poking and prodding for you to give her all the details. 

For now, you can just bask in the sense of freedom that falls over you. It's like breathing after holding your breath for too long and it invites you to be shameless as you allow yourself to sway and move under the guide of the music's rhythm, taking sips of your drink until you can feel it humming in your limbs, making you light and pleasantly warm. People scattered among the space had greeted the two of you as you entered, nodding in greeting and lifting their solo cups to acknowledge you. It was nice to be seen so unabashedly, to be invited into a space without any strings attached or expectations. It just feels like another reminder that you don't need him in the slightest. With all of his insecurities and expectations for how he's perceived in the world. In his version of society. A place that you didn't fit. 

Here you're liked. You're wanted without having to give hardly anything in return. You're only expected to be present. 

It should be suffocating in Thatcher's living room, crowded by the scattered throng of people as laughter rises and falls across the air, bubbling over the 2000's pop song that blasts through the speakers loudly enough to have the walls vibrating. But the atmosphere is purely electrical, thrumming with an excitement that almost seems tangible, gliding along your fingertips and down your spine. It's lively, but comforting in a space that's decently familiar, having spent many a night in these same walls during parties just like this one, surrounded by many a familiar face. You know the people here. You've grown up with them. Many of which you had played with as a child, exploring creeks for bottles made of green and blue glass, skinning your knees from climbing trees, and breaking into abandoned buildings to explore and decorate with spray paint. 

Even if time has grown you apart somewhat, your lives forking from each other to divert you on your own paths, you can easily scan the throng and find at least ten people who you know. It brings you a sort of solace. You community is small, and your luxuries are often just as limited but there's a genuine connection between the lot of you that the Kook's will never have. 

Their relationships come with a check list. Requirements and demands that rests entirely on the number of digits in their bank accounts or how they're recognized by their accomplishments. It's all purely material. It's not a give or take, but a constant influx of give, give, give. You suppose in that aspect, you can pity Rafe. And all the other Kook's on this island. 

But you don't need to worry about all of that here. You're entirely free to do whatever you want. It could have been hours, or maybe only seconds, time seems to have poured into a blur in the middle of Thatcher's living room. Drawing down into a sluggish glide, like a thin flow of water cascading over the bend of rocks. It had taken you by surprise when a girl had run in from the adjoining kitchen, whooping loudly over the music, and she had nearly sent you and Becca tipping over when she brushed past you, tossing a handfuls of confetti as she went. 

Your irritation is only able to flourish for a breath or two before it's snuffed out when the shifting star-shaped silver begins to fall down around you like a soft scatter of rainfall. You have to cover your drink with your hand to keep it from getting contaminated from the confetti as you shift with the music, listening to the elated sound of Becca's laughter from somewhere beside you. Her attentions fixed on a guy that she's been eyeing all night. He's cute in a way, not exactly you type personally, but what you and Becca find attractive has always coexisted on a different spectrum. 

He seems to be watching her too. Sneaking glances from his place on the worn couch, but he hasn't worked up the courage to part from his friends, remaining fixed in his place as he clutches his beer. Either playing hard to get or too shy to make a move. 

"You gonna go for it?" You ask, leaning in towards her ear to be heard over the energetic tempo. 

Her face pinches like she's considering her option, nose wrinkling slightly. She has a tendency on waiting for guys to make the first move. A strategy that typically pays off in a party setting, with everyone boosted by liquid confidence, but this one in particular doesn't seem to be budging from his spot. If she was going to even attempt to approach him then she wouldn't do it without a little, gentle push. But once she works past whatever is giving her hesitation, she's pretty quick to gun for what she wants. Now you just have to nudge. 

"I don't know." She answers, shifting on her heels to get closer to you. You can hear the uncertainty in her voice, even underneath the cover of the swelling music. It has an amused smile tugging at your lips, and you fight off the urge to playfully roll your eyes at her as you dare to look back over to the guy who's been undressing her with his eyes the entire night. 

"Oh, come on," you urge, meeting her doubtful expression with your own confident one. "You've been watching each other for at least twenty minutes now. "

"Then why hasn't he made a move?" She taps her nails absentmindedly along the side of her cup. 

"Maybe he just likes the chase," you shrug. "But I've seen a couple other people here checking him out. Most notably, the tall blonde in the corner. It's only a matter of time before she swoops him up herself." 

She seems to take a pause, falling silently for a moment as though she's weighing her alternatives, but when you catch the hint of a smirk on her face you know that she's finally made her choice. She silently taps her cup to yours in a salute, and a quick, "Alright, I'm going in," as she heads off in the direction of the couch with an inviting smile on her face and an extra sway in her hips. 

As soon as she leaves, her absence is unignorable. Despite the living room being packed with people, it suddenly seems terribly hollow. There are faces scattered among the throng that you easily recognize. People who you went to high school with. A few only live down the street from you, and you see them nearly every day on your drive to work piddling around in their yards; you talk to some of them while you stand in line at the corner store to ring up the gas for your car a fountain drink. It would be easy, in theory, to walk up to just about any of them and strike up a conversation, but that suddenly seems impossible. 

It's like being in the middle of an ocean, clinging onto a scrap of wood left from the remnants of a wreck to keep you afloat in the tossing waves. The colorful array of confetti casted along the carpet, the music humming along the air like a current, the dispersed chimes of laughter floating up around you, it doesn't seem as lively as it did before. The sight of couples mingling in the corners of the room like they're the only people left alive is a nasty reminder of what you've lost. Of what you've never had to begin with. 

It has you glancing down at the inside of your cup, and it's a little frustrating to see the bottom of it, dark with only a thin sliver of what isn't even half a sip left. It has you making off towards the kitchen. Weaving through the sprinkling of bodies, carefully avoiding in accidentally nudging shoulders or running into someone as they mindlessly dance and wave their arms in the air. Lost in their own worlds. 

It's mostly empty when you pass the threshold, with only two three other people present, two of which are little more than strangers and the other is Thatcher; the small group huddled together near the cabinets. The aforementioned man responsible for the little get together perches on the counter, his head leaned against the cabinets while he talks with the pair between swigs of his sweating beer, laughing loudly with his companions. 

You don't let it stop you from approaching the kitchen table posted in the middle of the room, surveying the multiple two liters of soda and bottles of liquor that are scattered along the top, almost lost among the various chips and junk food. There's a lot to choose from, from Tito's to tequila and Fire Ball - the latter of which you can't help but to grimace at. You liked it for all of one night, and now the scent of cinnamon and overwhelming flavor of syrup threatens to make you gag every time. When you first got here, you had let Becca make your drink. A rum and Coke, you think, but it looks like someone might have finished off the bottle of liquor. 

"There's beers and stuff in the fridge," a voice sounds out, drawing your attention up from the table and across the room. It's Thatcher, watching you from underneath the scattered dark strands of his hair. He points in the direction of said fridge with the hand holding his drink. "Some of those seltzers and uh, fruity beers too - Mike's or whatever." 

"Oh, thanks," you say, crinkling the plastic cup in your hands and turning to toss in the trash can that's been blatantly placed near the table's legs. Probably so that it can't be missed. You see him nod towards his friends in your peripheral vision before slipping off the counter, the three of them exchanging words before he shuffles past them, and they leave the room, passing him knowing smiles as they slip out of the space. 

You can guess what they might be insinuating, and suddenly it leaves you feeling just a bit awkward as you move over to the fridge and tug the door open to scan its contents. True to his words there's a pack of Bud Light, the majority of the cans already gone, leaving the box nearly hollow. But the seltzers and alcoholic lemonade is still fairly plentiful. 

You've always known about the small crush that Thatcher has on you. Granted he's always been more than a little obvious with it, always following you with his eyes and popping into the Backyard on his lunch breaks from the docks, always requesting your section without fail, if more than one server happens to be scheduled. He's never been untoward or suffocating in his pursuit of you - if you could even call it that. It's always been more of a quiet admiration. He's sweet. Kind. A hard worker and boy-next-door type. The sort of guy that you should be able to see spending your life with. Except you can't. No matter how much you've tried to convince yourself, or others have tried to talk you into seeing his potential, the feelings never come. 

You can easily acknowledge that he's attractive. With a light dusting of freckles over his warm skin and defined muscles in his arms from his work on the boats. You can almost be mad at yourself for not having so much as a flicker of attraction for him. It isn't a fault of his own. There isn't some awful thing he had done to you as children, or a comment that he had made in the past that rubs you the wrong way, there's just nothing. Not an ember of want buried down deep or a flicker of consideration that maybe you really should give him a try and maybe you'll discover that he's truly the guy for you. He's patient and sweet, and it somehow does nothing for you. 

Being in his presence has never made you feel nervous before, but with the recent gash that Rafe has left in your life, the prospect of Thatcher suddenly coming to you with the insinuation of his feelings seems alarming. Like a wave that you don't have the courage to try and surf and navigate. It makes you almost regret coming here. Of letting your anger and exhaustion get the better of you to cling to an attempt to try and have a sense of freedom. 

"Have you been doin' alright lately?" He asks, and your suddenly hyperaware of his body beside your own. The inquiry has something unsteady prickling along your flesh. To prolong the silent gap between you, you unseeingly sweep your vision along the fridge and grab at one of the first cans you see before closing the door softly. You try to focus on the atmosphere around you for a few more moments, listening to the hum of the music, the ceaseless chatter echoing around you. The scent of vape fumes and weed smoke piercing the air and making it thick. 

"Uh, yeah, why?" You ask, keeping your voice light and leveled. You only pass him a look when you dig your finger underneath the tab and push it down to pop the can open with a sharp, metallic crack. 

He shrugs then, tilting his head as he considers you from his place leaned along the kitchen counter. "I don't know. You seem . . . Different. Distracted, I guess?" 

You've heard that one before. From Charlotte and the other girls at work. Even Becca herself has said that you've been quiet. Withdrawn. It makes you feel as though you're being put underneath a microscope. It forces you to be conscious of yourself. Of how you hold your shoulders, the way your arms hang at your sides, the posture of your spine. If you're smiling too much or too little, and the line between the two sometimes seem like they're merging. 

"Just personal stuff," you reply, occupying yourself by taking a sip of your drink. "It's nothing serious, honestly." 

Another small stretch of silence extends between you two, and you can see him nodding out of the corner of your eye as you shift to properly face him. 

"Okay. For what it's worth I'm here if you ever need someone to speak to. I know it can seem a little lonely when you're dealing with shit. Especially, personal, family stuff. " He clears his throat then, his eyebrows drawing close. "Sorry, I didn't invite you here to interrogate you. You're probably trying to forget it all, and I'm just reminding you-" 

"No! It's fine," you assure him in a quick rush. And it's the truth. You can't deny that the sentiment of it is nice. To know that he does care. You wouldn't consider yourself particularly close to him. You get on well enough. You've been to several of his parties, and he comes in to see you semi frequently at work, but beyond those cordial meetings, your time with him has never really extended beyond that. He was sort of part of an old friend group of yours when you were young. A friend of a friend. But age had seemed to draw you apart. You outgrew each other, it seems. But from what you remember, he was always one of the most doting. A natural part of his personality brought on from being the eldest brother to three siblings, most likely. 

Despite it all, it's a comfort. You can feel the tension that had pulled your muscle taut beginning to fade, allowing you to relax again. There's the impression of a soft smile on your mouth. A product of the relief that melts through you at the small offering of his support. It's probably not one that you'll actually seek out or indulge in, but the thought behind it is a welcome one. 

"I appreciate it." You offer a smile. 

Something shifts in his expression then. It's tender and subtle, but the implications of it suddenly terrifies you. The sight of it gives you a good idea of what is going on in his head. Of what he thinks might be happening, that an opening has just presented itself to him. It's more than enough to have that delicate sense of unease welling up inside of you again, trembling up your spine like a bolt of electricity. It urges you to make up an excuse, no matter how flimsy or paper thin it might be, but the words in your throat never rise. You feel trapped as you watch him shift awkwardly on his feet, the bottom of his shoes squeaking lowly on the fake, linoleum tiles as he prepares to speak, clearly thinking over how to make his approach. 

"Who the hell is this?" 

At first you consider that one of your earlier drinks had been spiked, and that you're suffering from a hallucination before you tip over and pass out on the kitchen floor. That could be the only possible explanation for the familiar voice that has just cut across the energetic atmosphere and uncomfortable tension. The sound of it seems to sever through you like a hot blade. The tone of it and the subtle, almost tired croak that always seems to be present in the edge its inflections searing through you like a lick of fire. 

It has your head jerking in its direction in a sharp snap and so many different things happen in you at once. Your mouth goes dry, you're certain that your heart stops and plummets down to the pit of your belly; time grinds down to a halt. The air is like static, thrumming over your skin in a way that tingles and hums. It forces you to stare like a deer caught in the headlights. 

Something about him looks rough. You can't tell if it's just the oily hue of the overhead kitchen light that's making the bags underneath his eyes more pronounced, but his face looks ragged. As though he hasn't slept properly in days; body pulled up tight with a nervous energy. His hair tousled and unkempt, as though he's been restlessly running his hands through it, knocking the strands loose to hang above his eyes, which look wild. A little blood shot as they dart between you and Thatcher, sweeping down the length of the other man's body as though he's sizing him up. It makes you worried that he's come here coked up. Fueled by chaotic emotions and drugs. 

It immediately puts you on edge, the way that he's openly evaluating him. No doubt, considering what might happen if he crosses the floor and swings on Thatcher. It's enough to rip you from your daze, the very prospect of it snapping over you like the crack of a gunshot. 

"Rafe," you gasp. "What are you doing here?" 

"I had to see you," he answers, as though it's normal. As though it was the most obvious thing in the world. He creeps forward a little bit then, as though he's attempting to approach a wild animal that might startle and dart at any second. And honestly, you feel as though you might. Your mind is scrambling, whipping around like a storm as a barrage of questions rise and swell. 

"How did you know I was here?" The question tumbles out of your mouth like something molten. Even with the unease seeping at you, you're unable to fight of the irritation burrowing beneath the surface of it all. "Are you stalking me? Do you have someone keeping tabs? What-"

"It was a lucky guess." 

Bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, a voice in your mind seethes. He's such a liar. It's like he's allergic to telling the truth. There's no way he had a "lucky guess" for this. There's no explanation as to how he managed to track you down to a house in the middle of nowhere. A place that you know he's never been to before. 

Thatcher stands up straighter beside you, removing himself from the support of the counter to evaluate Rafe. "Ah, do you want me to kick him out? -" 

"Why don't you keep out of this." But it isn't a question or a suggestion. It slips from Rafe's mouth sharp and venomous, a clear command. Nearly a hiss with how much disdain is etched in his words. His vision flickering from you just long enough to pin Thatcher in place. It makes you wonder how he could possibly be so cross with a person that he doesn't even know. But then again, you've seen him snap people for as something as little as looking at him for too long. 

You can practically feel the possibility of a fight in the air. Heavy and charged like the presence of electricity running through the thick of a storm with the promise of a lightning strike. You can see the hypothetical rope that's restraining Rafe fraying and straining by the second. Growing weaker and weaker. Everything about the way that he's holding himself is practically screaming that he's preparing for the possibility of a physical confrontation; shoulders set, and eyes wide and glinting in the glow of the lights in a way that looks feral. 

You hardly think when you step out in front of him, moving yourself away from Thatcher to place your body between the both of theirs until there's little more than a few feet separating you and Rafe. You hardly have time to process how close you are to him. That night in the parking lot feels like a lifetime ago. A murky, faded memory now that he's here in front of you again. You try to shove it all down as you crowd closer, drawing his focus onto you. He watches at you like you're a ghost. Like you might not be real at all. A figment of his imagination. There's a type of wonder in his expression, wide eyed and doused in disbelief. 

"You want to talk, right? That's why you're here?" You ask sharply, in a rapid fire, ignoring Thatcher as he shuffles just close enough to enter your peripheral vision. You have half the mind to warn him to back off, but you don't. 

"Yeah, I just wanna talk," Rafe answers. It sounds like another lie. His eyes are still attentive on you, the joined shades of faint gray and blue boring into you with an intensity that you long to both shy away from and bask under. You can see it now that you have to confront whatever this is. He's made it more than apparent that he won't leave you alone. That he won't back off until he's said his piece. He's a dog with a bone, and he isn't going to relent until he finally gets his way. 

"Fine." You relent, and all but slam the can of drink that you're holding on the edge of the kitchen table, nearly knocking a bag of chips down onto the floor. You swear you can see relief wash over Rafe then, slipping over from his body as though he had been held down by a physical weight. The alleviation burns bright in his stare, and a deep, silent sigh expels from his chest. It's as though you had just saved him. Tugged him out of deep, dark waters and onto solid land. 

It's Thatcher who speaks up next, standing straighter like he might dare to move closer. "Hey, are you sure that that's a good idea?" 

That's all it takes for Rafe to start forward, lunging like a guard dog. "Why don't you stay the fuck out of it, huh? She's not your girl, so do yourself a favor and keep your mouth shut." 

You have to throw yourself in front of him again, smacking your hands onto his chest to try and nudge him back. It's probably by the grace of God that he relents, yielding to the press of your hand and allowing you to push him back a few paces. You're quick to look over your shoulder to pass a glare at Thatcher. A silent signal to get him to keep silent, lest this get out of control. It's a plea and an order all once, and thankfully he complies, even while he looks like he wants to do nothing more than to meet Rafe's challenge. 

"It'll only be for a few minutes," you decide and promise; to Thatcher, to Rafe, but mostly, it just seems like you're saying it to yourself. You can see that Thatcher is uncertain. He has every right to be. You should be as well, but you can't find yourself to be swallowed by your doubt and caution. Instead, you move around him, not even bothering to check and make sure that he's following. 

You know that he is. Like a buried instinct, you can practically feel his presence running down your spine as he trails closely like a shadow. Allowing you to guide him through the living room where some people pause and turn with confused expressions as they see Rafe pass. But you do your best not to pay them any mind. Not even when you can hear hushed murmurs manage to trickle past the wild thrum of music; gossip already taking root. 

You were able to get a glimpse of Becca making out on the couch with the stranger from earlier. You wish you had it in you to be happy for her, but you're currently too busy being attacked by a chaotic swirl of emotions as you lead him down the narrow hall until you come to a door on the right. The knock that you harshly tap against the flimsy wooden panel is loud but rushed, and you hardly give anyone time to answer before you're twisting the knob and all but throwing the door open on its hinges. 

Fortunately, it's empty and you're quick to slip into the compact space, slamming it shut behind you once Rafe steps past the threshold and twisting the lock. It's all done with the sharp pronunciation of anger, quick and heavy as you try to control the absolute flood of insults and questions that threaten to spill past your lips, but you settle for leaning back against the sink, watching him with your arms crossed. 

"Well? Go on then," you encourage tersely. 

His eyebrows crease just the slightest. He shifts back, tilting on his heels while his lip's part. Like he's perplexed. "So that's how it's gonna be, then?" 

"Yep." 

He stares at you for a few beats as though he's trying to process your remark, wiping a hand along his mouth in an annoyed gesture. "Y-you just left. Without hardly so much as a word. One minute we were fine, and the next -" his hands raise up in the air in some sort of a flourish like it'll help him articulate better, " - Gone. Like nothing. Do you have any idea what that did to me?" 

For a long moment you can only stare at him. In disbelief. In complete shock honestly. You can feel your face twisting up in a snarl, but probably does nothing to show the true extent of your anger. "What it did to you? What about me, Rafe?" It comes out scathing. Dripping with contempt and it has you leaning just slightly from the support of the sink - just enough to tilt into his space. "Do you even realize how shitty it made me feel, seeing her clinging to you like a tick? No warning from you or anything. You used to sleep in my fucking bed, Rafe. I would wash your boxers with my laundry. And then what? I'm just thrown away? That easily?" 

A laugh bubbles up from you, full of scorn and mocking. You hate the lost look in his eyes. How he shuffles back a few paces, as much as the small space of the bathroom with allow, just until his back nudges with the wall and shakes the small picture frame hung there. Suddenly, he seems like the trapped animal. A nervous, wild thing that's been cornered and threatened, but you can stop yourself once you've started, and it pours out of you in a rush, talking over him as he tries to speak. Tries to defend himself with more lies. 

"I guess it's my fault though, isn't it? I shouldn't have expected anything different. How could the prince of Kildare Island be seen with someone like me, huh? I'm not rich and perfect. How could a Pogue honestly expect to be with someone like you? " Your mouth shapes into a grimace as you observe as he stands to the wall, shoulders hunching like he doesn't know what to do with himself. "What was I to you, honestly? Just a distraction? A little inside joke with yourself? A quick fuck to take the edge off when life with daddy and mommy got too rough?" 

"That's not it, okay!?" He shouts suddenly, moving forward abruptly enough to send you reeling back into the sink. Enough for the press of the porcelain to sting. "Will you just let me speak? Just - " His face pinches again, lips twisting while he draws in a deep breath as a means to steady himself. "Just let me talk." 

It makes you swallow. Burying down the nerves that prickle along your gut and beneath your skin as you watch him. You move your hands to grip the edge of the of sink tightly enough for your knuckles to ache, but you do keep your mouth shut and he seems to take your silence as the go ahead. 

t

"I didn't sleep with her, alright? I tried. But I didn't - I couldn't. " 

"Like that's any better." You scoff. It's childish, but in your defense, he's entitled. So out of touch with reality and the impact that he truly leaves on things. Unaware of the hurt that he's carved into you. You have to distract yourself by looking off; anywhere but him, and you end up scanning over a half-used bottle of body wash and a bar of soap that sits in the bathtub caddy like they're the most interesting objects in the world. 

"When I'm with you, you make me feel . . . things. Things I've never felt before. Not really." The clunky confession draws your attention to him much easier than you'd like to admit. The way that he describes his feelings is always odd. Detached. Sort of messy, like he's trying to come to terms with being a human being and doesn't know how to fully understand the gravity of his own emotions. "It was a lot to deal with. I didn't know how to. And there was all of this shit with my family and that damned Pogue sticking his nose where he shouldn't - I just needed a distraction. But it couldn't have been you. I wouldn't have been able to keep myself - " 

He seems to catch himself short. Biting his tongue to keep it at bay. And whatever it is you aren't sure. But you have to know now. He's not allowed to backtrack as soon as it gets uncomfortable for him. Not after what he had done. How he had left you and tried to pin the blame back on you. 

"You wouldn't have been able to keep yourself from what?" It surprises even you when your voice comes out soft. Far too light for the conversation you're having and all of the pain that it's digging up. But it must have some sort of effect on him. He seems to lean closer to you then, like he longs to dip into your space and is just barely resisting in holding himself back. 

When he looks at you again there's such bare vulnerability reflecting in his gaze. It nearly breaks something in you, but you hold onto your resolve. Gripping tight onto the heat of your resentment while something pathetically tender yearns to surface. It's dim and weak, but even the traces of it are enough to frighten you. To make you angry at yourself. 

Rafe himself seems to hesitate. Like he's reached a physical barrier and doesn't know how to move past it. Something about his aversion annoys you. The implications that his words have left hang heavy in the atmosphere. Thick and prickling just like the humidity outside, and it seems to cling to your skin just as it would. Uncomfortable and sticky. He looks as though he might back away again. His body curling in on itself, clearly agitated, like he means to hide from your stare. 

"Rafe," you murmur. It sounds like a plea to you; just as desperate as he looks. it almost pains you to be so delicate around him, but you can't seem to force the anger back into your voice. 

He swears lowly under his breath, muttering lowly to himself in a tone that's too quiet to make out. He nearly looks as though he's lost his mind, mumbling to himself with some sort of distress clearly visible in his posture. And then in a blur he's on you. He's crowding you into the sink, his hands cupping your face lightly as though he wants to touch but isn't sure if he can. There's something frantic about it all. Like someone trying to catch water and keep it from slipping between their fingers. And there's a glimmer in his eyes that fervent, full of need and want; pupils blown so wide that they almost seem like chasms. Like they could swallow you whole. 

"I think I love you." He says it slowly and yet it still comes out like a mess. Like he's articulating softly to try and sound out a foreign language. A tongue that he's never heard before. There's a confused edge to it. Almost as though he's in disbelief himself. 

It leaves you more stunned that anything that has left him this night. Or in the entire span that you two have known each other. There's laughter welling up inside of you, but it feels like it might be out of hysterics rather than joy, but all you can do is sit and stare at him in total silence. You think you've lost the ability to speak. Your voice is absent. A dead thing in your throat. 

"Baby, talk to me. Say something." His thumbs sweep along the swells of your cheeks, stroking you tenderly like you're something breakable. 

"That's not true." You will it out of you, forcing your voice from your chest and it rises up a pale comparison of its usual tone. Light and weak around the edges. You hate the hurt look that flickers across his face. As though you had struck him or thrusted a knife into his chest. "You wouldn't have hurt me if you did. You wouldn't have done what you did." 

"I know, but I was scared, baby." He nods in agreement. But there's still an excuse. Because there always is with him. He just can't seem to help himself and cuts you deep, prodding the wound that's already there and bleeding. It has you gripping at one of his arms, to pull him away or keep him close you aren't sure. "I was scared of us." 

"There is no us." 

"But there could be." 

He's clinging onto you with the desperate zeal of a starving man groveling at the feet of a savior. Spewing out praises and pleas to satisfy the unforgiving hunger ravaging his body. In any other circumstance, you would have delighted in seeing him so anguished. You would have gloated over it. But it's difficult to find that delight while he's making promises of you've always longed for. A promise that you know he can't really keep. Not when you're worlds apart. It makes it cruel, the way he dangles it in front of your face with so much conviction. As though he believes in his own lies. 

And you want to trust in them. So badly that it aches. It's almost like a physical agony, and it has you resisting the urge to lean into him for a comfort that only he can provide while he causes your pain. 

"Don't do this, Rafe. Please." You know that you must sound pitiful. A far cry from the rage that had possessed you only moments before, and you hate how powerless he's able to make you. How easily he can disarm you with just his presence, the sound of his voice. You're weak against him. You think that you always have been, long before the two of you had begun to hook up; always sneaking quick glances at him when he wasn't looking. Admiring him when you knew that you shouldn't have been. 

"We can do it; just you and me." He insists, curling his body closer to yours as though he's trying to cage you in; his lips nearly brushing along yours. It has his scent wafting over you, filling up the air and tainting every drag of oxygen you take until he's trapped in your lungs; all dark rum, musk, and a blend of something woody and embellished with a hint of spice. It always blends with the salt of his skin and his natural scent. The same one that had stubbornly clung to your sheets and lingered about your trailer like an unwelcome ghost for days. 

"And what happens then? When the friends you're always so worried about see you with me? How do you think they'll look at you then?" You try to manipulate some strength into your voice, but it still sounds too light, even to you. Nearly wavering. 

"They don't matter anymore. Not really. " He promises. The cradle of his hands becomes firmer in its press, sinking the warmth of his palms into your skin. "It's just you; it's always been you." 

You think that it shatters you and snaps your ire back into place all at once. Striking fire around the molten heat that had just begun to dim. But it doesn't manifest in the nature of more scathing words or a slap to his cheek. You just want him to shut up. To stop talking. Suddenly, your lips are on his, your fingers are threading through his hair as you guide him into a kiss that's all teeth and tongue; fueled by the fire and the suffering in your veins. 

A small, startled sound puffs from his chest. The only indication of his surprise before he's matching your passion with an ardor and need that leaves you just as bewildered and breathless; swept under as though a raging surf has crashed over your body. He nips at your mouth, biting at the tender flesh of your bottom lip like he means to draw blood. His nails scratch at your scalp, his fingers tensing like you might slip away otherwise and he's determined to keep you held against him while he nudges his body flush to yours. 

It quickly becomes a tangle of limbs as you both scramble to get closer, guided by the overwhelming sense of relief that smooths over you like a balm on a burn scar. The taste of him in your mouth seeming to soothe you and tear you apart all at once, but you can't find the strength to stop now that you've started. The mere idea of it seems like a damnation. Like hell incarnate. And now that he's here you can't help but to wonder how you've made it so long without him. You feel drunk on him. Intoxicated by the alcohol on your veins and the scent of him; the desire coiling in your belly like something molten and starved. 

You moan into him when he removes his hands from your face sweep them down the length of your body. Trailing them along your ribs and down to cup your ass, squeezing the shape of it as he hauls you up onto the counter and the edge of the sink so that he can wedge a place for himself between your thighs. It urges your legs to part, and you willingly let him settle between them, rucking your skirt up high on your hips as he presses against you. 

Fitting himself so close that there isn't any space left to separate your bodies. 

He already seems restless, his hips working on yours in slow, almost broken grinds. Like he's not even aware that he's doing it. Mindlessly seeking out friction while he breathes into you. It's like he's been starved, and now that he has something to feed that hunger, he's frantic and wanton. His fingers claw at you. Gripping so tightly that you know the skin beneath them is going to smart and sting later, but you almost welcome the pain. The reminder that it'll leave. 

You've been kissing for so long that it feels as though you're beginning to suffocate. The small gulps of air you've been snatching in between the nips of his teeth and the sweeps of his tongue aren't enough. There's a slight pinch in your lungs, screaming at you to pull away, but you wait only till the last second to do so. Only removing your mouth from his once you fear you could go lightheaded and faint. Still, you can't help but to mourn the loss when you break the kiss to come up for air, gasping softly to soothe the mild ache in your chest. 

Rafe's nose brushes against yours, nudging as though he's tempted to seek out your mouth again. But he grants you the mercy of occupying his own by scattering fervent kisses up the stretch of your neck, removing a hand from your hip to grip your hair instead. Using it as leverage to tug your head to the side to offer himself more of your flesh. 

It all feels so overwhelming. As though all of the nerves in your body have come alight and are burning, flaring like embers at the press of his body and the wet glide of his mouth. His tongue traces over you, lashing out to taste the salt on your skin. His lips close around the point on your neck that turns you soft, and just as easily as if he had pressed a button, your muscles seem to go taut and malleable all at once when he begins to suck. Slightly dragging his teeth over that spot, making your hips jerk against his. He's already hard. The weight of him pressing against your cunt. The motion tugs at the fabric of your underwear, and it could be embarrassing when you notice the arousal soaking the material, making it cling to your skin, but you're too deep in the want the licks up your flesh to truly care.  

He groans lowly in your ear, the noise drawing up deep and heavy from the depths of his chest. Spurred on from the restless drag of your hips as you begin to greedily chase after the bright heat that zips up your spine when you do. 

"Rafe." You moan, clinging to his shoulders like it might keep you from floating away. 

"I know, I know. I got you." He mumbles it on your skin, saying it between sharp bites of his teeth. His fingers flex again, like a physical period on the sentence. Then he's moving again. Shifting his focus down your chest to map out a string of kisses across your chest. Nipping at your collar bone and tracing his tongue over the hint of your breasts that peek from the low cut of your shirt.  Your head thumps back on the mirror as you arche towards him, seeking out the wet heat of his mouth when suddenly he pauses. His lips detach from your skin, just near enough that you can feel the light brush of them, but it's not firm enough to bring you any pleasure. 

Your eyebrows furrow close when he still doesn't move. You can't keep yourself from tilting your head down to glare at him with a frustrated scowl, lightly panting as you as you speak. "Wh - why did you stop?" 

He pulls back then, posture straightening just a bit to meet your eyes, and you can't keep the confusion off of your face when you feel something slip from between your breasts. But then a glint of gold passes into your vision, twinkling lowly in the warm light projecting over the bathroom. Dangling from his index finger and still hooked around your neck is a familiar chain. Thin and delicate, but it's the pendant that hangs from it that really captures your attention. 

Humiliation stings at your cheeks at the sight of his expression. All smug and too satisfied as he suspends the charm in front of your face, faintly swinging it back and forth like a taunt. Forcing you to confront the R and its significance; still safe and secure on your body despite everything. You can see his delight and pride glinting clearly in his eyes, and there's a comment on his tongue. 

"Don't," you warn. But despite your best efforts to sound firm, something soft bleeds around the fringes. It's playful but also sensitive. Reluctantly spirited despite all of the hurt. It dips over the heat that clouds over the atmosphere like the light fall of a delicate, scattered rain. It's frustrating how natural it feels. Like slipping into the comfort of your bed after a long day or falling back into the soothing relief that comes with giving into a bad habit. It's like a second nature. That should concern you. It should make worry and maybe even hate yourself a bit too, but the wave of self-loathing doesn't come. You can't seem to find a place for hatred when being so close to him is like coming home. 

"Don't what?" He asks cheekily. Finally, he drops the necklace. But he doesn't break eye contact as he leans forward to plant a kiss between your breasts over the obnoxious barrier of your shirt. You've never wanted to rip off a piece of fabric any more than you do now. It's almost as though he can read you mind once his hands slip beath your shirt, bunching the short, tight cut of it further up your ribs and past your breasts until its little more than a strip of gathered fabric. And then he's slipping it up around your torso and impatiently tugging it free from your arms, which you lift to aid him. Allowing him to toss it somewhere on the floor. You hear it land with a light thump, discarded and forgotten.

There's only the cover of your bra now keeping your chest from being on display, but his eyes zero in on it regardless. Eyeing the shape of your breasts as they heave against the lace clinging to them and the gold jewelry draped over your skin. That starved look is back again, melting with the smug glint in his eyes; gone dark from lust. 

"I've missed you so much." He speaks against you, speaking the words to your skin like it's a prayer. A declaration and plea for all at once. He drops to his knees then. The bottoms of his shoes lightly squeaking on the tiles as he shifts to trail the plush of his mouth down your stomach, pausing in his trail to swipe his tongue along the divot of your belly button. It makes your stomach twitch when he does it. Lurching at the liquid fire that it leaves in his wake. He playfully nips at the hem of your skirt, nosing at the button keeping it secure around your waist. "What about you, baby? Did you miss me?" 

He already knows the answer to that. You can tell by the way that his eyes fix on the pendant glinting just above the joining strip of your bra, between the cups of delicate fabric. But even with the traces of his ego still present, the desperation that was there before is still clear in the dark of his stare. He looks so vulnerable then, with his head cradled between your thighs, staring up at you like a sinner seeking absolution. You know that he's always craved to be wanted. To be needed and seen. 

You could easily tear him down right now, in the exposed state he's in. To exact the revenge that you had wanted so badly. To finally get ahold of the retribution that has haunted you for many sleepless nights. But the desire to truly do so doesn't come. The sting of anger that ravaged you before has dimmed into a weak ember, set to go dark and cold. 

Instead of lashing out, as though it has a mind of its own one your hands reach down to smooth over the side of his face. Your fingers glide over his skin and cup around the shape of his ear. His eye lashes nearly flutter when he leans into the warmth of your palm, seeking out the press of it like he needs it to survive. 

"Yeah, I missed you," you admit. You swear that he shifts closer to you at the confession. Such a minute movement that you might not have noticed it had your attentions not been so heavily fixed on him. There are the traces of a smile on his lips. But it isn't smug like before. It seems like one of relief this time. Happy and at peace. Like a sentence so small as brought him a kind of solace. 

"Yeah?" He presses a soft kiss onto your upper thigh then, holding his mouth there while a puff of what could be a breath of laughter, or a sigh of elation leaves him. "Let me show you. Can I show you?" 

The fervent pitch of his voice is loud in your ears, your dazed mind sluggishly making sense of his rushed beg. But once it connects, you don't take long to respond. Your head nods quickly in agreement, a jumbled string of yeses pouring from you in a steady stream. Anticipation thrums thick in throughout your body, smoldering and intoxicating as it winds through your veins. You've hardly done anything with him, and you already feel drunk. Like your head has been packed full of stuffing and fumes. You feel like a live wire. Running hot and searing; waiting to light up in a barrage of sparks. 

You swear you could already tip over the edge when he shoves his face between the apex of your thighs, laving his tongue over the clothed heat of your cunt without any warning. Licking you through your underwear. It all but crushes a strangled gasp from you and your hands fly to the edge of the counter to support yourself as your body curls in on itself. Doubling over from the zip of pleasure that skirts through you like the wild crack of a lightning rod. 

"You're already soaked," he groans. The vibrations of his voice doubling with the drag of his tongue and making your hips mindlessly grind into the warmth of his mouth. It feels so good, and yet it somehow isn't enough. The barrier of your underwear makes the swipe of his lips and tongue too dull. A faint comparison of what it could be. Of how good you know it really feels. 

"Ray, take 'em off." You beg, arching as he grinds the point of his nose against your clit. 

The look in his eyes is impish as he watches you from his place between your legs. The look of it is always a sign of trouble from him. Especially in situations like this, where he can easily exercise control over you by keeping you malleable and desperate on the caress of his fingers or the glide of his tongue. He'll keep you dangling on that edge for hours if you let him. Pushing and pulling you like the sway of the tide. Working you up to the precipice of something debilitating only to drop you back from it, until your pleasure ebbs away into a dull, frustrating ache. And he'll do it over and over again until your moans meld into the beginnings of a sob. But you can't do that. Not now, at least, with a hunger and want that feels like it could tear you apart by twisting inside of you. 

"Please, don't tease tonight." You pant, still mindlessly chasing after what little pleasure he gives with the roll of your hips. "Not now, Rafe. I can't-" 

"I won't. I promise," he says, placating you with kisses along your underwear, sucking at the delicate skin at the joining of your hip and thigh. "I'll play nice, hm?" 

It's only then that he's tugging your underwear off. Ripping it from you so suddenly that it would have uprooted you from your place if you hadn't already been clinging to the edge of the counter. You can hear the sharp cry of fabric giving a little as he slips it free from your legs. But you don't have time to mourn or admonish him for the loss because you're pretty sure that he pockets it, taking if for himself like the pervert he is. It wouldn't be the first pair that he's snagged from you. His probably has more of your panties than you do at this point. 

He uses his shoulders to shove your thighs far apart, using his hands to lift and drape your legs over his back as he lurches forward, smothering himself in your bare cunt. He groans into you, dropping his mouth open to swipe his tongue, lapping at you like a man starved. 

A loud, startled moan rips free from your lungs and you only have half the mind to swallow it down, making it trail off in a strangled noise. You can still hear the party living on just outside the thin barrier of the door. The music and chatter from beyond it trickling past in a muffled hush. From deep in the living room there would be no possible way for them to know what's happening, but if someone was to walk past the bathroom it would be more than apparent as to what the both of you are doing inside. 

 Rafe isn't having it. He lands a soft smack on the outside of your leg, mostly just to catch your attention, but the subtle sting of it makes you gasp regardless. It forces you to return you focus to him, looking down at him as he watches you with eyes that seemed glazed and almost drunk. He just barely pulls back, his lips still sweeping over you while his tongue brushes over your clit in soft licks as he talks in a slurred sort of tone: "Don't hold yourself back like that. Let them hear you. I want them to." His voice dies down then, falling into an almost crazed murmur in between the drag of his mouth. But you are certain that you can make out scraps of what he's saying in between the messy, wet sounds coming from your pussy and the pants of breath rising from his lungs. Something along the lines of "especially him - I'll kill him." 

Regardless of who he's referring to (even though your addled brain slowly gathers that it's more than likely Thatcher), it should concern you. The threat that easily slips from him as though he's proposing something as simple as taking a joy ride around the island or making a remark about an annoying coworker. It's supposed to be disturbing, especially when you know that violence comes easily to him. Sometimes as simple as breathing. As though it's engraved in his DNA, part of his genetic coding. 

You know deep down, in the pit of your soul that the remark isn't one to simply pass off. It isn't just a product of his mood or a fleeting result jealousy; it could very well be a promise. He's always been protective over what he deems as his. If anything poses a threat to his happiness or comfort, he's quick to lash out. He doesn't shy away from the possibility of violence, bloodied knuckles or busted noses and broken wrists. 

You had seen the way that he had looked at Thatcher earlier. Like a guard dog staring down a potential intruder through the bars of a fence, eyes wild and locked on. You hate to admit that you liked it a little then too. The glimmer of satisfaction that had zipped through you then had been so easy to ignore underneath all of your confusion and frustration, but here and now, with his head buried between your thighs and his fingers tensing around your skin, it's impossible to disregard. 

His jealousy had been clear as day underneath the warm hue of the kitchen light. Naked for the world to see. Thatcher had to have noticed it then. He would have to be an idiot not to. Rafe came here to find you, trailing after you through the crowd of Pogue's and locals just so that he could speak to you. His reasons for showing up to this party in the middle of nowhere was obvious to everyone, and it pleases some twisted little part of you to know that gossip must already be circulating around the rooms just outside. Whispers about you and the prince of Kildare Island himself that would quickly spread beyond these very walls and make their way to town to be scattered amongst the population. To the two-faced old women of the church on Driftwood Parkway and all the way down to the rich men in khaki's as they cruise across the green in their golf carts. 

Just about everyone on this island would know about you and him by the time that the sun sets tomorrow over the waves and douses Kildare in the dark. Just the prospect of it nearly pleases you as much as the glide of his tongue splitting you open does. Dipping inside the entrance of your cunt like he means to drink your soul from you. The combination of it all threatens to make you double over again, and to keep yourself from writhing off the counter you thread your fingers into his hair. Using the grip of it to grind your hips against his nose and the heat of his mouth. Your head knocks back on the mirror with a dull thump as a cry shakes itself free from your ribs, pitching and ragged. 

"Rafe - oh fuck. God." 

"Mmm, nah, not God - it's just me." Comes his response. It's so cliché and corny that you would have rolled your eyes and scoffed at him were you not too busy trying to gulp down oxygen in between your labored breaths. All you can do is manage an exasperated, playful frown in response, but you can see amusement flicker in his own gaze at the sight of it. 

His apparent delight is enough for you to scramble enough air together to form a sentence, but it comes out winded; slow and choppy around the edges while you force it out. "You're so lame, Ray." 

"Well, you're stuck with me. Now don't interrupt me." Then he's taking your clit into the cradle of his tongue and sucking. Laving it with small licks that turn your thoughts slow and syrupy. You hardly notice that he's pressing a finger against you, gathering the slick of your cum before slipping it inside, stretching your walls around the thickness of it; so much longer and wider than your own. It has your jaw dropping at the added pleasure and your hips twist up when he trusts it in deep. Finding that depilating spot that leaves you a mess with a practiced precision, reaching it so easily, just as he's done countless times before. 

He chases after the jerk of your hips. Keeping his mouth fixed to you while he hurtles you closer to drowning in bliss. The influence of your approaching orgasm starts to crest with a speed that's dizzying, and you feel as though you hardly have any time to brace for it. It has your free hand scrambling across the stretch of the counter, blindly seeking for something else to hold on to, but all you succeed in doing is knocking down a bottle of mouthwash, sending it toppling over the edge to clatter on the floor below. 

You can feel it fizzling at your fingertips and toes. Skirting down your spine like a zip of electricity, like a drizzle of scorching honey. Your body is drawing up tight. The muscles in your abdomen already seizing to mangle the pleasure from your body. 

"Ray-Rafe, I'm gonna cum. You're gonna make me cum." 

He doesn't bother coming up for air. Instead, his free hand slips up your thigh and reaches for your own. For the same one that had been mindlessly clawing for something to reach onto, and it makes your heart ache a little bit when he takes it in his own. Threading his fingers with yours for you to squeeze. It's a gesture that's far too sweet for a person who's currently eating you out in someone else's bathroom, but the pressure of his palm on you, the chill of his ring on your warm skin, the intimacy behind it, is enough to throw you headfirst into the throes of an orgasm. 

You moan his name when you cum. Repeating it over and over again like a mantra that might save you as your bliss rips through you. But it's the support of his hair threaded through your fingers and the weight of his hand held in your own that serves to keep you grounded while you coast through the flood of warm and pleasure. It ebbs away slowly. Slipping from your body like melted sugar being poured down the drain and stubbornly catching in place. But it doesn't stop. It stretches out in front of you and begins to shift into something tainted by licks of fire and shocks of electricity. 

It's too much. Blending between the lines of pleasure and pain. You need to catch your breath. To properly orient yourself but Rafe hasn't removed his mouth or his fingers from you. It's like your nerves have been lit on fire and it only heightens when he slips a finger in along the next, curling them together to stretch you out around them. 

"Rafe, I can't." You nearly sob, your back impulsively bows and twists to try and shuffle your hips out from underneath the constant swipe his tongue but he stubbornly keeps himself in place. 

He parts his lips from you only long enough to speak out a harsh reply, his voice firm and rigid while he pins you with a stare that's equally unwavering. "You can and you will. You've done it before; just ride it out and take it, baby." 

And then he's on you again. Smearing your pussy open with his mouth, which suddenly feels too hot. It's a sweet sort of torture. One that you've never fully gotten used to, as much as you like it. It's like grasping onto a pop of lightning; searing underneath your flesh and ravaging you from the inside out. He's gone down on you for hours before, spurred on by the stresses brought on by his family and the weight of the world on his shoulders. It's a sort of stress relief for him, in some way. He gets a kind of peace out of it. From keeping you underneath his mouth and working orgasm after orgasm out of you until you're a wet, incoherent mess. Even while you benefit from it, it's more than apparent that it's mostly for his pleasure. 

A set of your favorite silk sheets had been ruined because of it. Nothing that a cycle in the one of the trailer park's community wash machines hadn't taken care of, but the point still stands. He had kept you there for hours, pinned down on your bed while he used your body, wringing it of its pleasure and getting drunk on the taste. You had lost count of how many orgasms he had pulled from you after the third one. You can only hope that he isn't that starved for it tonight. You don't think that you'll survive it. Not here at least, while you're held up in Thatcher's bathroom. 

But it seems that a small mercy has been bestowed upon you with how another coil of bliss begins to wind up tight, closely trailing after the influence of your previous orgasm. It's running up on you so much quicker than the first. Zipping through your body at a breakneck pace, spurred on by the curl of his fingers, and strengthened by the traces of ecstasy that still flood your system. 

The movement of his fingers flexing and stroking inside of your send little shocks of static zipping inside of you. Still bordering on something almost painful, but it only serves to tip you that much closer to the precipice. Promising to toss you over the edge as he lightly shakes his head while he drinks down your arousal. 

You gasp as you look down, taking in the sight of him through the rapture turning your mind into mush. He looks blissed out, eyes slipped closed and the worried pinch between his eyebrows has smoothed out. The traces of your cum has smeared across his nose and the corners of his cheeks, glinting softly in the light. He seems just as intoxicated it as you. Soothed by the taste of your cunt and the scent of sex in the air. It's filthy. 

You hardly register being swept under by your pleasure, but it tugs you down ruthlessly. Seeming to snatch you by the throat and leave you breathless as you twitch and jerk beneath his mouth, and you're hardly able to hear his words of encouragement as he thrusts his fingers deeper to help ease you through the thick of it. "There you go. Just ride it out and give it to me." 

Your body bends the command like its gospel; hips twitching to the rhythm that his fingers have set to further chase after the dull flickers of heat biting at you at you and sinking in the base of your spine. It turns your blood into something molten, and your muscles go pliant like melted wax, leaving you to sag against the mirror like dead weight; the sink presses almost painfully into your back but you're too spent to shuffle from it. He lets up only once a sharp hiss escapes you, slipping past your teeth in a thin sigh. He's careful when he removes his fingers free from you, shuffling up from his kneeled position on the floor to stand on his feet. His drags his tongue over his fingers as he does so, cleaning the taste of you off of them as he watches you with an intense stare, releasing them from his mouth with a pop that seems to ring out across the close walls of the bathroom. 

He crowds into your space suddenly, his body now flush with yours. His chest heaving as though he had just run a marathon. "You did so good, always such a good girl for me." He murmurs as he places a kiss to your forehead, undeterred by the perspiration that dampens your skin. It's another soft moment between you both. Like an echo of all the ones just like it from the past, hidden under the guise of an odd camaraderie, always dancing around the emotions that truly lied beneath. This feels so much more natural than that. No longer self-conscious or restrained. 

It makes everything seem light and airy. Probably a side effect of the dopamine now rushing through your veins and the remaining traces of alcohol, but there's no mistaking the soft look in his eyes. The peaceful expression on his face, now free of the clear agitation that had drawn his body tight just earlier. It has you reaching out for him. Smoothing your hands up his arms, feeling the texture of his shirt as they trail up his shoulders - a dark black shade. One of your favorite colors on him. Something that you had casually shared with him once, and it makes you smile to think that he had purposely worn it to come and see you. 

Your fingers thread through the hair at the nape of his neck, carefully scratching your nails along the sensitive skin there. It feels like a reward when a pleased sigh puffs from his chest, and he props his forehead against yours to stare into your eyes. His own hands come up to trail over your bare thighs, messaging the flesh there as he runs them up and down their length, prompting you to lift them to wrap around his waist. Tugging him closer despite the slight tremor running through your relaxed muscles. 

You feel almost impossibly close to him now. As though a pocket has been carved in time and made for the both of you; intimate and private. Even with the dim chatter of the party and the dull hum of music drifting through the flimsy door, and the possibility of people standing just outside, listening in to gawk and recount what they've heard and seen. The Kook prince himself is fucking a Pogue. You'll no doubt get looks once you finally leave this little space. Some will be curious and shocked; others will probably be out of disgust and maybe even horror. But that seems so trivial right now. None of it has a place in this moment. It's secondary. And you can't be bothered to give it any attention while he watches you as though you've created the heavens themselves, the same ones that glimmer and wink above this very island. The striking blue of his eyes seeming to burn with something that seems a lot like admiration. 

"Hi," you breathe. It sounds a little corny. Kind of dumb, even to you, once you fully register what you've said, but it's all that seems fitting. It's like you're meeting him all over again, as dramatic as that may be. Like you're seeing him for the first time. You can only hope that it isn't just from the high of sex - that it won't all wear off and vanish as soon as you both leave this room and face reality. 

"Hey, pretty girl." He returns with a smile of his own. It urges you to lean that much closer to him, drawing your legs up tighter around him to seek out his natural warmth. He complies easily, allowing you to press him flush to you, almost molding your bodies together. It soothes the wounded ache in you that still lies beneath the surface of it all, stinging lowly under the haze of bliss and pleasure. The warmth of him and the pressure of his body smoothing over the hurt like a compress. 

But the press of him against your inner thigh draws everything to a hush, hot and heavy under the material of his pants. It shouldn't be possible, but the subtle weight of it against you has another flicker of lust lashing between your hips. Smoldering and heating up like a handful of embers. And suddenly the scent of him filling the air is tempting, all dark musk and cardamom. It's mouthwatering, settling deep in your lungs with every drag of your breath. 

It's almost instinctual when you slip one of your hands free from the back of his neck to glide it between the press of your bodies, playful trailing your fingers down and past the stretch of his abdomen until you're able to cup him through the material of his pants. A groan rumbles out from his chest, deep and drawn out before bleeding into a low, almost strained "fuck." 

"Still need you, Rafe." You brush your lips over his, gathering the traces of your arousal that's smeared on his mouth onto your own like a vulgar sort of gloss.

"Yeah, shit, okay," he agrees. He nods frantically in agreement, pulling himself back from you just enough to give you the space to start undoing his pants, but your fingers slip on the button, slightly slick from the sweat on your skin and uncoordinated from the zeal of your excitement. Rafe isn't patient enough for you to make a second attempt it seems, restlessly batting your hands away with a somewhat snappy, "Jesus, just let me do it," huffing from him as he reaches to slip the button through the puncture in the material. 

The urge to snap at him rises up, but it's snuffed out just as quickly when the sharp metallic sound of the zipper being tugged down its teeth cuts across the heavy air. It all happens in quick succession after that. He tugs his pants down just enough to free the length of his cock. He doesn't give you the ability to admire him, because he's tugging you forward by your thighs, parting the sliver of space between your bodies to drag the head against the slick entrance of your cunt, still wet and messy from the mixture of your cum and his spit. 

He tilts his face to be able to speak against your lips, gazing into your eyes with a determination and fervency that seems to cut through you, holding your attention hostage even as one of his hands comes up to grip the nape of your neck. All but pinning you in place.

"I want you to scream for me. Don't you dare fucking hold back." 

That's all the warning you get before he's shoving himself inside of you with a single thrust. Burying himself all the way to the hilt, forcing your walls to give and stretch around his girth. Even with the aid of your previous orgasms making you pliant and soaked, there's still a dull ache that zips through you as your cunt clenches around the shape of him. The force of him inside of you all but strikes the air from your lungs, and it leaves your hands to scramble across his shoulders, your fingers gripping and clawing at the fabric of his shirt to ground yourself. 

He doesn't waste any time by starting in a slow pace to gradually work up to something greater. He's moving fast and hard from the very start. Thrusting himself in and out of you like he's desperate. All but punching himself into you with enough force to rattle your head back on the glass of the mirror, and with how many times you've knocked against it tonight, you have to send a fleeting prayer up to the universe that it won't shatter and break. 

It's like he's trying to make up for lost time. Like he's trying to drill all of his frustrations into you; all of his pent-up anger, humiliation and regret; to make you feel what he's feeling. Or maybe he's just trying to prove a point. To himself, to you, and all of the people outside. That you're his. It leaves you clinging onto him. Holding on while he drives himself into you with a passion that's almost brutal. You can practically feel yourself going stupid. Going pliant and dumb on his cock at it drags through you, gliding against your walls in a way that makes you feel all of him, every little detail. Every single inch is heightened by the veins that run down his length, starting from the base to trail down near the head. He used to go crazy whenever you would glide your tongue over them, throwing his head back and moaning with the sound of your name or a curse under his breath. 

You almost wish that you could have him in your mouth right now. To see him break underneath something as simple as your tongue and the heat of your mouth, but you think that you could die if he pulled out of you. It would be a horrendous sort of torture. Worse than death. 

"God, you're such a fucking slut, hm?" He almost croons it. Mean and condescending as he grips your cheeks to get you to look at him. Making you get lost in the flecks of cerulean and hints of gray that's nearly become swallowed by the width of his pupils. "Letting me fuck you like this, in some Pogue's bathroom while everyone stands outside. They're probably listening right now; you know that, right? Standing outside while they listen to you moan like a whore." 

It's downright degrading how he's speaking to you. It should hurt you to some degree, or make you irritated at the very least, but all it does is make you clench around him harder. Your pussy seizing up around his length like it's trying to suck him inside to keep him there. And he feels it too. You know he does based on the nasty smile that breaks across his face; teeth baring in what almost looks like a snarl. All arrogant and mean. 

"Yeah, that's right. Not even gonna deny it, are you?" He uses the hand still secure around you jaw to shake your head for you as though you're a doll. Using how malleable you've been reduced to for his own benefit. "That's right. Cause you're mine. " 

You find yourself nodding out of your own volition then, drawing up enough focus to will yourself in moving your head around the grip of his hand to agree. You can tell that it pleases him. His expression is one of pure, arrogant delight, and you know that he'll be riding the high of having you dumb, and cock drunk like this for days. His ego always manages to find a way to inflate whenever he succeeds in turning your brain into liquid and mush; until you're practically mindless and stupid. It used to have him striding around you trailer with a satisfied glint in his eyes. The traces of a smug smirk on the edge of his lips as he'd rummage through your fridge for leftovers or dig through your cabinets for a snack before he'd leave (unsurprisingly, Kildare's most spoiled rich boy can't cook worth a shit - he's burnt eggs black before and left your trailer tinged with smoke that took a good two days to get aired out). 

But you can't find it in yourself to be exasperated or annoyed with him while you're too occupied surviving the white-hot heat shooting throughout your body, drizzling down your spine like a vat of liquid sugar to settle between the cradle of your hips. It's too much. It's like being torn to pieces but in the most delicious way possible; you don't want it to stop. You want to stay here, suspended in this moment with the scent of sex and the musk of his cologne staining the air. With the warmth of his body seeping deep into your bones while he uses you for his pleasure while throwing you headfirst into your own; the sound of his name repetitively falling from your lips. 

So it's completely cruel that he suddenly pulls out of you, leaving you torturously empty and on the edge of something cataclysmic. A confused, annoyed look crosses your face, and a complaint rises to the tip of your tongue as you openly scowl at him. Though you don't get the opportunity to voice it. 

"Turn around. " He commands impatiently, but he doesn't even give you the chance to try and shuffle free from your perch on the counter. It's all an abrupt rushing blur when he tugs you from your spot and forces you onto your feet. His hands settle on your waist, fingers greedily gripping the shape of them as he spins around you on your heels and bends you over with the firm press of his hand. A gasp rattles from your ribs as he pins you on the sink, leaving you exposed to the gluttonous sweep of his eyes. 

Then he's kicking your legs apart, spreading you open to bare you to him and without any warning he's slipping himself back inside in a single, long thrust. It has your jaw dropping open, your lashes fluttering at the sensation of it ripping through you, all liquid and smoke. Now that he has you facing the mirror, it gives you no other option but to watch you both as he begins fucking you again. It's like a magnet to metal, the way that your vision flickers up to him. Seeking out the sight of him as he works you closer to that debilitating end.

Not even the way that the harsh edge of the counter digs into the bend in your hips is enough to distract you from it. The pinch of it fading into a dull ache. He looks beautiful like this. Even as he does something as vulgar as watching the sight of his cock ceaselessly plunging into you. It's as though he's hypnotized by it, his own focus fastened to where the two of your bodies join. Where the smack of your skin meeting his sounds out from; the wet slap of him thrusting in and out of your pussy. 

There's a blush on his cheeks, and a sheen of sweat glinting softly on his skin like a dusting of pale gold. It almost makes him look angelic. That should be impossible for someone as frantic and violent as Rafe, but there's no denying that there's something gorgeous about him, as volatile and unpredictable as he can be. The sounds falling from past the parted shape of his lips are beautiful. His moans and the almost drunken cursing and rambling douse your nerves with heat and rapture every time he speaks; slurred and low like he's falling apart in the best way possible. 

It took you forever to convince him that it's okay to vocal in bed. That the sound of him groaning is a turn on. For the longest time he thought it was a joke, like you were trying to trick him into embarrassing himself. Some odd form of toxic masculinity, you think. But you had finally succeeded in getting him to be comfortable with it, after what must add up to days of convincing him and getting him to moan in bed, he finally gave in. And now it's almost impossible to get him to shut up - not that you would ever dare such a thing. You wouldn't dream of depraving yourself of it now that you have it. 

He finally looks up from between your bodies, and you don't miss the way that his eyes nearly roll in the back of his skull, lashes fluttering. He meets your stare in the reflection of the mirror, and that mean smile makes its way on his face again. But it's gone nearly just as quickly as it had appeared. His mouth drops open in a deep groan when your cunt clenches tight around his girth, a crease pinching between his eyebrows to make an expression that almost looks pained. 

He leans over you then, hooking his chin over your shoulder to nuzzle his nose against your head to speak into your ear, not breaking eye contact with you even for a split second. "You're not allowed to leave me again. You can't this away from me. You're not gonna take yourself away - not again." 

It's structured like a command. Or manic ravings. Regardless, it would enough to send anyone else running the other way and ducking for cover. Someone with common sense, maybe. But the tone of his voice is so desperate. Fragile and a little distraught. Like the very thought of you slipping from him could send him into a spiral. It has so many different things rising up inside of you: a sick type of satisfaction. The hurt in you pleased to see him in just as much pain. To know that you're not the only one who's been scarred. But there's the urge to soothe him as well. To cradle the parts of him that have been broken and kicked - by the world, his family. To nurse the wounds that have been left on him. They all gave up on him, but you don't think that you can. 

It has you tilting your head back to give him access to your neck, and like a moth to a flame he immediately dips his face to tuck it into the junction of your shoulder. Nipping at the skin with his teeth and breathing in your scent like it's a drug. One of your hands lets go of the iron clad grip it has on the edge of the counter to clutch at his hair, threading through the thick of it and grazing your nails close to the nape of his neck. 

It draws his attention back on you, making him tilt his head just enough to meet your eyes again in the reflection, pinning you with a stare that seems to communicate so much. It's a silent plea and a devout order all at once. A beg that you won't slip away from him. 

"Just as long as you don't leave me first," you answer. Your voice is full of conviction, even as it wavers just the slightest. The sound of it weakened by the breathlessness in your lungs and the brutal pace that he's managed to maintain; still thrusting himself into you as though he needs it to survive.

He speaks into your skin then, answering you in a low mutter. Nearly a whisper: "I won't. I won't, I promise." 

One of his hands shoves your hips down flat on the counter. It slips your hand from his hair and forces your spine to curve into a more pronounced arch that somehow makes him feel deeper than before. Hitting that spot inside of you with every single stroke. Forcing a gasp of air from your chest every time his hips meet yours, making your toes curl in your shoes. The position that he's tiled your spine into almost stings. The ache of it licking up your back but can't find it in yourself to complain. Or even really care. Not with the way that it's rendering you completely mindless. Seeming to knock a thought from your head with each grind and thrust. 

One of your hands flies up to the sink. Your fingers claw and grasp around the shape of it, clenching around the cool steel like it's a lifeline, but it does little to offer any semblance of support to guide you through the high that's beginning to overwhelm you. It bleeds along your toes and sears up your fingertips and up your spine like a current. It has your body going slack, muscles falling weak. It's almost as though you've been tazed when your head drops against the counter. The weight of it suddenly too much for your neck to hold up. 

It's like everything's been plucked free from your skull. Leaving it an empty pocket, a vacant space that only Rafe occupies. You can't focus on much more than that now. You're lost in the pleasure lighting you up from the inside out and eating you alive. It's only the vague details that you're still able to register. Like the smear of your arousal slipping down your thighs, pushed out of you each time he pulls out to fill you up again; the sting of the counter's lip digging into your hips; the smack of his balls hitting your clit with every stroke, sending sparks around your cunt, making it clench and pulse around his length. You think that you might be drooling, but you aren't entirely sure; saliva slipping past your lips as your mouth hangs open.

You can hear yourself moaning over the rush of blood roaring in your ears. Breathless, pitchy moans rising in the humid air each time he pumps into you, rolling his hips in a way that's almost mean. The zeal behind every movement would have the crown of your head knocking into the sliver of wall beneath the mirror if it wasn't the secure grip he has on your waist, keeping you held in his grip so that he can control your movements. Practically using your own weight and pliancy to fuck you back onto his cock. 

You try meeting his thrusts on your own, but his hold on you is rigid, and the rhythm he moves in is punishing. At this point he's just using you, and simultaneously using himself to get you off like it's his job. 

"You're so tight," he groans. You can't see his face, not with the side of your own pressed to the counter and your eyes squeezed shut, but you can hear the smug edge in his tone. He's absolutely thrilled with the state he's reduced you to for the second - third time this night. "You're squeezing me, baby. Gonna kill me if you keep doin' that." 

But he quickly contradicts his statement, gripping onto your hair to pull up and off of the counter. Just enough so that he's able to slip his other one past your hips and the fabric of your skirt to glide his fingers around your soaked cunt, just above where he thrusts into you. Gathering your cum on his fingers, and then his slipping them up to circle around your clit. 

You would have doubled over if it wasn't for the hold he has on your hair, keeping you held in place. A flare of pain bites across your scalp, but it's a shadow in comparison to the ecstasy flooding your system. It might be dramatic, but a small part of your brain wonders if you'll survive the onslaught of it all once it finally slams over you. It's hurtling towards you again. A rising tide that's set to drown you and hold you down. It flares underneath your skin, skirting across your nerves and leaving traces of heat behind. 

It has your body winding up tight again. The muscle connecting you and holding you together seizing up in preparation to wring you dry of every ounce of pleasure, and Rafe is determined to get you there. Working himself inside of you in a way that has your eyes threatening to roll back, his fingers sweeping tight figure eights over your clit, making your abdomen draw up harshly. 

"Shit, Rafe - my God." 

"I feel you about to cum again. I know you're close. " He says it in your ear, slipping his hand from around your ear to grip your throat, using the leverage to tip you back towards his chest. His nose nudges along your cheek and you can feel the brush of his lips glide over the edge of your jaw. "Just let go. You know you want to. I want you to cum on it. Give it to Daddy, baby; let me feel you, pretty girl." 

It's like your body was waiting for his permission, and now that it has it, it's caving in and sweeping you under. Time seems to blank out as a field of stars bursts across your vision. All of it flattening and smearing into a distorted blur with your sense of sound dimming into something dull and muffled. The only distinguishable noise is the roar of your heart thundering in your ears like a warped drum. It makes you lost, muscles lax and completely reliant on him to keep you upright. 

It probably only takes seconds for you to come back to yourself, but deep in the throes of it, it feels like years have passed. As though you've been frozen in place and dipped in hot wax and electricity. It bursts in your bones and the pit of your stomach, making your body tremble with aftershocks as it struggles to ride out the waves of bliss ravaging through you. 

It takes a minute for your brain to orient itself. For you to become aware of your limbs and the support underneath you, the drag of Rafe's cock still splitting you open. It's beginning to border on too much again. The pleasure is leaning on too sharp and bright, making you hiss under your breath. But Rafe is close. You can hear it in the groans spilling from him. You can feel it in the glide of his hips. The once hard, smooth rhythm faltering into something broken. 

"Where do you want it?" He gasps in between raged pants. A glimpse in the mirror lets you see his face and the grimace taking up his expression. Like he can hardly stand the pleasure overtaking him - like it's tugging him apart at the seams and might not leave anything of him left behind. His grip is harsh on the length of your neck. His other fingers squeezing tight on your hip. Hard enough that it's going to smart the skin underneath, and it's with a shaky sense of strength that you manage to lift a hand up to slip over his hold on your hip. Your fingers threading alongside his. 

You feel as though you can hardly breath, forcing your lungs to expand and pull in oxygen. Trying to give yourself enough air to form a sentence, and you just barely manage to do that. You practically have to force it out of your throat. "Inside. I'm still on the pill-" 

That's all you get to say before he's doubling over you with a long groan. Driving himself into you a few more final, sloppy thrusts. They're sharp and heavy from the force behind them as he tries to work out every possible scrap of pleasure, a rush of heat spreading throughout you as he cums inside - thrusting his hips into yours one last time and holding himself there. Making you take every possible drop. 

That's how the two of you stay. Pressed against each other and floating in your own euphoria as the high in your vein's flows and ebbs through your limbs and fills your head with an empty kind of euphoria. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back, syncing with your own as you try to level out your breathing. You aren't sure how long you stay that way, with Rafe draped along your back just barely holding himself up with your joined hands now splayed out on the counter. The thumb around your throat idly sweeps along your pulse point, tracing over your skin like he means to count the racing of your heart. 

It all feels thick and syrupy. As though your limbs have been left to soak in a pool of warm water. As pleasant as it is and as hesitant as you are to move, the weight of him simultaneously sagging against you and keeping you held up is straining on your spine and shoulders. The desire to shift from your position is dull, but the ache in your body demands otherwise. You lightly nudge him in the ribs with your elbow, reluctantly mumbling for him to move. To which he complies with a quick, alright, alright, I got it, huffed out, but it lacks any real bite as he detaches himself from you. 

It makes you uncomfortably aware of the sheen of sweat that clings to your skin, and when he finally pulls out of you it's even worse. You both groan from overstimulation when he removes himself from you to tuck his cock back into his pants, the metallic cry of the zipper ringing off of the bathroom walls. You can feel his cum trickling down your thighs, smearing across your skin and beginning to cool. 

Now that the high of it is wearing off, you just feel gross. It has you turning on your heels to face him, the bottoms of your shoes squeaking on the floor as you pivot to lean your back against the counter with an exhausted sigh. You let your head thud back against the mirror again, but you can't find it in yourself to care this time. Not while you can barely hold yourself upright; the buzz of sex still pleasant and clinging in your body. 

You hadn't even realized that you've closed your eyes until a sharp clatter has them opening. Your head also turns on its own, leaning to glance over to your right where Rafe stands alongside you, rummaging through a narrow set of cabinets fixed between the sink and the bathroom door, carelessly glancing around the folded piles of towels and wash cloths. 

Your eyebrows furrow as you watch him while your sluggish brain connects the dots. As soon as you come to the realization, you can feel the opposition on the tip of your tongue - ready to say no. To tell him that you can just wad up a pile of toilet paper instead, but he's already plucking a towel up from one of the shelves and gently nudging past you to run the tap, the knob quietly squeaking as he twists it on. 

You don't hide your exasperated look when he shuffles away from your side to stand in front of you, reaching to spread your thighs open. You hiss when he runs the damp cloth over you, cleaning up the mess you both made with the aid of the warm water he's soaked the fuzzy material in. You appreciate the gesture, but you still don't think that he had to ruin someone else's towel to do it. 

"Really?" You ask, tilting your head as you watch him. 

His eyebrows perk up just the slightest when he meets your unamused stare, but he doesn't seem to be troubled by it in the slightest. Once he's finished, he tosses the soiled cloth across the room and into the bathtub without so's much as a glance.

"What? We already fucked in the bathroom; I don't think a towel is going to do that much more damage." He just shrugs, unbothered and nonchalant as he answers. Then that amused, smug smile is on his face again as he casts a look towards the door. "Unless you wanna walk out of here with my cum pouring out of you. I won't complain." 

You can't help but to roll your eyes at him while you reach down to tug your skirt from where it had rucked up, smoothing it back down to cling over your thighs, but the expression seems much more playful and relaxed than it should probably be. His usual brand of douchie, cocky sarcasm is already making a comeback now that the tension has left him. It should annoy you, probably, but it soothes you more than anything. It's a comfort, as odd as it may be, to see him gradually resorting back to himself. Arrogant, and a little obnoxious, but in a way that you find entirely endearing. 

He notices the traces of the smile on your face. You can tell by the way that his own goes from gloating to a little soft. The tenderness of it reflecting in his eyes as he closes the space between you to settle himself close. His lips are on yours then, drawing you into a kiss that's so much slower than the first. The desperation and the anger between you both having settled and died out like a fire. Now there's nothing left but ease and a relaxing calm. It makes it unhurried and languid as he leads your lips to move against his. 

It doesn't last for long though, eventually breaking off for you to come up for air. His eyes are still a little glazed over when you meet them. Dopey from the high of sex, and knowing him, a line or two. He seems so far off from the nervous wreck that he usually is. Free from the aggression and arrogance that usually taints everything he does. 

But he's soft with you. Gentle when he wants to be - gentle with you. Only you. And it's going to stay that way if you have anything to say about it. 

"Don't ever pull that shit again, Ray." You warn, dipping your voice into something stern despite the affection blossoming in the pit of your chest. " I swear I'll castrate you if you do." 

Something like a snicker puffs past his lips, like he finds the prospect entertaining. Or maybe he just likes you being possessive over him. It's probably that. Regardless, he leans closer to you, pulling you closer by your waist and stroking his hands down your hips. "Yes, ma'am, I'll keep that in mind." 

You don't get to respond to him. A knock rattles against the door, slow and light enough that it nearly sounds hesitant. Still it causes you to flinch a little, nearly jerking you out from underneath Rafe's hands but he maintains his grip on you, assisted by the way that the counter keeps you blocked in place. 

"Hey, uh, I'm not trying to . . . interrupt anything, but you've been in there for a minute, so I just wanted to check and make sure that you're alright." The voice that bleeds past the barrier of the old wood is muffled from the thick of it, but just loud enough that you're able to recognize it as Thatcher's. Embarrassment floods you at the realization. Especially when you briefly think back on your old statement you had promised to him just before leading Rafe out of the kitchen. It'll only be a few minutes. That's what you had told him then. It's definitely been longer than that. Probably closer to thirty - if not longer. 

You let your forehead thump against Rafe's chest, a low, defeated sigh leaving you as you consider what to say next. An apology would probably be in your best interest. Just to be polite, for what little it's worth, considering that you and Rafe have all but defiled his bathroom. It makes you wonder how you're even going to be able to walk out of here without cringing underneath the weight of everyone's intrigued - if not disgusted - stares. 

"I just made her cum three times in a row, man, but yeah, she's 'alright.' " Rafe replies, irritation and contempt lacing his words like a venom. You truly wish that the floor would split open to swallow you whole as soon as you register what he said. All you can manage is pulling yourself back enough to shoot him a withering glare, but he doesn't appear to be affected by your look in the slightest, far too busy scowling at the door. 

"Rafe," you snap. You try to collect yourself, mentally shaking off your humiliation as best as you can and dipping your voice into something pleasant and even to be heard through the door to answer Thatcher. "Yeah, I'm fine. We'll be out in a minute. For real this time." You almost wince when it leaves your mouth. The awkwardness of the situation stretches on when Thatcher doesn't answer immediately. There's a pause and silence before an unsure, stiff "alright" rises up from outside before he presumably leaves. 

A relieved sigh leaves you, the breath you were holding leaving you like a deflating balloon as you allow yourself to lean into Rafe once again, finding solace in his warmth to try and detach yourself from the embarrassment of the encounter. His arms slip around you easily. Shifting to take you around the waist in a loose hold that has all of your thoughts settling down into useless background chatter. 

"Want to go to yours?" he asks suddenly. It makes you look to him again, shifting back on your feet to observe him from the containment of his embrace. There's the hint of something vulnerable peeking through the blue of his eyes as though he's partially expecting you to deny him. To pull the rug out from under his feet - turning him away. Like it was all just a cruel joke to get back at him. 

As wrong as it might be, it feels somewhat vindicating to see him still so unsure. Visibly insecure about where he now stands with you. Mostly because you're in the same boat. This is a new territory for you both, and regardless of the previous words shared, there's still the fear that it was all induced on his part by the high of the moment. 

"Then maybe in the morning we can go get breakfast at Merrick's? Just not dinner there though - if we're going out for dinner, then I'm taking you somewhere nice." 

That grabs ahold of your focus in easily. Rafe's been to your trailer a hundred times. Sneaking in in the dark and making himself welcome in your home. Using your shower, eating your food, sleeping in your bed. All of these intimate things done as easily as second nature. But something as simple as walking alongside you, as touching you openly in the stark daylight, was a boundary that had never been crossed past casual conversation. Whenever you had associated it was under the guise of eating at your work, or because you had naturally happened upon each other in your day to day lives. There was never any intent behind it. Especially not while in a part of the Eight. 

Merrick's is right on the docks, settled in the center coast of the Northside of the island, among the wealthy houses and businesses of the OBX. It's a fairly popular spot among the wealthy locals. Being seen with you there would be a public declaration of sorts. Something that the customers, and employees would take notice of. 

"And you're good with that? Being seen with me?" The question leaves you in a pale version of your usual tone. It's hesitant, revealing the fear that begins to pool in your gut. Settling there like a nausea. Now it's you waiting for him to reject you - to backtrack on his promises and leave you standing here in the middle of this bathroom hurting, confused and heartbroken. You could nearly imagine the scornful smile that would tug at his lips, the glimmer of his teeth, the contempt that would burn in his eyes as he pinned you down with an unforgiving stare. You wouldn't survive it. 

But it never comes. 

"I meant what I said earlier. I don't give a shit what anyone has to say; you're my girl now." Some of his usual hostility seeps through his tone then, biting through the sweetness of it. None of it aimed at you. But it's like he's asserting a challenge for himself and others. Stating a threat to anyone else who may try to oppose him - or you. But it sounds like so much more than just the promise of a possibly verbal conflict. That wild glint is back in his eyes, passionate and determined, and you know now that he's prepared to draw blood for your sake. That he'll break bone and start fires to defend your name if he has to.

It's another one of those things that should repel you - a red flag waving vigorously in the air, but you can't find so much as the hint of an urge to turn and run. To escape and from his explosive nature, but you find warmth and comfort in it. He's like a wildfire. Erratic and starved, lashing out and reaching for anything that might burn and feed it, and like a glutton for punishment, you'll always open yourself to be consumed. Willingly allowing yourself to be licked at by the destructive edge of his nature; picked apart and feasted on. But he'll be there to put you back together again. Always eager to hold you up in his greedy palms, to have you safe in the shelter of them. 

Because he's sweet too. Caring when he wants to be. When he's allowed to be - safe from criticism or disapproval. He's been taught to be harsh. A product of his father's love, most likely. But you'll show him a different kind of love if he lets you. Something gentle and nonjudgemental. The sort of affection that he's been deprived of his entire life. 

You're his now, and he's yours; rough, violent edges and all. 

"Okay," you agree. "Breakfast it is then. And dinner." You nudge his nose up with your own, guiding him to angle his head so that you can place a lingering kiss on the plush of his mouth, feeling the shape of his smile against your lips. 

"Alright, and dinner." He nods, raising his hands to cradle your face. Watching you with a gleam in his eyes that looks like he wants to devour you entirely and hold you close. "Just you and me." 

[bahablastplz]

Snap: Minho x Reader x Jisung

After your boyfriend decides to punish you by not touching you for two weeks, you take matters into your own hands. There's one way to make him snap, and that is Han Jisung. Content: Smut. That's it. Warnings: Heavy degradation, humiliation, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cum eating, fingering, dom/sub dynamics, choking, complicated feelings WC: 3500

You should have known not to test your boyfriend. 

Your boyfriend Minho is one of the best things that has ever happened to you. He is sweet, kind, forgiving, and so so patient with you. 

Ever since you have been dating, he has done an amazing job to make sure you feel loved, whether that be through smaller gestures like baking food with you or writing notes, or buying you flowers and taking you out on the best dates of your life. He is thoughtful and caring, and you both love each other very much. 

The other great thing about Minho is this other side of the world he has helped you to explore… sexually, that is. He introduced you to the world of doms and subs and your relationship has absolutely thrived on that dynamic. Because for that gentle, loving and caring boyfriend that you get to see during the day… you also get to see the exact opposite. Minho, who will take no bullshit. Minho, who can edge you for hours on end and knows exactly which buttons to push to get you to fall apart for him. Minho, who can wrap his hand around your throat and whisper the filthiest, most vulgar things in your ears to try to get you to submit to him. 

Lee Minho, your boyfriend, is an enigma. Better yet, he is yours.

Which is why you know that you can get away with pushing him to his limits the same way that he pushes you to yours. 

That’s sort of how you got yourself into your current situation. 

 Because, maybe one day you decided to push him, and he might have caught you touching yourself in your bed when you weren’t supposed to. And when he tried to give you your punishment, you had an orgasm without his permission. Fast forward to your new punishment: He hasn’t touched you in two weeks. 

Sometimes, you feel like your boyfriend has turned you into a sex-craved machine. But, who can blame you? It’s not your fault that your boyfriend has a body sculpted by the Gods and an even sexier personality. You swore on your life you would never beg and be desperate for a man. And then came Minho. 

During the past two weeks, you have felt absolutely deprived and horny out of your goddamn mind. He knew it, too. He saw the way that you would squeeze your legs together whenever he sat next to you, the way you would squirm, the way that your eyes would get blown out and your breathing heavy… and he didn’t even have to touch you. It was a mind game, and you were losing badly. 

So, that’s how you came up with your awful idea; push Minho to the breaking point and watch him snap. It was a win/win, really. Not only would your punishment end, but maybe you could get him angry enough to have the rough, hard, toe-curling sex you’ve been craving. You just needed to wait for the right opportunity… and it practically fell into your lap. 

Movie night with Han Jisung. 

Jisung is Minho’s best friend. The two are practically inseparable, bonded with a connection deeper than words could describe. Of course, Jisung was at one point one of your best friends as well, as he was the one that introduced you to your boyfriend in the first place. That’s how you know that the way to get to Minho is through Jisung. 

It started with making dinner, the three of you. It’s a weekly tradition, Friday nights eating homemade dinner and watching cheesy movies. This week is your pick, too. It was almost like all of the pieces of the puzzle were coming together. 

You laugh at Jisung’s jokes. Of course, Minho laughs too, but you make a point to laugh harder than you should, slapping your hand onto his shoulder. “Jisung, you are so funny,” you laugh. “I forgot how funny you are. We should hang out more!” 

That causes the man to let out a shy chuckle, throwing his hand behind his head sheepishly. You look over at your boyfriend and smile at him brightly. 

That night, you make sure to leave lingering touches on Jisung’s body. You reach into the popcorn bowl at the same time as him, grazing his knuckles with your fingers. You swipe a piece of stray hair behind his ear. You even drape your legs across his lap completely during the movie. It always leads to a light laugh from him and a blush that spreads across his cheeks, his eyes flickering to Minho’s for approval. Of course, Minho was never looking at him. 

He was looking at you. 

His eyes bore into yours all night, eyes hard and mouth set into a straight line. You really, truly couldn’t tell what he was thinking. But you make a show of looking at him for a reaction every time and smiling at him with big, bright eyes. 

That night, for your movie choice you made sure to pick the raunchiest, sexiest chick flick that you could find. So of course, when a sex scene started playing you shifted your position. Switching the direction of your body, you put your legs on Minho’s lap and your head on Jisung’s thigh, looking up at him with a bright smile. You admire his bright red cheeks, obviously flushed from the situation at hand. 

“Isn’t this a good movie, Sungie?” You giggle, nustling your head against his thigh. That is the breaking point. 

Minho’s hand reaches across the table, snatching the remote. The TV turns off, causing you and Jisung to turn your heads to look at him. 

“Enough,” he said in a low timbre. 

“What?” you ask innocently. That’s when Minho grabbed the flesh of your thigh hard, kneading the muscle. You gasp when he does so, not expecting the action. His hand trails higher and cups your clothed pussy. 

That was something else… you had put on one of the most revealing outfits you owned, clad with a tight tank-top and miniskirt. This gives Minho easy access to slip his hand right where you need him most. 

“Minho, what are you–” 

“Shhh. If you’re going to act like a needy slut, then you’re going to fucking take it.” Your face goes completely red. While you were expecting him to snap, you thought he was going to drag you to your room and fuck the shit out of you. Not in the living room, while your head rests on Jisung’s lap. 

Your eyes shoot up to Jisung’s, who has been staring at you unabashedly this whole time. When your eyes meet, he clears his throat. 

“Um… I should probably go,” he says, making to stand up. 

“Don’t.” Minho’s voice is sharp, causing you both to freeze. At the same time, he slides your panties to the side and thrusts a finger into your core, causing your body to rock back into Jisung. You let out a loud moan–after weeks, you’re finally getting the contact you’ve been desperately craving. Jisung’s hands make way to your shoulders, holding you in place as he looks at Minho. 

“You’re gonna act like you haven’t been loving my girlfriend touching up on you and flirting with you all night? God, it’s so obvious, Sungie,” he laughs, continuing his ministrations and now thrusting two finger in and out of your sopping core. “She’s been acting like a needy, desperate slut for us, though, so I think we should treat her like one, yeah?” 

Jisung gulps. “We? Minho, I–” 

“You want to fuck her, Sungie? You can fuck her tight cunt, she’ll love it, too. And when you’re done, I’m gonna fuck her harder… I’m gonna fuck her better and fill her up so she knows who her pussy really belongs to.” You moan at his words, squirming around trying to get away from the way his fingers bully into your cunt. 

“Please… Jisung,” you say, looking up at him. “Want you to fuck me, too.” And you truly do. You can see the way your boyfriend is getting off on it, the way that he wants to prove to you that he is better. Somehow you could just tell that he wasn’t bothered in the slightest. 

“Yeah, okay. Fuck,” Jisung breaths. 

“Pull down her shirt,” Minho instructs. Jisung immediately follows his directions, as if in a trance, revealing your bare chest to the two men. “Play with her nipples. Pinch them, she likes that.” The feeling of Jisung’s thumbs pinching and pulling harshly against your nipples has you breathless and moaning, because this person touching you wasn’t your boyfriend. It felt so wrong, but with your boyfriend’s attention still on your leaking pussy and his eyes never leaving yours, it felt so right. 

“Fuck, she’s clenching so tight on my fingers,” Minho tells Jisung. “She likes you playing with her, I can feel her getting close.” 

“Yeah?” Jisung stares down and looks at your face, fucked out, and you look at him fucked out out of your mind. Lips parted and eyes glossy, your eyes didn’t leave his. He looked at you with utter adoration, never stopping his motions on your chest. 

“Min, Min… Cumming, fuck,” you breath. Your boyfriend keeps a steady pace, finger fucking you right through your orgasm. As Jisung slows his pace, rubbing slower on your nipples, he pulls off with a harsh tug. 

You sit up, putting your pressure on your arms as you look at Minho who slowly pulls his fingers out of your cunt. Revealing his fingers, he shows Jisung how soaked his fingers are. 

“Want to taste her sweet cunt?” Minho asks with a devilish smirk. Jisung nods his head with doe eyes. 

Minho reaches past your body and extends his hand to Jisung, offering the boy his two fingers. You watch as Jisung parts his lips, Minho sliding the appendage inside. You clench your thighs together at the loud slurping and soft whimper that this elicits from his mouth, eyes shut as he tastes your release. Minho’s gaze hardens, watching him with predatory eyes. When he pulls his fingers out from his mouth, a long string of saliva connects his fingers to Jisung’s mouth, dripping down onto your bare chest. The action makes both you and Jisung moan softly. 

Minho stands, maneuvering your body to the position he wants you in. He puts you on your hands and knees on the couch, ass up and hanging over the edge for easy access. He pulls your underwear down around your knees but keeps the skirt on, opting to flip it up over your body instead. You feel used like this, shirt bunched down around your waist and panties not even fully off your body yet. 

“Come fuck her pussy,” Minho says to Jisung. He stands up fast, moving behind you to position himself at your entrance. Here he has a full view of your cunt, still soaked and glistening from your release. He lets out a shaky breath and looks at Minho for permission, who stands over you and looks down at you. You look up at him almost pathetically, giving him a weak smile. He smirks at you, practically cooing as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Go on,” he says, his voice suddenly turning sharp as he addresses Jisung. “I’m not going to tell you twice.” 

You don’t see Jisung pull his pants down but you feel him poke at your entrance, his tip leaking as he rubs it up and down your folds. You rock your hips back, desperate for the pressure, and hiss when he finally enters you. As soon as he does, he stills, breathing heavy behind you. 

“Fuck… so tight,” he says, more to Minho than to you. He gives a cat-like smirk and gestures for the boy to continue. And so Jisung starts, slowly rocking his hips into you. He grinds up against your ass each time, a grip bruising right on your hips. 

Minho sits down on the couch now in front of you. Here he can look right into your eyes, his gaze harsher than you had ever seen before. 

“Look at you getting your slutty pussy fucked by my friend,” he coos. It feels condescending, and you tilt your head down to look toward the couch when you feel his fingers underneath your chin. He pulls you up to meet his eyes, fingers pinching your cheeks to part your mouth open for him. “Do you know how long he’s been waiting to fuck you for? It’s almost pathetic. He’s wanted your sweet cunt for so long but he could never have it, could he?” You shake your head at him, and Jisung whines from behind you, increasing his pace. 

As Jisung goes harder and you start approaching your release, you look up at Minho with tears pricking your eyes. 

“Close?” He coos. You nod your head. “You gonna cum on his cock?” 

“Please,” you grunt out. “Please Minho.” 

“Go ahead, then.” And it's not until Minho brings your face to his in a wet, messy kiss that you finally finish. You moan into his mouth and he drinks it up, his tongue pushing against yours and into your mouth. Jisung becomes more vocal as well, whiny moans and heavy breathing as he fucks you through your orgasm. 

Minho pulls you off of his lips harshly, looking at his friend behind you. Jisung looks absolutely wrecked and Minho knows it won’t take long to push him over his edge as well. 

“Is her tight pussy clenching around you good?” He asks. He looks at his friend with a proud smirk. Jisung nods, eyes closed and head thrown back. “As good as you imagined? Wanna tell me how good her pussy feels?” 

“S’good,” he says. “So warm and wet… so tight, fuck…” 

Minho stands, walking over to Jisung. He lifts your skirt higher, revealing your bare ass to Jisung. “Go ahead and paint her ass, if you’re gonna cum,” he tells him. 

And with a few more thrusts and a soft ‘fuck, fuck, fuck,’ he pulls out and covers your ass with him cum. You’re covered in it, as he came a lot, and it starts dripping down your body. Minho scoops some of Jisung’s release with two fingers and brings them to your mouth, your lips automatically parting for him. You lick it off of his fingers, looking at him. You’re floating into a soft subspace and he can see it, utterly and completely submissive for him now. You’re pliant and completely at his command. He looks down at you with dark eyes. 

“My turn,” he says. Him and Jisung switch places, promptly. Jisung stares at you with wide eyes and watches your face, the way that you moan when Minho slips into you easily. 

His pace is brutal from the start, his hips snapping into yours relentlessly, his thighs making a loud wet sound as they slap against the backs of yours. A hand grabs at your hair, yanking you upwards to look at Jisung; he gasps when he sees you, mouth wide open and tears streaming down your face as you let out a sob. It’s too much, the overstimulation, the way Minho’s long cock kisses your cervix at every thrust. And he uses the hand in your hair to control you, pulling you back onto his cock with his strong grip. 

“Fuck…ing… pussy… so… good… for… me…,” Minho enunciates with every snap of his hips. 

You’re babbling at this point, too far gone to form any coherent words. “Min… oh my… fuck,” you say. “Jisung, Sungie…” you cry out at one point, his eyes never leaving yours. Even though he’s no longer participating he still watches intently, his lips parted in a soft ‘o’. 

“What are you calling his name for?” Minho taunts. “I’m the one fucking this cunt, not him. Are you so braindead that you don’t know who’s cock you’re calling out for?” 

“No… Min,” you answer. 

“Good, I’m gonna cum in this greedy pussy,” he says. “Only I can fill you up. Only I can breed your filthy cunt,” he says. “Say… fuck, say my name when you cum on my cock, baby.” 

And you do, because your release comes out of nowhere. With a loud cry you’re calling, no, screaming his name, clenching around him impossibly tight. Your orgasm seems to last forever, and you know he can feel the way you’re spasming around him with every thrust. 

When his hand snakes around and grabs the front of your throat, you know he’s close. His hand squeezes tight and you feel dizzy and light-headed, but this floaty feeling has you rolling your eyes to the back of your head in pleasure. 

Minho must be completely gone now, no longer spewing filthy words. He doesn’t say anything as he finally cums inside, grabbing your hips so tight that it’s sure to leave a mark. He stills against you and you can feel his hot release flood you, his cock twitching as he grinds impossibly deeper into your ass, as if he were trying to get his cum as far into you as he can, as if he were trying to mark you as his. 

When he releases his grip on you your body slumps onto the couch. Suddenly you’re weak all over and your body feels limp, vision starting to blur as you look up at Jisung. You notice a large wet stain on his pants, and you realize he must’ve cum again, simply from watching you get fucked within an inch of your life. You let out a soft chuckle and reach for his hand, your fingers weakly intertwining with his and giving him a soft squeeze. 

Arms are scooping you up in an instant, and you open your eyes to see your boyfriend carrying you in his arms, bridal style. 

“I’m going to get her into the bath,” he tells Jisung. 

“Okay. I should… I’m probably going to leave,” he says, voice riddled with uncertainty. 

“You don’t have to,” he replies. You can hear the softness in his tone, the fondness for his best friend coming through in his words. “You don’t have to,” he repeats. 

And though he’s no longer using that domineering tone that had you and Jisung submitting to him in an instant, Jisung still listens to his words. You shoot Jisung a shy smile and wave your fingers at him as you’re carried off into the bathroom. 

Minho is ever the attentive lover, humming as he sits next to you beside the tub. He scrubs your skin gently, rubbing soothing circles into your sore muscles. He pays careful attention when shampooing your hair, making sure not to get any of the soap into your eyes. Your boyfriend Minho is one of the best things that has ever happened to you. He is sweet, kind, forgiving, and so so patient with you. In this moment you’re reminded of that fact, and you feel a twinge of guilt when you’re reminded of the way you acted earlier. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. It’s the first words you’ve spoken since after you had sex. They’re barely loud enough to hear, but you know your words haven’t fallen upon deaf ears when he lets out a soft sigh. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, love,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry for dragging out your punishment for too long. I know you were trying to rile me up and get on my nerves… and it worked. Not for the reason that I thought though. I thought that… I thought that Jisung touching you would make me mad, but the more I thought about it… fuck, the thought of sharing with him what’s mine, to show him ‘this is my beautiful girlfriend that makes me feel so good…’ It was so hot, baby. And I wanted him to touch you. I wanted him to make you feel good, too. He looked so fucked out, and I liked that it was us that made him feel like that, y’know?” 

You smile softly at him. “Min, can I ask you a question?” 

He hums in response. 

“Do you… have feelings for him?” He doesn’t meet your eye, and that’s all the answer that you need. You know that outloud, at least right now, he could never truly admit it, but he didn’t have to. “It’s okay,” you reassure. “Nobody’s faulting you if you do. We don’t have to talk about it right now, okay?” 

Minho wraps you in a towel and dries your skin. His eyes are full of adoration for you. Before you walk into your bedroom, his lips meet yours in a soft kiss. 

That night, the three of you fall asleep in your bed. There’s no discussion to be had about how this complicates your relationship. There’s no words exchanged, there’s no awkward eye contact, and there are no bad thoughts that cloud your mind as you drift to sleep. You listen to Jisung’s soft snoring and the pitter patter of Minho’s heartbeat. You fall asleep warm, intertwined with many limbs, and with a soft smile on your face.  *** Part 2/4 of the threesome series ;) Hope y'all enjoyed Masterlist Recs

Taglist: @lolareadsimagines / let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this series

[p0rnd3aler]

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE NSFW THINK PIECE/DRABBLE

I’m depraved

Rafayel is the neediest. He’s got a lot of insecurities/abandonment issues from his first love and he def has an anxious attachment style. He’s also absolutely the type of person to be codependent (Hello?? “Join me let’s drown in the ocean together”????? Like, come on). He’s constantly trying to do every little thing with you, almost like he can’t breathe unless it’s air that’s already been filtered through your lungs.

However, all big baby behavior™️ considered, he definitely knows how to woo you. I feel like since he’s Lemurian and also an artist, he only knows how to love a person in the most deeply devoted and romantic way. He’s also very careful with his heart and who he gives it to, once he decides it’s truly and solely yours that’s it. There’s no one else. But you also have to honor that with proper care, he’s very sensitive.

Anyway, I feel like he fucks in a way that’s slow, very sensual. The kind of love making where he takes over all of your senses, all you can feel is his touch, all you can smell is his sweat and cologne, all you can taste is him on your tongue, and all you can see and hear are his face and the sweet words of devotion he whimpers in your ear.

He’s also very easy to rile up.

Zayne is boring to me. Like I get the appeal he’s very hot and he’s also very stable (in a romantic sense) and healthy but I just can’t fantasize about that. Like yeah he’s a busy ass surgeon who will always make time for you no matter what and he’s super devoted and always caring for you in little ways, but also mf will make you take a water break during sex if you’re too wet bc he doesn’t want you to get dehydrated. Im done.

Honestly I think I’m biased against him bc the way he talks to MC just reminds me of this horrid man I met at a bus stop once who immediately started trying to tell me what to do/give me life advice. I get Zayne is qualified and the guy at the bus stop was not but idc if y’all want me to put effort into writing for him ur gonna have to submit it into the requests baby, moving on.

SYLUS. I feel like everybody thinks he’s just some big ol’ nasty freak but they’re WRONG. THEYRE WRONG ABOUT HIM.

Don’t get me wrong he’s definitely fucking tweaking when you first meet him, like just going apeshit off the bat with no context for us. But also? Once you get to know him? Bitch I’ll kill for that man you do not know. This mf drops everything for you.

Important arms deal he’s been trying to set up for a year or going to the arcade with you to get plushies out of a claw machine? Deal = cancelled

The fearless leader of the N109 zone who blows up anyone who perturbs him slightly. MF contributes 50% of the carbon in the atmosphere alone with the amount of shit he literally actually blows up with bombs. But you? You may break into his house and handcuff him to his bed in his sleep while trying to steal a brooch off of him. he doesn’t give a fuck. he’s in love with you. Set his house on fire! He won’t care! He’ll just buy a new one!

As rough as he is around the edges he’s completely smitten. “You should know I adore you. There is no love purer than mine.” Like girl don’t fucking play with me. Is he mentally ill? Absolutely. But he is so devoted, so careful with you. “I’m never annoyed when we do things together.” It’s literally like he’s learning how to be a human being for once and he doesn’t care about losing the coldness or sharpness he once had because you’re more than enough to replace any absence the loss of those thing may bring. He knows he’s getting soft and doesn’t care. He doesn’t try to stop it. To kill for you is nothing to him. Not even a second thought. He kills all the time. But he would never harm again if the violence ever came in between you two.

And I think that dedication, that devotion totally translates itself into how he makes love to you. He’s definitely a filthy talker, I think he says some NASTY shit during sex, just because he likes seeing you squirm and feel how your skin gets hot from his words. But I don’t think he likes hurting you. He wouldn’t do anything to harm you. He’ll spank you yeah, and he’ll tap or squish your cheeks to get your attention. But he only wants to bring you pure, carnal pleasure when it comes to sex. If you even think “that feels good” he’s like a dog with a bone. You get no rest when he’s there you only get mind-numbing pleasure. He’s a tease, he’ll poke lighthearted fun at how loud you’re being, ask you who you think can hear you two while you’re being nasty. But he knows you. He knows what you love, what gets you off, and he cares to learn all of this because of how much he loves you God I’m SICK

Xavier is filthy. That man laps up your pussy like a thirsty dog. The freakiest nastiest mf out of all of them. He won’t show any sexual prowess or interest for months I think. I’m not sure he’s even aware of his powers. Your relationship will literally be based around his chaotic sleeping “schedule” (that shit is not a schedule) and relaxing between missions together. All things considered, you guys spend almost every waking (and sleeping) hour together. Work, dates, naps, eating, it’s almost always together.

It’s not until he hears you getting hit on all night that his composure finally starts to crack.

Three months of the sweetest, purest boyfriend you could ever ask for. Your sweet silly boy, who starts silently pouting all night. It’s not until you two finally find a hotel to stay at for the night, that he finally starts loosening up.

“I’m not a young fool, you know. I don’t take what’s in front of me for granted” he quotes the guys hitting on you earlier, which he heard through your ear piece. Then he recites every time another guy hit on you while you two were on your mission. He’s a jealous jealous jealous boy. He HATES other guys vying for your attention. It just makes him want to whisk you away and bounce you on his dick so loud that every other guy can hear it. When he feels jealousy, he feels the need to mark, claim, devour you so no one else can try and steal you. He gets himself worked up. Stewing and agonizing over the thought and the memory of another guy trying to get to you so much that he can’t even think of sleeping. He gets completely taken over by the urge to have your every reaction solely based on him and what he gives you. I think he fights off these feelings for a long time, up until the protocore mission in the misty invasion memory. He just barely keeps it together until you’re rubbing all over him, pulling him closer to whisper his name in his ear, he just can’t take it. He needs to hear you say it louder. He needs everyone to hear you say his name.

He fucks you so sloppy, the kind of man who does not care what means he has to use as long as the end is what he wants. He wants you covered in marks of his making, he wants you to smell like him, he wants you to have trouble walking the next day, and he wants that asshole who tried hitting on you at work to ask you “what’s wrong? You look like you’re having trouble walking”

And as soon as the guy asks that you look over to Xavier, who has the most pleased little shit eating grin on his face.

The craziest part is that after he gets it all out of his system he’s back to being the little innocent sweet boy. But you know his secret, and he likes that you know it.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Preview.... "Lick Back 2"

Lick Back 2 by Uzumaki Rebellion

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black Female OC

Warning(s): 18+, Explicit Sex, Angst, Domestic Drama, Unprotected Sex, Breeding Kink, Blood & Violence, Drug References, AITA!Terry Richmond.

Summary: Terry Richmond didn't expect to become a father over night. A surprising photo in the mail reveals that an illicit affair he had with a married woman eleven months ago resulted in a baby girl named after him. Ecstatic to be a new dad, he races to South Carolina to reunite with Nova, and bring their new family to Louisiana for Christmas. Unfortunately, Nova's estranged husband Jordan has different plans.

Preview Word Count: 3.6K

Arriving in full on Christmas Eve! Tell a friend! Part 1 HERE.

"I took one look at you

And it was plain to see

You were my destiny

With you I'll spend my time

I'll dedicate my life

I'll sacrifice for you

Dedicate my life for you"

Method Man & Mary J. Blige—"You're All I Need"

Terry Richmond couldn't stop looking at the eight by eleven color photo he received in the mail.

Terrina Richmond.

He had a daughter. A two-month-old baby girl.

His mind raced with so many chaotic thoughts. He'd had an affair with a married woman and she left him to salvage her wreck of a marriage in South Carolina. Terry spent months trying to forget her, poured himself into his work, and blotted out the memory of Nova Patterson.

The last time they made love, he nearly broke the bed, pulling out his best erotic moves to keep her. By his calculations, that was when he impregnated her. They loved each other, but ultimately, he had to let her go. She belonged to someone else and already had an infant son. Who was he to prevent a reconciliation of a family?

He worked day and night, taking on extra hours, even requested deployment overseas to get away from Nova haunting him with her beauty, kindness, and intelligence. He wished the world for her, but couldn't bear to be in the states knowing he couldn't have her.

The big bosses denied his request. They wanted his skills building up their elite soldiers in Oceanside. Make more war machines. Oorah.

Terry booked a flight to Charleston the moment he hung up the phone with Nova. An hour later he still sat on his couch wondering who to confess his shocking news to. His first inclination was to reach out to his family, but he wasn't ready to explain the circumstances of fathering a child with a married woman to his parents just yet. His closest friends Von and Bethany were next in line, but he could already hear Bethany chewing him out for being no different than Jordan, with Von nodding his head in agreement. Telling his homegirl Angie would only result in a flying fist socking him in the jaw.

He had accrued ninety days of leave time that he planned on using up for Nova and Terrina. His godson Junior, too. He stroked his chin. Junior would become his stepson now. A bonus child. Nova gave him purpose. He had a family to care for.

Terry cancelled his flight.

Nova would have a ton of things to bring back with the children. He would drive there instead of flying and rent a U-Haul cargo trailer in Charleston. Nova could take what she wanted and he would buy anything else she needed once they returned to Oceanside. He glanced around his condo. They could stay in his place until the lease ended the following summer and then look for a new home big enough for the four of them.

Four.

How strange. He woke up that morning a single man living a solitary life. Now he was responsible for three other people. He wanted to marry Nova as soon as possible, that way he could get them on his health insurance. Terry grinned. He moved like a man with a plan.

Packing more clothes for an extended trip, the reality sank in further. He was a father. He stopped to look at his daughter again. She had his ears. Funny how he hadn't noticed it before. Terrina's eyes struck him first, but then all the other little details jumped out. She was his mama's color. Terry got his eyes from his maternal grandmamma and his ears from his paternal grandpa. Terrina repped both sides of his family like him. He sat down on his bed and rocked his body, staring at her picture like it was going to disappear if he stopped looking at her.

That was his baby girl.

Nova carried her while enduring the stress of an unraveling marriage. His woman needed peace and a home fit for a queen. He was determined to give it to her. Texting his parents, he sent them a quick message that he had to postpone coming to Louisiana because of work.

He stopped by his local coffee shop and loaded up on an egg white breakfast sandwich and coffee. Hitting the road by noon, he headed east after texting Nova that he was driving and would arrive in Charleston within two days. She sent him another picture of Terrina and Junior. He smiled so hard in his truck after taking a restroom break. Junior was nearly two years old, and it shocked Terry that he didn't look like Jordan anymore. The boy had Nova's face dipped in milk chocolate. He noticed that she'd typed the names Terrina and Novan. He typed the name Novan with a question mark. A minute later, she sent a message that she legally changed her son's name to hers. His nickname was Van-Van. Yeah, she was really done with Jordan if she yanked his son's name away from him. That shit was tough.

"My baby girl will never have that problem," he muttered, heading onto the freeway again.

Terry drove non-stop, only taking breaks when the truck needed gas. He loaded up with a bunch of Big Macs from McDonald's in Dallas, and his heart started beating wildly. Sitting in the parking lot, he inhaled deeply several times and listened to one of his meditation apps. On the verge of a panic attack unless he spoke to someone about his sudden anxiety at meeting his daughter, he called Bethany and confessed everything.

"I'm sitting here freaking out, Bethany. I just want to get to South Carolina and see Nova…hold my baby, but right now I'm losing it. Cuss me out, yell at me, I don't care…I just needed to talk to someone I trusted who knows me…knows I wouldn't do anything to hurt anyone on purpose. Not even Jordan."

Bethany gave a long sigh. He waited for a shrill tone to rip his ear apart.

"Terry, I have to be honest with you. Nova called and told me everything a month ago."

"She what? A month ago?"

"Don't be upset. She was scared and didn't have anyone supporting her. Her family flipped out…Jordan's family flipped. Jordan is on a downward spiral. It's a shitshow out there…but I promised her I wouldn't say anything until she was ready to face you. Go easy on her, okay?"

"I'm glad she has you," he finally said after a long pause.

"You should be glad to have me, too. I should kick your butt, though."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you anything about her…and me."

"Didn't have to. I already knew something was up. I just hoped you two would've ended it quietly without all this blowback. You make a pretty baby, though. She looks just like you and your mom."

"I'm nervous Bethany…a little scared. I'm thrilled to have Terrina…it's just…I'm halfway across the country ready to uproot Nova from her hometown. Am I doing the right thing for her and the baby? I mean…she has Junior…Van-Van. Can I take him away from his father like this?"

"She reached out and wants you to come for her. That's all you need to concern yourself with. I'll let her tell you herself what's been going on, but that is your family now. Jordan should be an afterthought in your mind."

"I want to marry her."

"Get her out of Charleston first. Text me when you get there."

"Does Von know?"

"No. This is something he needs to hear from you when you get back."

"Thank you for being there…for the both of us."

"You have a darling little two-month-old who needs her daddy. Drive safe, Terry. Love you."

Terry sat in the truck, feeling better. Bethany didn't hate him. He texted Nova despite the late hour in her time-zone.

He started the truck and drove closer to his love.

Terry sat in a parking lot of a Target store in a town just outside of Charleston on Sunday morning. He wanted to buy gifts for Nova and the baby, but the store didn't open until seven. The weather was already hot, and he rolled the windows down to wait three hours. He contemplated waiting at a Jack in the Box parking lot, but there were two cop cars there and the last thing he wanted was to attract the attention of the police outside of a fast-food joint at four in the morning.

He spent time on his smartphone looking up all the things he had to do legally to establish paternity. DNA test. Filing the results with the court. It would probably be a hassle to take Jordan's name off the birth certificate, but Terry would spend whatever money it took to pay all court fees to do so. He'd need to get a lawyer in Charleston to navigate everything.

The store opened, and he grabbed a cart, rolling it to the children's section. There was no sales associate around to ask about sizes, so he looked at infant clothing that claimed to fit newborns up to two months. He bought a fancy box of chocolate for Nova's grandmother who she stayed with after leaving her brother's home. Flowers for Nova. Baby balloons. A clunky-looking Captain America action figure for Van-Van. It took him a minute to find the Black one. Sam Wilson. It was going to be all Black everything in their household. Terry paused in the toy section. He imagined his life being like Von and Bethany's, raising two children and being happy. Von always went home to a happy wife and happy children. Sending up a prayer to God, he wanted to provide the same life for Nova and his new family.

He paid for everything at check-out and rolled his cart out to the truck. Bethany was right about Target. You can't ever go inside and come out with the one thing you went in for. He spent over two hundred dollars on all kinds of toys for his daughter and bonus son.

Terry smelled like long hours on the road and stopped at a café to purchase a blueberry muffin that gave him access to the restroom. He washed up, brushed his teeth, and changed into fresh clothes he carried in a backpack. By the time he hit the road again, he was ready to face his future. Following the directions on his GPS, he admired the old buildings and the slow pace of Charleston's southern charm. That went out the window when a palmetto bug flew into the truck. A goddamn flying roach. Hell nah!

He rolled up his windows and put on the air conditioner. The directions showed that he still had an hour to reach Edisto Island. He leaned into the steering wheel once he started crossing the McKinley-Washington Bridge that led to Nova. The Dawhoo River below him looked like mysterious black water. The tannins seeping out of decaying trees turned the water a dark tea-color. Nova once explained that the word "Edisto" meant "black" and was also the name of the indigenous people who lived there, including her Gullah kin, from way back.

His heart palpitated, and he started breathing faster when he reached the street where Mrs. Mariam Walker, the matriarch of Nova's family lived. He smelled the heavy scent of the sea and the river. The house was only a few blocks away from Edisto Beach. Everything around him had been built by Gullah hands. Homes. The bridge. Docks. Churches. Everything.

He passed Mrs. Walker's house because there was no parking available on both sides of the street. Making a U-Turn, he found a spot where a driver left in a brown van. He glanced over at the large white house with the double stairs leading to another stairway that led up to a semi-wrap-around porch. Several older Black men and a couple of men Terry's age stood on the porch looking his way. They built the old house high to avoid flooding, and it seemed like it should've been on a heritage museum tour. He typed into his phone.

I'M HERE.

He put on a stoic expression to face Nova's male relatives. They probably weren't thrilled to see him approaching the house.

The front door flew open and Nova dashed out. She ran down the top stairs first and waited on the landing, her eyes searching the street. When she fixed her gaze on him, she covered her mouth and jumped up twice before running down the left set of stairs, hurtling forward like a comet to greet him. He moved so fast people could've sworn he had wings on his feet like Mercury.

"Terry!" she cried out.

A bunch of women exited the house to watch them.

The moment Nova reached him, he lifted her up high. She hugged his neck so tight that she almost cut off his circulation. He set her down, and they held each other. Embracing her was like having a missing puzzle piece slipped back into its proper place. It was hard to look at her without the tears in his eyes making it difficult to see. She trembled in his arms and every hitched breath she took tore at his heart. He had been a fool to let her go. Sparing another man's feelings in a wasted act of nobility cost him time with the woman he loved and a daughter he hadn't met yet. Lying to Jordan about not sleeping with Nova had been the wrong choice to make eleven months ago. He should've come clean and faced the music back then. It cost him his own happiness. Cost him sharing the journey of Terrina's birth.

He touched and smelled Nova's fragrant hair. She still carried the scent of sugar cookies and strawberries on her skin. Her cornflower blue wrap dress sat snug around her figure. Having babies just made her look enchanting to him.

"Told you…told you I would come the moment you needed me," he said.

She nodded, and they pressed their foreheads together.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you, too."

She burst into tears. He rocked her in his arms, saying her name over and over.

"Are the babies inside?" he asked.

"Van-Van is with Jordan for the weekend. Terrina is inside with my mother and grandmother."

Nova wiped her wet face and puffy eyes.

"Ready to meet your daughter?"

He laughed out loud, and then bit down on his tongue gently to keep himself from leaking more water out of his eyes. He wiped his face and glanced at the welcoming committee on the porch.

"Mawmaw cooked a big Sunday breakfast and invited the family over to see you," she said.

"See me, or beat my ass?" he joked.

Nova's eyes welled up. He stroked her arms.

"Baby, I'm sorry. Bethany told me you're having it rough here. I gotta take that weight off of you. I'm the one who got you pregnant…I'm the one who'll fix all of this, too."

He kissed her forehead. She kept her cute pixie cut and fixed her baby hairs to look like curling ocean waves. He rubbed her back. She rested her head on his chest, unable to look at him.

"Terry…I didn't know she was yours. Jordan and I got back together, and I tried to put you away in my heart. He started messing up out here…I left him…but I still thought she was his. I wasn't hiding her from you…I wasn't trying to keep her a secret from Jordan, either. I didn't realize until after she was born that she wasn't his. I was so frightened of what would happen to me and her when everyone found out what I did. People in my family called me a whore…and Jordan…"

She wept. He soothed her as best as he could.

"Just think about us…okay? Hold on to us and I promise, Nova…things are going to get better."

"Okay."

She wiped her nose and inhaled deeply to calm herself down. He clasped her hand in his, and she walked him up the steps. Her family members held paper plates of food and hushed their talking as Terry looked at them.

"Everyone, this is Terry…Terry Richmond. Terrina's father."

"We can see dat. Can't miss his chirren at all."

The other relatives tittered under their breath. An older woman in her eighties pushed a walker and Nova's family parted to give her room so her eyes could track Terry up and down. She had slightly wrinkled, dark pecan-brown skin and gray hair clipped short. Mariam Walker…Mawmaw.

"I see una have no shame coming here after putting a baby in her the wrong way."

"Mawmaw," Nova whispered.

"Ma'am, I'm not here to upset you. I want to meet my daughter and be with Nova."

"Be with Nova?"

Mawmaw sucked her teeth and pointed at Nova with an accusatory finger.

"Look ya. Dat is a married 'ooman. You a comeya, messing up the peace of dis family."

"Ma'am, I don't mean any disrespect—"

"Tie yuh mout!" Mawmaw shrieked.

A female relative stepped forward.

"Okay now, Mawmaw…my Lord, let the man get inside the house first before y'all put all they business in the street. Hi Terry, I'm Cornelia…Nova's aunt. People call me Nella. Come inside. Mawmaw is going to fuss no matter what you say."

Nella walked toward the screen and opened it for Terry. She was forty-ish, heavyset, and a shade darker than Nova, but had the same sparkling brown eyes.

"I have some things in the truck to bring in," Terry said.

"Go get 'em, then," Nella said with a warm smile.

Terry walked back down to the truck with Nova. He collected the flowers and gave them to her. Her face brightened up with the full, colorful bouquet in her hands. He grabbed the balloons, Terrina's bag of baby clothes, and chocolate, then headed back to the house with Nova by his side.

"This is for you, ma'am…Mawmaw," he said.

Mawmaw looked at the big box of expensive Godiva chocolate shells, and her eyes widened; surprised that he was giving her something.

"He tryna butter her up," one of the older men snickered.

Nella waved for him to keep moving.

"Tote all that in here, Terry, c'mon now. Can't let these no-see-ums in the house."

Terry glanced at Nova.

"Mosquitos. The ones here will eat you up and you won't even see them," Nova said.

He grinned hard enough to show his gums.

"They've been eating me up since I got here."

Nova led him inside the quaint living room filled with old, cared-for furniture and several sizes of intricately woven tan baskets with dark brown geometric patterns woven in the detail that decorated the corners. The interior smelled of good southern cooking and something else, something that the west coast didn't quite have yet: the odor of history. His hometown in Louisiana had it. All the south and the east coast had it in abundance. Compared to the south, the west was still young and feeling its oats.

Old family pictures cluttered a mantle, and so many people were crammed inside that it made Terry feel like the Jolly Green Giant. He definitely was the tallest person there. His eyes were drawn to a large painting above the mantle of elongated ebony figures showcasing men, women, and children dressed in clothing from the 1930s with blue-black skin and featureless faces. The painting seemed to be the focal point of the room that gave it a cozy feel rooted in a proud lineage.

Three women Mawmaw's age sat on a couch wearing their good Sunday wigs. They scrutinized everything on him. Somewhere out back, the excited voices of children playing added a comforting noise.

Nova took the bag of clothes from him and set them on an empty chair.

"Hello…I'm Terry, pleased to see everyone," he said.

Mawmaw shuffled in with her walker and Nella helped her sit down on an old rocking chair.

"Dis him," Mawmaw said to the ladies on the couch.

Nova introduced him to everyone present. He became eager to make a good impression despite the hard stares and thin-lipped expressions from the elders. All he needed was a knife to cut the simmering animosity in the front room. A giant bible sat propped open on a bookstand next to Mawmaw's rocker. A huge brown lacquered cross hung next to a picture of a tawny Jesus on the wall behind her seat. Terry took in the context clues and understood quickly that he was in a serious religious household. That meant their situation would never be acceptable to MawMaw. The matriarch's frigid brown eyes stared him down like she was going to turn him into a pillar of salt.

A baby's cry interrupted the family showdown.

Mawmaw's eyes immediately softened, and she tried to stand up too fast, almost losing her balance.

"My great-grandbaby is calling for me," Mawmaw said, or at least that's what Terry made out.

The shrill cry shattered the peace again, and Terry felt a lump grow in his throat. He imprinted that sound to memory. That was his daughter. His first time hearing her.

Nella gently pushed Mawmaw back in her seat.

"Bring ha," Mawmaw said.

"Mawmaw…Terry needs to see his baby. He come three thousand miles. Man is probably tired and hungry rushing here. Let him have his time alone with Terrina," Nella said.

Nova placed her flowers on an end table near one of the older adult men sitting in the room and grabbed Terry's hand.

"Come…she's back here," Nova said.

Her eyes were shiny with pride and love.

They moved past family members who ogled his height and muscular build. His body looked big and battle ready from all of his military training. Moving through a short hallway, they skipped past two other bedrooms and made their way to the last one.

A.N: Hope you enjoyed the preview! Be ready for more on Christmas Eve! This one will be a little longer than Part 1, but I don't think y'all mind! One of the best ways to support Black fanfiction writers that doesn't cost a dime is to reblog & comment. We thrive off of kind words to keep us going, and it's always great to extend our reach to new readers. In 2025 I'm making more of an effort to get my stories out to as many Black women as possible. We are in our #RestEra and deserve nice things to come home to for our reading pleasure. Okay, off to finish this thing. It's already over 18,000 words, lol!

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[makelemonade]

Test Subject

Characters; Dottore x Female!Reader

pt2

Warnings; 18+, insane probably horribly written smut, aphrodisiacs, non-consensual drugging, you're married to each other, slut-shaming tbh, degrading + slight praise, boob play, bondage, blowjobs, lots of mentions of cum, you're literally his test subject- hence the title, he has a fat cock, subtle ahegao, hentai moaning, fingering, several positions, overstimulation, rough sex, dumbification, oral sex, honestly idek what else just lemme know if i need to put something

Il Dottore was a hard working man; Always doing whatever he can to please his majesty, the Tsaritsa, and always helping out- even if it’s not by his own will- his coworkers.

But he’ll always work the hardest for you- his lovely wife.

He was working on some sort of machine down in his lab, and in full honesty, you were too hungry enough to ask what it was.

Well, you weren’t insanely hungry, but you were parched, and it’s not like you could go around and get food somewhere; You barely knew this castle and you were scared to run into one of the other Harbingers.

Hmm, maybe you could risk it- Childe could’ve been around somewhere and could’ve gotten you some water.

“What’s on your mind, dear?” Dottore asks, still looking down at his…project. He knew you so well. He 

“I’m quite thirsty, my love.” You admit, sheepishly. 

A smirk appears on Dottore’s face as he finally looks away from his project and at you; You were sitting on a steel table- almost like the ones for surgery- dangling your legs.

“I actually have a few drinks down here.”

He walked over to a shelf full of vials, some were full and some were empty. He scanned it for about a minute, until he made a noise, indicating he found what he was looking for. He grabbed two vials, walking back to you.

Handing them to you, you looked at them with hesitance. It was a light pink, but it didn’t look dangerous. It wasn’t bubbling, or smoking. It seemed like water but with food-colouring.

“It’s a sweet drink.” There was something behind his devilish smirk, and you couldn’t read it, but you trusted your husband and chugged both vials.

He just smiled. “Good girl,”

As much as you loved the praise, you were slightly confused, but decided to just let him continue working.

However, in the next few minutes, you noticed that you began too sweat. It was weird, given the fact this laboratory was insanely cold.

You took off your blanket, throwing it to the side, but that did not help, as in the next few minutes, you began to become hotter, to the point you were panting as if you were running a marathon.

You didn’t notice the subtle writing Dottore was doing in his book, and in the next few minutes, you found yourself becoming faint as you started to feel yourself completely aroused to the point it was seeping through your tight clothing.

You were letting out shaky breaths, everything being too hot for you and you laid back onto the steel, the cold table bringing you comfort for about a minute until it was too hot for you.

Your vision slightly blurry, you noticed Dottore now standing above you, his project long forgotten as you were now his new project. 

“Dottore..” You breathed out, and he just smirked down at you before reaching under the table; There were straps under it, and you realized what was happening when one went around your waist.

“Dottore,” You breathed out again. “Did you- did you drug me?!” You panted, and he just laughed. 

“I’ve been meaning to test the aphrodisiac out for a while now. I just needed a perfect time to use it on you.” 

He started to unbutton your shirt and you whined, the touches of his cold fingers on your stomach making you heat up even more somehow.

He took your blouse off and you let out a whimper- he made sure to write that down too.

He reached around to your back, not lifting you up much due to the strap holding you down onto the table. With his might, he yanked at your bra, ripping the back completely and you gasped.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” He laughed, throwing the ripped bra to the floor. 

He unbuckled himself, but made no move to take off his pants. Instead he pushed your arms all the way up and you felt too weak to stop him, letting him tie your hands with his belt. 

In seconds, your pants and panties were off- You don’t even know how, but the drug was making everything seem so fast, but at the same time too slow.

You tried to do anything to help your arousal, and even started humping the air but it was helpless with the strap holding you down. Dottore laughed at your attempts.

“You’re so needy, my love. Be patient, dear, I’ll attend to you soon. I just need to see how you react.”

He placed a hand down on your stomach and you gasped, starting to twitch. His other hand started scribbling down in his book as he moved his hand around, and the heat became unbearable once he reached your chest.

“‘Tore,” You whined, then a sharp gasp came out of you as he placed his index and thumb around your hard nipple, starting to pull.

“Nghh-oh!” His mouth moved down, starting to suck on the other one and you started to thrash, but the table could only wobble slightly as you were held down tightly.

“So sensitive,” He breathed out, the breath making your nipple twitch and you whimpered. He started to go a little harsher, his teeth grazingg over your nipple as the only started to twist and pull.

“Oh! Dottore!” You gasped, moaning loudly as he kept up at it and yet somehow his other hand was still scribbling stuff down- how he did it? You had no idea.

You whined when his mouth and fingers left and he spread your legs open a little, the cold air bringing little relief to your seeping pussy. 

“I wouldn’t even be surprised if you almost came from that,” He chuckled, taking a closer to look to see your arousal was now a pool pouring onto the desk, slowly dripping off the sides.

“Let’s see how you beg.” 

You were about to ask what he meant, but let out a loud gasp when his finger to prod at your hole and you moaned, despite the fact he was barely touching it.

He was teasing you, touching you everywhere down there but refusing to finger you.

“Do-dottore,” You whined, trying to thrust your hips towards his fingers but you could hardly move.

“How does It feel, baby?”

“So- so sensitive.” You whined, “I need you.”

He groaned at that, fingers inching a bit closer. “Yeah? How bad?”

“S-so bad..” You slurred, becoming drunk on just his fingers, “need to feel your t-thick fingers..”

You screamed when he plunged two into you, wincing at the pain but moaning at the relief. He slowly began to scissor you, and his fingers were sooo long they reached you so deep.

“Oh-! Nghh, please, pleasepleaseplease”

“Please what?” He chuckled breathlessly. “M-move faster please..”

He grinned, shoving his fingers even deeper as he started to go faster, stretching you wide and you moaned loudly when he added a third finger in.

“FUCK!” You gasped, “fuckfuckfuckfuck!” He started to practically pound you with his fingers once he added a fourth one in, and you found yourself cumming in one minute with a wail, but he didn’t stop.

“T-tore!” You whined, “too-too much!”

But he didn’t stop, instead going faster, and you were thrashing around so much he had to stop writing down stuff with his other hand to hold your waist down, despite the fact you were tied down already.

“DOTTORE! DOTTORE!” You screamed, feeling yourself cum once again; This time, your arousal squirting everywhere to the point it reached his face, spread onto your paper and was on the ground.

He didn’t let his fingers out until you finished, and you let out a wanton moan when his fingers left you.

“Your pussy is gaping over nothing,” The way he spoke sent shivers down your spine. “Dirty slut, squirting over my fingers? My, what a mess you made!”

You panted, feeling absolutely out of it just from squirting, but you needed more. So much more to get rid of this heat.

You heard shuffling, then steps as he walked towards the side of the table to your face. 

He grabbed your head, moving it to the side and you were met to his long, girthy cock that was leaking precum just inches away from your face.

You found yourself sticking your tongue out, reaching to lick the tip and he groaned. “You look like a dog,” He laughed breathlessly, looking at the way your tongue was all the way out, panting. 

“Little bitch in heat,” He spat, “C’mon, suck. Suck like the good slut you are,”

You wasted no time in wrapping your mouth around his dick, struggling in trying to move your head up and down- It was hard when you were tied to a table.

“Insufficient,” He scoffed, but really it was an excuse to loosen the strap to help you move closer to the side of the table. He grabbed the back of your head, shoving you down as you let out a yelp. 

Your nose was right against his pelvis and you started to gag while he just let you sit there and struggle. He let out a groan, then a sigh of content.

He started to move your head up and down, dragging and pulling on your hair. You looked up at him, eyes rolling back as you continued to gag on the Doctors thick cock.

“I love it when you do that,” He panted. “You look so fucking- uh! Sexy…” He started to go faster. “Cockdrunk whore.”

You just moaned at the title and he laughed, “you love it when I degrade you, don’t you? You know, I’m debating on if I want to come in your mouth or all over your face, even when I rail you too.” 

You were becoming dizzy with how fast he was moving you, your throat becoming sore as tears rolled down your cheeks. 

He took another look down at you. “Maybe all over you. I’ll make it a masterpiece.” 

He took his dick out and you gasped, but only to be met with his hot, salty cum all over your face. Dottore not being a human sometimes had it’s perks, because he produced so much more “cum” then anyone as it even reached your chest.

He panted, standing there for a bit. Then, he walked away, and came back holding up a kamera. “Say cheese,”

You were too fucked out of it to react, flinching at the light it produced. He looked at the picture through the lenses and smirked. “I’ll be keeping this one.”

He moved back to his book, writing some more stuff down. He did so quickly, wanted to move onto the fourth and last phase of his project.

He got rid of the strap completely, and you thought it was over- but no, instead he grabbed your hips, dragging you across the table all the way to the end so your bottom half was completely off, your legs over his shoulders.

You gasped at the feeling of his dick prodding at your entrance. “Nghh- Dottore! I’m still s-sensitive!”

He didn’t care, instead pushing his cock all the way in- It stretched you out even more then his fingers and reached places they couldn’t and you wailed.

He didn’t even go slow, instead deciding to go straight into it and fuck you fast and rough. “F-fuck…” He gasped, “You’re so tight, my love. You feel so good, like you were made for me? Wouldn’t you agree? Agree with me, my cocksleeve

“Y-yes!! I-i’m just-nghh- perfect for YOU! Yooourrr cockslEEVE! YOURS!” You screamed as he went even harder, and you felt like you were gonna cum once again.

He could feel it too when you started to tighten, and you screamed when he pushed down onto your stomach. “I-I’ve decided,” He paused to give you a harsh thrust, “That I’ll cum so much, in you and on you.” He laughed, and you came with a scream.

“F-fuckuuhuh! No-no more!”

“Yes more.” He laughed, not stopping. “We have so many more rounds to go, sweetheart. Don’t you wanna be filled up with my cum? Bred? And painted with it too,”

“Y-yes! Yes! Fill me up…fill me up! Please!”

He pulled you closer, instead now moving your legs towards your chest to reach even deeper into you. “NgHH~ oh~ fuck! Y-yes, yes!”

The next hour went by through several different positions; Full nelson, standing full nelson, doggy style, whatever he wanted to take you in! He’d take turns cumming in you and pulling out, and by the end, you were completely passed out, cum all over you and cum pouring out, dripping onto the ground.

He draped your past blanket over you, deciding he’d attend to you in just a minute. He finished writing down his analysis, reading it out loud.

“Subject came a total of 12 times and squirted for 3. Next goal will be 15 and 10; Maybe Pantalone can help out with it.”