#FUCK ITS UNEVEN OH MY GOD

[ozymoron]

who cut his hair btw i need to talk to them cause wtf is that unless he cuts his own hair which im willing to believe

[wordiestwyrm]

people should start inventing their own numerologies and comparing notes. slash s r s

[girlrotterr]

— "𐒆𝛨 𝛣𝛢𝛣𝑌, 𝐶𝛢𝛮 𝑌𐒆𝑈 𝛨𝛦𝛢𝑅 𝛭𝛦 𝛭𐒆𝛢𝛮?"

𝑃𝛢𝐼𝑅𝐼𝛮𝐺: roommate!ellie x reader

𝘚𝑌𝛮𐒆𝑃𝘚𝐼𝘚: You come home earlier than usual to find your roommates door slightly ajar. You can’t help but peek inside.

You’re home earlier than usual, and the place is eerily quiet—no random guitar strumming or the faint hum of a video game in the background. Ellie’s always got something going on, whether it’s tinkering with her beat-up acoustic guitar or completely failing at some cooking experiment that leaves the kitchen smelling like burned regret. 

You shrug off your jacket, the familiar scent of scorched food hits you—a sure sign Ellie’s been at it again. 

You can almost picture the disaster waiting in the kitchen. 

Maybe she attempted a stir-fry or tried to get fancy with eggs, which, for some reason, she consistently messes up. You remember the last time: the pan had been abandoned in the sink, its bottom crusted with what could only be described as scrambled cement, and Ellie had offered you an apologetic grin as she flicked at her guitar strings, mumbling something like, my bad…

Still smirking at the thought, you head toward the kitchen, but surprisingly, the mess isn’t as bad as you expected. A single burnt toast sits abandoned on a plate, and beside it, a bottle of peanut butter left open, its lid placed on the edge of the counter. You grab a spoon to clean up, noticing that Ellie’s nowhere in sight. Usually, she’s hovering near her messes, trying to fix it or making self-deprecating jokes to play off the mess.

Curious, you wander down the narrow hallway toward her room, your steps thudding along  the old wood floor. You pass by her door, which is slightly ajar, and immediately slow your pace. 

It’s not like Ellie to leave her door cracked. 

Your hand pauses on the doorframe, a soft click as your knuckles accidentally tap against it. 

You hesitate, thinking maybe you should leave her be, but then—before you can make the decision—a faint noise escapes from inside, followed by a sharp, quick breath. 

Your brow furrows as you inch closer, pushing the door open a little more.

Ellie was sprawled across her bed, her head thrown back against the pillows, messy hair fanning out in every direction. Her breath came in uneven gasps, wet, squelching sounds filling the room. 

Fuck, she was too desperate to even bother taking off her clothes. 

Her brown jacket hung loosely off her shoulders, the fabric wrinkled and tugged from her movements. Her half-unbuttoned flannel exposed her perky nipples, her jeans were pushed down just past her thighs, the belt hanging loosely, the metal buckle clinking against her skin as her hips rocked. 

Your breath hitches, catching in your throat as you take in the sight of her hand pumping beneath her boxers, her movements quick, almost frantic. Heat floods your body, cheeks burning as your eyes lock onto her. 

"Oh fuck, yes," she breathes, her voice low and rough. 

You can’t tear your eyes away. 

Ellie spread her legs wider, her right thigh twitching slightly as her fingers pump deeper inside.  Your cunt began to ache as your eyes caught on what she was holding. It was your panties—your favorite pair—clutched tightly in her fist, the soft lace crumpled and wrinkled between her fingers. You swallowed hard, eyes tracing the wet patch staining the fabric, the glistening spot a clear sign that she had been grinding against them. 

“Just a little more…” she breathes, eyes fluttering shut as she loses herself in the moment, her lips parting slightly. “God, I needed this…” 

“Come on, don’t stop,” she murmurs, biting her lip, her brow furrowing in concentration. “Just a bit more… just like that.” There’s desperation in her voice, a plea.

“Fuck, why is this so good?” she gasps, her voice whining with need, eyes still closed, lost in the sensations of her aching cunt“Why does it feel so much better when I think of you?” 

“Ellie…” you breathe, barely a whisper, but she doesn’t hear you.

She’s too lost in her own fantasy. 

"God, I love this," she moaned softly, her voice husky, as her hand moved frantically between her legs. Her fingers pumped faster and faster, her perky tits bouncing with each thrust, the bed beneath her squeaking. "Can’t get fucking enough."

You knew you should turn away, that you’d crossed a line simply by staying. 

Your breath hitched, the air suddenly too hot, as your hand slipped beneath your waistband, trembling fingers brushing against the damp fabric of your panties. You shifted them to the side, biting your lip as your fingers found your aching clit, tracing small circles. 

You tried to keep your breathing shallow, hoping she wouldn’t hear you over her own sounds. Your soft moans mingled with the wet, squelching sounds filling the room. The heat between your legs became unbearable, a pulse that only grew stronger with each passing second. 

“Need you to fucking take it," Ellie breathed, her voice low and ragged. Her hips bucking harder, the pace of her fingers desperate. 

"Oh fuck," you whimpered, your voice shaky as the ache in your hole pulasated. The need was overwhelming, your hole throbbing with a desperate hunger you couldn’t ignore, your fingers moving faster to keep up with ellie’s pace. 

Ellie’s eyes narrowed, her brows furrowing together as her movements slowed. You watched, breathless, as she pulled her fingers out of her drenched hole, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Without hesitation, she pressed your panties against her soaked pussy, the lace clothing her cunt as her slickness coated the fabric.

With a low groan, she began to grind against it, her hips bucking, pressing harder and faster into the softness of the fabric. Her lips parted, a ragged breath escaping as her eyes fluttered shut, her head falling back against the pillows. The wet lace clung to her, the friction of it only making her grind harder.

"Love this... fuck, your panties... can’t get enough..." Her head fell back again, and she let out a deep groan, her fingers pressing the lace even harder against her aching clit.

A moan escapes your lips, quiet at first, but growing louder as the pleasure builds inside you. 

But in your desperation, you leaned a little too close to the door, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. 

You and Ellie freeze, eyes locking in a moment of shock. 

Ellie’s eyes widen, her mouth agape.Her gaze drops slowly, lingering on your body, taking in the sight of your drenched pussy, your panties pushed to the side, the fabric clinging to your trembling thighs. 

You can hardly breathe. 

Oh fuuck.

You try to speak, to form a coherent thought, but all that escapes your lips is a breathless, “I…” 

Heat floods your cheeks, mingling with the aching throb of your pussy, pulsing with an urgent need. God— the way she’s staring at you, with that raw hunger in her eyes.

“Come here,” Ellie whispered, her chest heaving, struggling to catch her breath. 

You couldn’t resist it.

Ellie shuddered as you slid your hand between her trembling thighs. Shuddering as your fingertip circled her dripping entrance, her soft folds parting easily under your touch. With a needy moan, she guided your finger deeper, gasping as you penetrated her hole. The slick walls of her cunt clenched greedily around your fingers as Ellie bucked her hips, fucking herself on your hand with desperation.

"Fuuuck.." *she groaned, her eyes rolling back in ecstasy. Her cunt was absolutely drenched, leaking down her thighs as she rutted against you shamelessly. Ellie's needy whimpers filled the room, growing louder and more frenzied by the second.

"Fuck, just like that!" Ellie gasped, her hips bucking wildly. She gripped your shoulders tightly, her nails digging into your skin as she rode your fingers. Her juices flowed freely, coating your fingers and dripping down your wrist.

“Ohh fuckk mee…” She groaned as your fingers slipped out of her dripping hole. 

Without wasting a second, she quickly positioned herself above you, her slick folds hovering mere inches from your own. With a swift movement, Ellie slammed her cunt down onto yours, your aching clits rubbing together as your slick juices mixed. 

“ellie! please please please!" you moaned, tightening your grip onto her wrinkled bedsheets. 

"That's it, baby," she groaned, grinding her hips in tight circles.

She gripped your hips tightly, pulling you closer. The sounds of wet skin slapping against wet skin echoed, mingling with your moans and cries of pleasure. Ellie's perky breats bounced with each thrust, her hardened nipples grazing against yours. She gripped your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat, which she attacked with biting kisses and sensual licks.

"Atta girl," Ellie whsipered, "Take what I give you."

[elliefuckinwilliams]

How each Abby fucks you <33

- nsfw, dom!abby, sub!abby

n/a: abby version!! lemme know what you think! and if i should write anything else!

jackson!abby

◇ can barely focus on you

◇ can't carry around a strap so uses her fingers

◇ uneven strokes, focused on joel but still trying and failing to be good for you

◇ if yall actually want to fuck you have to hide and be quiet from the whole group

◇ you ride her thigh half asleep, with the entire wlf in the same room just trying to get off

◇ sleepy moans:( quiet moans:(((

◇ "does that feel good baby? yeah? you need to cum we got a long day tomorrow."

seattle!abby

◇ literally fucks you absolutely stupid

◇ she's no longer focused on joel so she can fuck you how you deserve

◇ strap is black and hitting your gspot

◇ she won't get off of you, she'll wake you up wit head

◇ when you first get back she fucks you from sun up to sun down, everyone is wondering where yall are for days and manny just misses his bed

◇ she's just so happy to be able to fuck you without owen sleeping 5ft away

◇"fuuuck you're soaked baby i missed this pussy so much you have no fucking idea."

after seattle!abby

◇ a lot less privacy now that abby's adopted son lev is always around yall make it work

◇ a lot of quickies

◇she fucks you up against a wall (or tree or table or whatever standing structure she can find) and muffles her moans into your neck

◇she was really worried about the girl that killed all her friends and couldn't perform until she knew she wouldn't come for you, lev and you are all she has left:((((

◇ she reminds you that she loves you while she's knuckles deep into your pussy

◇ "i love you-i love you baby, need you to know that."

santabarbara! abby

◇ umm the bitch is tied tf up on a pole fuck yall finna get up to?!?!?

epilogue!abby

◇ literally fucks you like you're gonna disappear any second

◇ kiss all over your face, tears in her eyes

◇ she makes you look at her while you cum

◇ she lets you top because it lets her finally relax and she fuckin loves it

◇ the whinnest sub! always in tears and begging

◇ lots of thank yous

◇ you fuck her wit the strap and she can't believe how good it feels

◇she can barely talk its just a lot of fucked out muttering and moans

◇"you- fu- it fe-els so-o good, oh my god ohmygod can i please cum baby please-please."

the end<33

taglist!

@evelynscoffin

[liveyun]

no escape | k.th

title. no escape

pairing. kim taehyung x fem reader/oc

genre. squid game au, thriller, pwp, smut

warnings. 😵‍💫. guard!taehyung, player!oc, consensual sexual acts in forms of power play, bandage, orgasm denial, face fucking, spanking, taehyung is. . . arrogant and cocky (pun intended) , his hands, taeconda wbk lmao, edging, finger sucking, some softness

wc. ~3k

a/n : i haven’t watched the drama yet, so please forgive me if there are any factual mistakes (shouldn’t be lol, there’s barely any plot) and this is my second time writing smut/first time writing fellatio so please let it slide if it sounds bad because i was way too impatient to wait and the rumors and or the theories (unlikely) of him appearing in the third season are making me delusional fr 😈

The corridor is suffocatingly quiet, save for the faint whir of crusty old machinery.

Dim overhead lights flicker intermittently, casting dark shadows that stretch and contract like phantom limbs.

You shouldn’t be here. The thought screams louder with every step you take, but it’s drowned out by the pounding of your heart. A part of you relishes because of your rebellion; full of zeal, while the other part is shrinking with fear. Yet, you don’t know which one is responsible for your heart to go hayware.

Either way, you keep on walking.

You grip the edge of the wall tighter, your fingertips brushing against the cold metal, as if the steel could tether you to sanity.

The restricted zone feels different — emptier, darker. As if even the quiet of this lobby is asking you, no, demanding you to leave — but rebellion is so sweet to taste, that perhaps even death cannot make you step back. The air smells off, tinged with the faint metallic tang of something you don’t want to name. The kind of place where secrets go to die.

You force your breath to slow, ears straining for any sign of movement, any hint that someone else might be lurking. But there’s nothing. Just the silence pressing in on you from all sides.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

You flinch.

The voice is low. Dulcet — so smooth it feels like liquid heat is being poured into your ears. You’ve never heard this voice before, and yet it crashes into you with the force of a thunderclap. That calm, quiet power, threaded with something dangerous, coils down your spine and settles deep in your stomach.

The serenity of the voice scares you.

Your entire body goes rigid, blood freezing. Slowly, so painfully slowly, you turn your head. He’s standing at the other end of the corridor, blocking the entrance, and perhaps, the only escape.

Red jumpsuit, square mask. The highest rank among the guards. The ones who don’t ask questions.

For a moment, neither of you move. The fluorescent light above him buzzes faintly, casting an uneven glow over his figure. The mask stares back at you, empty and unyielding, a void you can’t read.

But you feel his eyes. You feel them trailing over you, assessing, dissecting, pinning you where you stand. You feel naked under his gaze despite being fully dressed, and you feel an odd feeling in your insides..

“Lost?” he asks, and the way his voice dips at the end makes your breath hitch. Fuck, oh god.

It’s not just the sound of it—it’s the way it slides under your skin, makes your insides tingle. And he knows. This bastard knows. You can’t see his face, but the slight tilt of his head, the way he lingers just long enough to watch your reaction—it’s deliberate, calculated.

You swallow hard, but your throat feels like sandpaper. “I… I—”

He takes a step forward. You take one back. The air shifts, heavier now, charged with something you can’t quite name.

Your pulse races, each beat like a drum in your ears.

You don’t know if you’re exicted or scared.

“You know what happens to rule breakers, don’t you?” His gloved hand flexes at his side, the movement deliberate, almost lazy. A predator sizing up its prey.

“I—I wasn’t—”

“Save it.” Another step, and he’s close enough for you to catch the faintest trace of his cologne beneath the sterile scent of the suit. It’s woodsy, faintly spiced, and it lingers in the back of your throat like a memory you didn’t know you had. “You don’t belong here. And yet…” He tilts his head slightly, the square on his mask glinting in the dim light.

“Here you are.”

You hate the way your knees threaten to buckle, the way your breathing hitches despite your best efforts to keep it steady. You feel absolutely mortified to feel heat pooling in your lower abdomen like slow fire. There’s no telling what he’ll do. Report you? Drag you back? Or worse — handle the punishment himself.

And God help you, but a part of you is equally as thrilled as terrified to find out.

He’s close now — so close that the full, metallic scent of the corridor is drowned out by something else entirely. Something warm, woodsy, and faintly spiced, like cedarwood and smoke. It lingers in the air between you, curling around your senses, filling your brain up with fog.

The mask tilts, as though he’s watching you with a predator’s curiosity, drinking in every nervous shift of your weight, every shallow breath. You feel overwhelmed and squirmish, hyper aware of him observing your each move.

“What’s the matter?” he murmurs, voice low and unhurried. “Cat got your tongue?”

Your throat feels dry, words caught somewhere between your lungs and lips. You shift back, but the wall at your spine reminds you there’s nowhere left to go.

It’s just you and him.

He leans in just enough to make the hairs on your neck rise, his gloved hand brushing the wall beside your head — close, too close. It’s then you notice his hands: large, impossibly large, even beneath the thin sheen of the gloves. His fingers are long and deft, curling lazily into a fist before releasing, a movement so absentminded it shouldn’t make your stomach flip.

Shouldn’t fill your head with images which practically threatens to take away the little sanity left in you.

“You’re scared,” he muses, more to himself than to you. “But not of what you should be.”

His head tilts again, the mask’s material catching the overhead light. Slowly, his hand rises, not toward you—but toward his own face. His gloved hand rises to the edge of his mask, fingers brushing the seam. He hooks a single finger beneath the edge of his mask.

You barely notice that you’ve stopped breathing.

“You want to see who’s really watching you?”

You can’t stop your eyes from widening. “You want to see who you’re really dealing with?” The words are laced with danger, meant to come about as a taunt. But they dont, they instead spread a fire inside you, like how the veins of a leaf spreads across its surface area.

Slowly, almost languidly, he pulls the mask away, revealing the face beneath.

Oh.

Oh.

Dark, sweat-dampened hair clings to his temples, framing a face that seems carved from shadow and starlight. His eyes are sharp, but, but they hold a soft glimmer — hooded, which gleam with cruel amusement framed underneath thick, strong brows. His lips are slightly parted, as if he knows you’re looking and wants you to keep doing just that.

He is breathtaking. He is gorgeous. And he knows that.

It’s the small things that undo you. The faint sheen of sweat along his sharp jawline. The curve of his smirk, too soft to be mocking but too dangerous to be kind. And that scent —closer now, filling your lungs and making you lightheaded.

“Well?” he asks, voice silkier than before. “Do I live up to the mystery?”

Your mouth moves, but no sound comes out. Your gaze drops despite yourself—past his throat, past the open collar of his jumpsuit, to the slender column of his neck and the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.

Fuck this man.

But it’s his hands that do you in. Bare now, he tugs the gloves free, one finger at a time. His skin is warm-toned, his fingers long and lean, the kind of hands that could either cradle or crush without hesitation. He flexes them casually, like he knows you’re watching.

They are clean. Beautiful. Neatly manicured. . .

“Lost for words?” His voice is teasing, but his eyes are sharp, drinking in every flush of heat that creeps up your neck.

You can’t look at him, but you can’t look away, either.

An image flashes up in your mind. His fingers, the same fingers, rubbing your clit with smooth, slow circles as his other hand restricts the airflow from your throat.

Oh fuck.

You grit your teeth, not trusting yourself enough to conceal any noises that may spill out. However, you fail to supress yourself from squirming, your thighs rubbing themselves together unconsciously as the erotic image flares up your brain.

And he notices that too.

His eyes narrow, and a dry laugh escapes his lips — something similar to a mock, but closer to amusement. You feel your throat dry on the realisation as you try looking away, but the next thing you feel are his hands on your chin.

“You dirty little thing,” his hands are warm — but the tips of his digits cold as they squeeze your cheeks, puckering your lips out, his face inching closer till you can see your own reflection in his pupils.

You feel like closing your eyes, but you can’t.

His breath is warm. Minty. Sweet on your cheeks as he draws each word out like rich honey. “You could be killed here for breaking the rules, but you are thinking of something else. Isn’t that right, doll?”

You feel your clit throb at the nickname.

You shake your head, or atleast you try to. Could there be anything more humiliating than fantasizing about someone as him? Probably. But right now, you feel like not giving him the satisfaction of submission.

His tongue darts out to lick his lips, the plush muscle coating his lips in a sheen layer of saliva.

He shakes his head, and a dry, unamused laugh leaves his throat.

“Filthy little liar,” he coaxes. “Do you know what do liars deserve?”

Your eyes widen, but somehow you feel that it’s not going to be the end of you.

Your eyes burn with tears.

And so do your wrists — they are tied behind you with a rag, and your knees actually feel like they’ve been scraped. But oh, sweet heavens, you feel like you could die after this. His cock rams into your mouth — not even half-way through, and hits the back of your throat. Your instincts have your throat constricting, eyes watering, and body squirming.

It’s nearly been 20 minutes, or so you think, since you’ve been kneeling down, getting fucked in your mouth by none other than the arrogant, handsome guard whose cock is so impossibly thick, you feel your jaws hurt. Suit hunched down to thick thighs and cock fished out of black boxers, you feel like this man actually is going to be the death of you.

Your pussy convulses, gushing out another stream of viscous fluid as his hips snap towards your face once more. He moans, a sweet, honeyed sound which makes your insides churn, a smooth beat which has your ego inflating. Your arms feel numb and your wrists hurt at the loss of circulation, but you remember how cruelly he’d tied your arms after your own fingers had reached down to releive the ache of your weeping pussy after the first thrusts of his cock into the wet cavern of your mouth.

He sneers, and grabs your hair — but his touch is surprisingly gentle, unlike his thrusts. Twists your hair into a makeshift ponytail, and forces your head on his length.

“Your mouth feels so good, ahh~”

He likes edging himself — or you. He’s been impossibly close thrice, throbbing and pulsing in your mouth, hissing at your tongue licking a particular angry vein on his cock, but he pulled away each time with a harsh grunt.

His eyes are sharp — glimmering under the dull lights of the lobby. He holds the back of my head and pushes himself down your throat, and you feel yourself gag, your mouth dripping with drool, his cock impossibly closer to your throat, still not down the base. “Y-yeah, you dirty liar, choke.”

It wasn’t definitely your first time with a man — but this man? You had no words. You felt your cheeks warm up, your cunt clench and gush out. You moan, the sound muffled by his cock, and looked up into his dark eyes, wordlessly begging for more. . .

What had gotten into you?

Your senses were overwhelmed ; the taste of his cock, its hardness prying your throat open, the smell of his sweat, the glimpses of his golden skin under his suit and impossibly silky hair sticking to his forehead — and each thrust sending you to a gateway of primal lust.

His hands leave your hair.

And what he does catches you off guard. You were busy eyeing his form, and he takes the advantage of that. His hips buck back to your mouth, freely thrusting as if you were a toy — nudging your throat open as he moaned in victory, his hands on his hips, teeth tugging his lower lips as he presses his cock closer.

“Look at you,” he lets out a small laugh. “Such a good girl. Taking cock so well.”

Your insides feel mushy with the praise. He fucks you through as you willed your throat to relax, knowing that each spasm tightened your throat around his cock, turned him on even more — you could already feel his cock throb back again.

He grits his teeth, and then your mouth is empty.

He’s pulled back — his wrapping around his length, and good heavens, even his enormous hands dont make up to the size of his cock as he lazily strokes his shaft. Red, so red it’s nearly a shade of purple — enlarged and throbbing. Your tongue flicks out as you whine at the loss of cock and he smirks ; as his thumb swipes the pearling pre come over his sapping tip, twisting his strokes as they get frantic, rushed, and more desparate.

“So eager for cum, are you?”

He tries sounding tough, but his voice wavers, ending off in an airy note. Fuck, he is close. His lips part and his head is tossed back as he fucks his fist, jerking off you resist the urge to squirm. The sight is so unbelievably hot — the arrogant guard is about to come.

He looks down at you as the first rope of his seed hits your agape mouth.

Warm, salty, and slightly bitter.

He fills up most of your mouth with his come as he keeps on jerking, and you must say that his aim is pretty accurate. Although some of it dribbles to your cheeks and chin as he groans, a sound so primal you feel your cunt clench and throb, knowing that you made him come so hard that you can see his eyes rolled to the back of his head as the last splurt of come hits your tongue.

You eagerly gulp down his release, surprised at how pleasant he tastes, and how easily you agreed to shallow down.

He, however, doesnt stop.

He leans down to you, close, impossibly close till you can feel the warmth of his face radiating to you. His hand cradles your face as one of his fingers swipe at the come on your cheeks and brings it to your lips.

“You don’t wanna waste it, do you?”

You happily oblige.

But you don’t stop either — you swirl your tongue around the digit, long and slender, similiar to how you’d done to his cock. You see his nostrils flare, and another arrogant smirk tugging up his lips as he narrows his eyes at you, pulling his finger away with a pop.

His hands reaches down to straighten up your shoulders — as your tits perk up, still clothed, but the outline of your pebbled nipples are prominent.

Your cheeks burn at the intensity of his gaze on your chest.

He squats down to your height — and before you realise, your arms are bound free. They feel numb and cold, and you flex them around a bit as blood rushes back to your wrists. You feel slightly awkward and blue balled, still feeling your wetness cling to your folds and your abdomen swirl with heat, but —

His arms slide underneath your thighs as he throws you over his shoulders.

“Wha. . . !! ” your throat feels sore, but you hope he gets the surprise you feel being over his shoulders, limbs held down by him, ass in the air and arms holding onto their dear life on his suit as he carries you both forward. Anyone could see you like this — your bare cunt and ass on display, but you don’t think it bothers him.

Or you. If anything, you feel your heart pick its rate at the idea of being caught.

One of his hands lands a slap on your cheeks and your body jolts forward as you yelp, feeling the sting on the muscle as his huge arm caresses the area, your body carried away by him with long, huge and hurried strides. To somewhere you possibly don’t know. . . .

But you aren’t scared, as ironic as that sounds.

“Did you think we were done already, doll?”

a/n : how did we like it? 😈 your feedback is always appreciated! thanks for reading 💜

[distantdarlings]

ACROSS YOUR SKIN // t. nott

RATING: R / 2.6K WORDS

Theo Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested - based on this* During a Quidditch practice, you accidentally harm Theo and you both learn something new about him.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! Sub!Theo, Dom!reader, Oral sex (male giving, fem receiving), consensual hitting, heavy kissing, language, Quidditch injury, fem reader (lmk if I missed something) (not proofread)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Sweat - ZAYN

- - -

The entirety of this practice had shot by like a knife through air. You could feel the air slicing across your body, penetrating your Quidditch uniform.

The darkened clouds overhead danced along the horizon, concealing the golden sun from the pitch. Your eyes scattered across the field in an attempt to locate the Seeker.

In a flash of green and black, a robed bolt of lightning shot across the pitch, heading downward toward the smallest glint of gold. The Snitch.

You shot your head up, and just as you did, a Bludger sped around the edge of the arena, heading straight for him. You clenched your jaw and angled your broom toward the speeding bullet.

“Blaise!” you shouted over the whoosh of the brooms around you. The boy’s dark eyes found yours quickly.

“Head that off!”

Despite Blaise’s position on the team, he caught sight of the flying Bludger and raced off toward it once he realized you wouldn’t catch it in time.

Today's game was a sort of scrimmage for the Slytherin team to practice. Your team often did this instead of running drills like the Gryffindors. Your teammates found they were better if they practiced the way they played—and you’d have to agree. The game got your heart racing, not stupid drills.

Just as Blaise reached the Bludger, he caught the edge of the heavy object with the tail-end of his broom, using its vortex of built-up speed to send the small ball hurtling toward you.

You gripped your bat, and just before it collided with your arm, you swung wildly. The force of the Bludger hitting your bat sounded like thunder.

You watched as it slung off in the direction of the opposite team’s Quaffle.

You admitted that in the heat of the game, you didn’t consider that the opposite team wasn’t really that; it was your team pretending to be another.

“Watch it! Sorry!” you shouted.

Theodore Nott was in a spiral towards the ground, chasing after the Quaffle Berkshire missed, when the Bludger clipped the end of his broom.

His broom stuttered at the impact and sent him circuiting in the opposite direction. With a deepened yelp, he was thrown violently through the air.

“Theo!” you shouted. You gripped the handle of your broom and pushed it toward the ground. Your hair whipped wildly around you as you rocketed toward the boy who now lay collapsed against the damp sand.

Just before you reached the ground, you pulled up and lept off of the wood, running to gain your balance on the uneven ground. You sped toward the motionless boy, trying to keep your footing.

“Theo!”

The game above you had ceased, and other teammates began to drop behind you, trying to reach the two of you.

You dropped down to your knees beside him and laid your body across his. Your gloved hands gripped his shoulders and shook him roughly, trying to stir some consciousness, but there was nothing.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, fretting endlessly. You pressed your cold hands to his face in an attempt to shock him awake. Nothing.

“Fuck, Theo! Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

You were shaking him and shaking him and—

“THEO!” You brought your hand down across his face swiftly, skin meeting skin in a fiery clap.

Theo’s eyes shot open with a small gasp. A deep sigh of relief pushed from your lungs, and you leaned your forehead against his in a moment of weakness.

Your skin pressed against his, the beads of sweat intermingling like a crown of frost. Your gloved fingertips were gently against his cheeks. Both of your lips were parted, breaths heavy and relieved.

“I wonder if you’d ever do that to me again, bella,” his raspy voice purred against your ear.

“Ugh!” You wrenched yourself away from him, relief turning to annoyance. Of course, he’d take this moment to say something sexual.

“Alright, that’s practice! Everybody get washed up—I’ll get Nott to the infirmary.”

With that, a few of your teammates helped Theo toward the pitch’s exit, and the rest of you headed back for a cold shower.

***

It was a Friday evening which meant that all of your roommates were out for the evening—flitting about Hogsmeade, studying in the library, or whatever. You’d been invited out, but you were unbelievably sore from this afternoon’s practice. Be it because you’d pushed your body as hard as it could go during the actual practice or because you’d practically dove off your broom to get to Theo, you didn’t know. Either way, you were taking an early night.

You were, anyway, until you heard a knock at your door.

At first, you’d just assumed it was one of your roommates checking in for the night, but you were sure you hadn’t locked the door.

You rolled over and faced the thick wooden door, waiting for another knock, just in case you’d imagined it. You didn’t want to get up if you didn’t have to—especially after you’d already gotten so comfortable.

Another knock came to the door, this time a bit quicker and rougher.

You suppressed a sigh and yanked your covers back, headed toward the door at the end of the room. Whoever it was had better have a decent excuse for interrupting your rest. Every step you took felt like a dagger shooting up your legs and back.

The minute your fingers wrapped around the door handle and pulled it back, a tall figure pushed past you and into the room.

“Hey, what—” you began to protest before a voice interrupted yours. It was the same rasping, deep voice from earlier on the Quidditch pitch—one you knew all too well.

“Please, bella, let me stay,” he begged, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t get you out of my head.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. This was Theo. The two of you had been on the same Quidditch team since you were eleven, you knew everything there was to know about each other. Except how badly he apparently wanted you, it seemed.

“Theo, I—”

“Please,” he spoke, eyes wide and wanting. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear. Just let me have you—just this once.”

“We can’t do this…we’re in the same house, on the same team, we’d just fuck everything up!” you tried to reason with him. There were a thousand reasons why nothing romantic should ever happen between you and Theo and zero reasons why they should, yet…the way he stared at you with such desire imprinted in his oceanic eyes had your knees weak.

“Please, I will do anything to have you,” he said. His voice cracked beneath the weight of his desire, the volume little more than a pathetic whisper.

And just as you were about to turn him away for the final time, he sank down to his knees just before you. His hands reached out for you, asking wordlessly to touch you. When you didn’t pull away, his shaking fingers made contact with your bare legs.

One arm curled around one leg, and the other pushed between your thighs. With begging strength, he pulled himself to you, pressing his shuddering, parted lips gently against your flesh. The feeling of his hot breath against your skin sent chills across your body.

Your eyes fluttered for a fleeting second as you imagined the possibilities—ones of you tangled within the sheets and devouring every inch of his body.

“Please,” he practically whined the word, his breath hot and panting against you. His hands clutched your legs endlessly, his lips across your skin, your fingers curling in his hair. You didn’t really recall doing that. Fuck.

“Okay, Teddy,” you whispered. His head shot up quickly, and his eyes searched yours. He looked in disbelief as if he hardly believed you’d ever say yes.

“But you do everything I say.” You removed one of your hands from his curls to trace the knuckles down the length of his cheek.

“Yes, bella,” he sighed, his eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your hands on his skin.

His breath caught in his throat as your next words hit his ears. His eyes glanced up at you only for a moment before he was slipping his trembling fingers beneath the fabric of your night shorts.

His touch felt like fire along your flesh, melting and scarring everything it touched. Your head tilted back slowly as he worked the clothing down your legs, his movements slow and methodical.

Just as soon as they were on, your shorts pooled on the floor around your ankles, and Theo pressed his nose to your core, eliciting an electric response from you.

Your fingers tightened in his curls as the tip of his nose bumped against you. It was clear from his slowed breathing and caressing lips that he wanted to touch you badly. But still, he listened.

When giving instructions, you had told him to pull your bottoms down and to place himself just before you but not to touch you yet. You wanted him to beg even more. You loved how pathetic he sounded.

“Baby,” he whispered against your skin, hot breath flowing down your legs. His pale eyes stared up at you with desperation leaking around the edges. His eyebrows furrowed deeply, begging you to allow him to touch you. His fingers practically vibrated along the edge of your skin, every other shudder forcing him to come into contact with you.

“What do you say, Teddy?” you breathed, your eyes fluttering shut.

“Please…,” he whispered, his fingers curling tightly into the fabric of your nightshirt. “How many times shall I say it? I’ll say it a thousand times if I have to.”

“Just once more, then you can touch.”

“Please, my love.” His voice was soft and cracking. The words he chose made your head spin, making you wonder what kind of feelings he was truly harboring for you. Were they purely sexual or perhaps something more? You weren’t sure. It was a question for another day.

“Touch me, Teddy.”

With a shuddering exhale, he pressed his mouth to the core of your body in a hot, languorous motion. At the feeling, your fingers returned to their station in his hair, pulsating against his scalp. Your head rolled back against your shoulders. Your throat strained against the flesh of your neck, sending sparks of sound down through your chest at every moan that exited your lips.

He destroyed you sweetly from the outside in, feasting on you like fruit in the summer. His desperation to touch you, to taste you, to fuck you was pulsing through him like a bullet. Your legs began to shake beneath the feeling of his lips on you.

When he realized your knees had begun to shake, he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pushed you up and over onto your bed.

As your back hit the length of your mattress, a soft gasp left you as you realized his lips had never left you. He had never pulled away from you despite the motion. He had never pulled away, and your end was rapidly approaching.

“Close,” you whispered to the air. At the word, Theo’s hands clutched around your hips tightly, pulling you even closer to his mean mouth. A yelp escaped your lips at the sudden intensity of his tongue. Nothing could have ever prepared you for the feeling of the boy beneath you.

His eyes refused to leave you. They resembled that of a predator in the wild feasting on his prey, with no regret of what he was consuming. He could have eaten you whole right now, and you would not have felt any less pleasure.

Your fingers wrapped into the duvet beneath you, pressure increasing with each second. The breaths entering and exiting you increased heavily as your body skated closer and closer to the edge.

A small groan from Theo’s mouth sent shockwaves up the length of your body. The fuzzy feeling pooled in your head at the base of your skull and neck. You weren’t going to last much longer.

You glanced down to warn Theo that he would have to move away when you registered what the boy beneath you was doing. His eyes, now peacefully shut, refused to falter despite his body's motion.

His hips rolled roughly into the edge of your mattress, pushing pleasure through the rest of his body. His eyebrows began to knit into a rough line just as you began to tip over the edge of your mind. Your head rolled back against your pillow, Theo’s mouth showing no mercy despite the pleasure he was now giving himself.

You could barely stand to hold onto the comforters above you anymore; the only thing you could bear to grip was Theo’s honeyed curls, and with each tug to the delicate strand, he’d release another moan against you.

In a second, you fell over the edge, cascading into an overwhelming high that rose your body away from the bed. No matter how far into it you were, Theo refused to slow down and moved you through the whole moment, never relinquishing his mouth’s movements.

You finished with a cracking groan and shuddering legs. The weight of Theo’s hands against your thighs barely kept them from rising off the bed.

He chuckled evilly, a mixture of slick and spit running down his chin and neck. His lips were swollen and reddened, begging to taste your mouth.

He began to crawl up the bed towards you, but you stopped him with a foot placed delicately on his chest. You shook your head weakly and angled your head towards the obvious problem that had blossomed beneath his trousers. A lazy smirk spread across his lips.

“Finish,” you demanded, your eyes heavy and lidded, your lips parted and panting. The sweat from your exertion bled down your neck and between your breasts.

“Please, bella, let me touch you—”

“No, you’ve touched me enough,” you whispered. “Finish yourself in front of me.”

He swallowed thickly, the motion of his throat sending a shiver across your arms. He was the perfect specimen of a man, you could hardly stand it.

And when his hands dropped to separate the button and zipper of his pants, you could have come again. His hands slid across his slick stomach and pressed against himself.

His eyes screwed shut, and a slight hiss left his lips at the sensation. There was something so empowering about watching him do anything you told him to. It felt absolutely perfect, and you never wanted to stop.

His free hand rose to his face and slid the remaining sheen from his mouth across himself, the scent of you mixed with the consistency had him very quickly rolling his hips into his fist. He groaned against the feeling, bracing himself on the mattress just above you.

His eyes could barely hold yours, yet every time they fluttered shut, you laid a light slap to his cheek.

“Keep your eyes on me, Teddy,” you whispered. The skin on his face was becoming redder by the moment, but every time your hand came into contact with his cheek, he seemed to get closer to his climax. You never would have pegged Theo as someone who wanted to be hit by his partner, but it seemed to be working wonders for him. He was pathetic and begging for more after two or three hits. It felt perfect.

“That’s it, Teddy, that’s it, baby,” you whispered against his swollen lips. “Take it.”

And within a few moments, he was groaning and releasing himself against his hands, and you were pulling his lips to yours by his hair and devouring him just as he’d done to you.

Tag List: @lilymurphy03, @mypolicemanharryyy, @clairesjointshurt, @bunbunbl0gs, @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303, @thestarlithideout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw, @yhiiil, @ravenclawprincess33, @xxrougefangxx, @thatblackthorn, @robinyx, @starsval, @jolly4holly, @blvebanisters, @chgrch

[joelsrose]

Burning Desire

warnings: 18+ content !!!!! dirty talk, handjob, m! receiving oral - eeeeek I don’t write smut that often bc I’m not sure if I’m the best at it so if you enjoy pls let me know!!!

my masterlist

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It was hot—too hot in Jackson. The type of heat that clung to the air like a second skin, so heavy and unrelenting that even the faintest whisper of wind brought no relief. It was the kind of hot that seeped into the walls, turning your home into a suffocating box, the kind that made sweat gather in the crook of your neck and slide down your spine.

“Fuck this,” you muttered, wrestling with the old fan. Its blades gave a weak, uneven groan, the sound of a machine long past its prime. It sputtered for a moment before giving up entirely, leaving you alone to suffer in the still, sweltering air.

The ventilation system had been out for three days now. At first, you told yourself it was fine, no big deal. You’d lived through worse before you came to Jackson.

By the second day, you were over it. The sweat, the restless nights, the way the heat sucked the energy from your bones. You’d tried everything—propping open the windows, draping wet cloths over your forehead—but nothing seemed to help. The thought of another day like this was enough to make you want to scream.

You sighed, swiping at the bead of sweat that clung stubbornly to your forehead. The thick, humid air inside your house had grown unbearable, pushing you out the door and into the blistering sun. The heat wrapped around you like a smothering blanket, the kind that didn’t just sit on your skin but burrowed deep into your bones, pounding relentlessly on every inch of exposed flesh.

You made your way down the dirt path to Tommy’s house, your irritation building with each sluggish step. By the time you reached their porch, you were half-ready to tear the door off its hinges. Before you could knock, Maria opened it, greeting you with a sly smile.

“Well, hello there,” she said, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“Not now, Maria,” you muttered, brushing past her playful tone. “Where’s your husband?”

Maria chuckled knowingly, folding her arms. “Your ventilation still down? I told you, you could stay here.”

“And listen to you guys have sex every night? No, thanks.” You shot her a dry look before stepping inside and calling out, “Tommy!”

The sound of boots against wood echoed from another room, followed by a gruff, familiar voice. “Christ, what’s goin’ on here?” Tommy appeared in the doorway, brows raised, his eyes sweeping over you. “And why do you look like you just ran through a damn sprinkler?”

You glared at him, swiping at the sweat-soaked neckline of your shirt. “Because it’s a hundred degrees in my house, Tommy. And because someone”—your tone sharpened, the implication clear—“hasn’t come by to fix it.”

Tommy sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression one of mild exasperation. “Alright, alright. Let me grab my tools before you melt all over Maria’s floor.”

“Baby,” Maria interjected, her voice lilting with amusement. “You got that thing?”

Tommy froze for half a second, his hand moving from his neck to scratch the edge of his jaw. “Oh… fuck,” he murmured under his breath, his posture stiffening in that telltale way that said something had slipped his mind.

Your brows shot up, arms crossing as you stared him down. “Tommy, I swear to God,” you started, your tone sharp and cracking with heat-induced frustration, “I’m not even being dramatic right now, but if this thing isn’t fixed by the end of the day, I legitimately might shoot someone.”

Tommy chuckled, low and easy, as though the idea of you snapping didn’t rattle him in the slightest. “Well, we can’t have that,” he drawled, his hands settling on his hips in that casually smug way that always made you want to throttle him. “Alright, I’ll send Joel over this afternoon. He’s free.”

He was already moving toward the front door before the words fully registered. “Wait—what?” you blurted, following after him. “Joel?”

“Yeah, Joel. You’ve met him, right?” Tommy glanced back over his shoulder, his tone as nonchalant as if he’d just told you the weather. “Big guy, mean face?”

You had, in fact, met Joel. A handful of times since he’d arrived last month. To be honest, you were still trying to figure him out. He was brusque, gruff, and always seemed to have this permanent scowl etched into his features. To this day, you couldn’t quite wrap your head around the fact that he and Tommy were brothers. They were so different—Tommy with his easy charm and constant smirk, Joel with his sharp eyes and the kind of silence that always felt a little heavy, like it might snap at any moment. Then again, you didn’t know Joel. Not the way you knew Tommy.

“Fine,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you turned back toward the porch. “As long as it’s fixed.”

You didn’t wait for a response, stepping back into the searing heat. Behind you, Maria’s voice rang out in mock cheer, “Nice to see you too!”

Without turning, you threw a hand in the air, flipping her off as you walked away. Her laugh followed you, light and teasing, and somehow, despite the heat, it managed to make you smile.

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You lay sprawled on the bench of your front porch, eyes closed against the bright glare of the sun, lazily fanning yourself. The heat inside your house had been unbearable, so you’d come outside, hoping for even the slightest breeze to ease your suffering. But the air was still, and the heat clung to you no matter where you went.

You’d resorted to wearing your tiniest pair of shorts and a worn-out singlet, an outfit you wouldn’t dream of being seen in beyond the safety of your porch. But right now, the mere thought of adding another layer felt like cruel and unusual punishment.

The creak of the gate and the sound of heavy boots on the porch’s wooden planks barely registered in your haze. Then came a cough—a quiet, gravelly sound that snapped your eyes open.

Standing there, broad shoulders framed by the relentless sun, was Joel. You blinked, suddenly unsure if it was the heat making you lightheaded or… something else. Had he always been this handsome? The sharp set of his jaw, the flecks of silver in his beard that caught the light, the way his shirt stretched over arms that looked like they could build or break anything in their path. You’d noticed him before, sure, but not like this—not when he was standing so close, with his presence so solid and consuming.

“Uh… Tommy sent me over,” Joel said, his low voice breaking through your trance. He stood there awkwardly, one hand resting on his hip, the other rubbing the back of his neck. His gaze swept over you briefly before landing somewhere just past your shoulder, as though he was deliberately trying not to look at you too closely.

“Oh. Right. Shit, sorry.” You scrambled to sit up, brushing at your shorts like that would somehow make this less mortifying. For some reason—maybe the heat, maybe pure instinct—you extended your hand toward him. A handshake. Really? What were you, a fucking realtor?

Joel’s brows knit together in confusion, but he took your hand anyway, his grip firm but hesitant. His rough, calloused palm dwarfed yours, his skin warm and textured in a way that made your stomach flip. You prayed he couldn’t feel how clammy your own hand was, though judging by the flicker of something on his face—amusement, maybe?—he definitely noticed.

“Uh,” you stammered, withdrawing your hand too quickly, as though it had been burned. “Thanks for coming over.”

Joel gave a slow nod, his gaze finally meeting yours. “No problem,” he said simply.

You cleared your throat, trying to swallow the warmth rising in your face—not from the sun but from the way Joel’s presence seemed to pull at something inside you. “Well… follow me,” you murmured, stepping past him to open the door, your voice barely above a whisper.

He gave a curt nod, his boots echoing softly against the wooden planks as he followed you inside. The air in the house was stifling, thick and oppressive, but Joel didn’t seem fazed. You led him through the narrow hallway toward the ventilation system, your fingers brushing over the walls for balance as you fought to ignore the weight of his gaze lingering on your back.

“This way,” you said, your voice tighter than you meant it to be.

When you reached the corner where the old, battered system sat, Joel was all business. He crouched down without a word, his hands moving with practiced precision as he inspected the unit. His brow furrowed in concentration, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he adjusted a panel.

You stood off to the side, arms crossed, trying not to stare too openly, but it was impossible not to notice the way the sweat on his neck glistened in the dim light, or the way his broad shoulders filled the space.

“Been runnin’ this thing into the ground, haven’t you?” Joel muttered, mostly to himself as he fiddled with the system. His tone was dry, almost amused, as though the sorry state of your ventilation wasn’t exactly surprising.

You shrugged, “I’m just a girl.”

At that, he paused, turning to look at you with a raised eyebrow, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and mild amusement.

It was distracting—how good he looked like this. The sun streaming through the window seemed to catch every rough-hewn line of his face, the sweat on his brow glinting faintly in the light. And then there was his shirt, the hem riding up as he reached for something in the toolbox, exposing a sliver of tan, muscular skin that made your stomach flip in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

You swallowed hard, tearing your gaze away as you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to play it cool. “So, uh…” you started, your voice coming out too soft. Clearing your throat, you tried again. “How’d you know how to do all this?”

Joel sighed, the sound low and almost weary, as though the answer wasn’t worth much to him. “Was in construction. Worked with Tommy.”

“Really?” you said, tilting your head as you watched him. “Guess that explains the whole ‘fix anything, grumble about it later’ vibe you’ve got going on.”

Joel paused for a moment, glancing at you over his shoulder. His brows furrowed, lips tugged into the faintest frown. “What the hell’re you talkin’ about?” he said, his voice low and gravelly, laced with genuine confusion.

Your face burned. You waved a hand in the air, trying to dismiss the awkwardness. “Nothing. Uh, I’ll be back,” you muttered, spinning on your heel before he could say anything else.

You escaped to the kitchen, gripping the edge of the counter as you tried to compose yourself. “Get it together, girl,” you muttered under your breath, taking a few deep, steadying breaths.

Spotting a pitcher of water on the counter, you grabbed a glass. Offer him water. Be normal. That’s not weird, you told yourself. Glass in hand, you walked back toward him, your heart thudding unreasonably loud in your chest.

“I got some water—” you started, but before you could finish your sentence, your foot caught on something—probably that damn rug you hadn’t straightened out. The glass slipped from your hand as you pitched forward, stumbling with an embarrassingly loud yelp.

The next few seconds blurred together. Joel turned just as you fell, his hands moving quickly to catch you. The glass hit the floor with a clatter, shattering everywhere.

“Jesus,” Joel muttered, his strong hands steadying you, one gripping your arm and the other braced on your waist. His eyes scanned you, his voice gruff but laced with concern. “You alright?”

You blinked up at him, your face inches from his. His hand was warm and solid on your waist, and the way he looked at you—stern, steady—made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with the fall. “Yeah,” you breathed, your voice a little too shaky. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… clumsy.”

Joel’s lips twitched, not quite a smile, but close. “That much’s obvious,” he said, his tone dry as he helped you straighten up. “Maybe let me get my own water next time.”

After what felt like forever, Joel finally let go, his hands dropping from your waist. You stumbled back, the heat of his touch lingering on your skin as you scrambled to the ground, muttering under your breath, “Fuck,” more to yourself than anyone else.

Your eyes darted to the shards of glass scattered across the floor. You reached out quickly, eager to clean up the mess and avoid any more embarrassment. But as your hand shot forward, Joel crouched down at the same time, his larger hand moving to grab the same piece of glass.

And that’s when it happened.

Your hand missed the glass entirely and landed firmly… on him. Right there.

Time froze, the air between you suddenly too thick to breathe, the moment stretching unbearably as you both registered what had just happened. Your heart slammed against your ribcage, panic and mortification washing over you in waves. But that wasn’t what truly hit you, what really sent your mind reeling. No, it was something else entirely.

He was hard.

Rock solid beneath your touch.

You gasped, your breath catching as your gaze snapped up to meet his. His expression was unreadable, his jaw clenched tight, and his chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. The tension between you was electric, crackling with something neither of you wanted to name.

Your shock quickly morphed into something deeper, a slow, smoldering heat coiling low in your stomach. Your lips parted, but no words came, your mind too overwhelmed to form a coherent thought. Joel cleared his throat abruptly, breaking the charged silence. He stood in one swift motion, his voice gruff and uneven as he muttered, “I’m gonna… get some water.”

You stayed there for a beat, still kneeling on the floor, the cool shards of glass forgotten in your hands. The room felt stifling, the tension from moments ago lingering in the air like smoke. But then you heard the faint clink of a glass in the kitchen, and before you could second-guess yourself, you stood and followed him.

When you stepped into the doorway, Joel’s back was to you, his broad shoulders pulling taut under the fabric of his shirt as he raised a glass of water to his lips. His head tilted back, exposing the thick column of his neck, and you felt that heat inside you flare, spreading through your limbs like wildfire.

He turned then, lowering the glass, his gaze meeting yours. His face was unreadable, but the tension in his jaw and the flicker in his eyes betrayed him. He didn’t say a word—didn’t have to. The charged silence between you said enough.

Your breath caught in your throat, and before you could think it through, you stepped forward. The air shifted as you sank to your knees in front of him, your fingers trembling as they reached for his belt. His breath hitched audibly, his body stiffening as he looked down at you.

“What are you doin’?” His voice was low, strained, but there was no mistaking the way his hands hovered at his sides, unsure whether to stop you—or help you.

You didn’t answer, your hands moving instinctively, your gaze locked on his as you worked the leather strap loose.

You yanked his jeans down in one swift motion, the fabric pooling around his ankles. His breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling as you knelt before him.

Just as your fingers moved to the waistband of his boxers, Joel’s hand shot out, gripping a fistful of your hair and pulling your head back, forcing your gaze up to meet his. The movement was firm, commanding, his expression shadowed and intense.

“The fuck are you doin’?” he growled.

You smiled up at him, unbothered, as though this were the simplest thing in the world. “Helping you,” you said, your voice soft but sure.

For a moment, he just stared at you, his jaw tight, his breath ragged. “Fuck,” Joel muttered under his breath, his grip loosening slightly, his eyes darkening. “You’re dirty, y’know that?”

“Go ahead, baby,” he murmured, releasing you.

You didn’t hesitate. Your fingers slipped under the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down in one smooth motion. His length sprang free, slapping against his abdomen, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet room. The sight of him made your breath hitch, heat pooling low in your stomach as your eyes traced every inch of him.

“Shit,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, your lips parting as your mouth watered at the sight.

Joel’s hand found your hair again, his grip firmer this time, guiding your gaze back to his face. “You gonna just stare, or you gonna show me what that smart mouth can do?” he drawled, his voice thick with tension.

You smiled as you began to lean into him.

“Wait,” Joel said, his voice rough and strained, stopping you just before your lips could meet his tip. You froze, looking up at him, the hunger in your eyes mirrored in his.

“Wanna taste you first,” he murmured, his words slow and deliberate, like a promise. “Before you’re all full of me.”

The heat in his voice sent a jolt straight to your core, leaving you breathless. Before you could even process what he meant, his hand tightened in your hair, pulling you to your feet with an almost desperate force.

His lips crashed against yours, feverish and unrelenting, his kiss filled with a raw, unspoken need. A muffled “mhmm” escaped your lips as your body melted against his, your hands bracing against his chest.

But your hand didn’t stay there for long. It slid back down, wrapping around his length as you began stroking him, slow and deliberate at first, before picking up the pace. The weight of him in your palm only made the ache inside you worse, and the quiet, guttural noise Joel let out against your lips sent a shiver down your spine.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice deep and reverent, his forehead pressing to yours for a brief second. “Alright,” he said, his tone commanding now, his hands moving to your shoulders. “Back down.”

You didn’t hesitate, sinking to your knees once more, the hunger in his eyes making your pulse race.

Your mouth enveloped him slowly, your tongue working along his cock, tasting the salt of his skin. Joel’s breath hitched sharply, his hand moving to cradle your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as his other hand gripped the edge of the kitchen counter for balance.

“Fuckkk, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, his head tilting back slightly as his eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

Then his gaze snapped back down to you, and the sight of you looking up at him—lips wrapped around him, eyes wide and full of intent—made his jaw tighten. “Shit, you’re good at that,” he groaned, his tone full of awe and desperation.

You kept your pace steady, bobbing your head as your hands worked to cover the rest of him, your fingers curling around his base.

The heat in the room felt almost unbearable now, the sweat on your skin mingling with the faint stickiness of the floor beneath your knees. It hurt—your knees digging into the hardwood—but it didn’t matter. The sound of his breathing, the way his fingers tightened in your hair, made every discomfort worth it.

Joel’s free hand reached down, his thumb brushing a bead of sweat from your forehead, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the tension in his body. “So fuckin’ pretty,” he muttered, almost to himself, his voice rough and uneven.

You hummed in response, the vibration pulling a deep groan from him, his hips bucking slightly despite his effort to stay in control.

Joel’s hand tightened in your hair, gathering it into a makeshift grip as he began to move, his hips thrusting into your mouth with a newfound urgency. The pace was hard and fast, his rhythm rough, but the desperation in his movements only fueled the heat pooling in your core.

Your fingers clutched at his thighs, trying to ground yourself against the intensity of it all. The muscles under your hands were taut, flexing with every drive of his hips, and the sheer force of him overwhelmed you, pushing you closer to the edge of control. You gagged around him, your throat tightening as he hit the back of it, but instead of pulling away, you let out a muffled moan, spurring him on further.

“So fucking good for me,” Joel groaned, his voice raw and strained as he looked down at you. His hand stayed firm in your hair, guiding you as he took what he needed, his eyes burning with a mix of hunger and awe. “On the floor, like this… Jesus Christ.”

You freed one hand from his thigh, letting it slide down to cup his balls, your fingers massaging gently as you continued your rhythm. Joel’s breathing grew heavier, a sharp inhale escaping his lips as his head tipped back slightly.

“Shit, darlin’,” he groaned, his voice rough and strained, every word drenched in desperation. “Not gonna… not gonna last much longer.”

Abruptly, Joel pulled himself out, his breathing ragged as he looked down at you, his eyes dark and hungry “Where d’you want me, baby?” Joel asked again, his voice slower this time, almost a drawl, but it didn’t lack intensity.

His free hand brushed the side of your face, rough fingers tracing over your cheek like he had all the time in the world—though the look in his eyes told you he was on the brink of losing control.

You licked your lips, the salty taste of him still on your tongue, and let the words tumble out before you could second-guess yourself. “In my mouth,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, thick with arousal. “I want you in my mouth.”

“Yeah?” Joel breathed, his jaw tightening as his hips jerked forward instinctively. His thumb brushed across your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly, his dark eyes drinking you in.

You nodded eagerly, your breath hitching as the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. The hunger between you was almost unbearable now, the air charged with a raw, unspoken need.

“Fuck,” Joel grunted, his voice strained as though he was barely holding himself together. His grip on your hair tightened, and his other hand braced against the counter for support. “Okay, baby. Go ahead.”

Without giving you time to respond, he thrust back into your mouth, his movements rougher now, his pace relentless.

His head tilted back, a low groan rumbling deep in his chest as he buried himself in the warmth of you, his hand tightening in your hair to hold you steady. You let him take control, your hands gripping his thighs for support as you worked in time with him, your mouth and tongue doing everything you could to draw him closer to the edge.

Joel’s breathing turned ragged, his body trembling slightly as he braced himself against the counter. “Fuck, baby,” he growled, his voice breaking. “So damn perfect. Can’t—fuck—can’t hold it much longer.”

His grip faltered for just a moment, his movements growing erratic as he chased his release. And then he was spilling into you, a string of low curses falling from his lips as he held you against him, his cum sitting heavy and warm in your mouth.

“Open your mouth,” Joel commanded, his voice rough and steady, his hand tightening in your hair to hold you in place. His tone left no room for hesitation, and you complied instantly, parting your lips and tilting your head slightly so he could see himself on painted all over your tongue.

“Shit,” Joel murmured, his eyes darkening as he looked down at you, his chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths.

“Now swallow,” Joel commanded, his voice rough and full of authority, his grip on your hair firm as he watched you.

You swallowed instinctively, your throat working around the command as the taste of him lingered on your tongue. Your panties dampened at the sound of his deep groan and the way his chest heaved as he took in the sight of you.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice gravelly, a low growl rumbling from his throat as his hand moved to your face. His thumb wiped away a bead of his cum from the corner of your lip.

Without another word, Joel reached down, pulling his pants back up with a practiced ease, as if nothing had happened. His movements were calm, deliberate, his face unreadable as he fastened his belt.

You stayed on your knees, still dazed, your mind spinning from everything that had just transpired. The ache in your knees was nothing compared to the heat coursing through your body, leaving you breathless and utterly unmoored.

Joel glanced down at you, his expression softening for the briefest moment before he leaned down, his rough hands sliding beneath your arms to help you up.

Once you were on your feet, he straightened, rubbing the back of his neck with a sigh. “Now,” he muttered, his voice gruff, “let’s fix this damn thing.”

And just like that, he turned, moving back toward the broken ventilation system as if nothing had happened, leaving you standing in your kitchen, stunned.

Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, your body still trembling, still achingly hot—for an entirely different reason now.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

⋆｡𖦹 if you wanted to kill Bill, this might do it °⭒˚

somewhere in the woods, you take everything from Bill Cipher by loving Stanford Pines

tags: nsfw, smut, Ford Pines x fem reader, angst, fluff, vaginal & oral sex (m receiving), voyeurism, praise kink, when you hate your man’s toxic ex so much you use his statue as a bed frame, i wrote this to spite Bill Cipher

Ford has never been this weak in his life.

Above, somewhere in the tangled branches, birds chatter and sing, oblivious to what you're doing with your scientist. The leaves rustle from the wind as golden sun drips through the canopy. But down here, where you kneel in the warm dirt, Ford is loosing his smart mind.

It all started with your feigned surprise. “Stanford Pines, tell me, what does my dress have to do with topography?”

“Its not what- It’s-! Oh, hell.”

The woods are golden in the late afternoon light, it’s warm, honeyed summer and everything is moving through syrup.

“Oh, god,” he's already ruined, god bless him. ”this is- this is entirely unnecessary, we could’ve waited until we returned to— ahh—” says the man who got so distracted because he kept catching glimpses of your thighs every time the breeze lifted your dress.

You interrupt him, pressing your tongue to the sensitive tip of his cock and the sound is so pretty, so pathetic, that you moan softly against him just to hear it again.

He's never known a greater pleasure than your hands on him.

His head tilts back, exposing the cut of his throat, the sharp bob of his adam’s apple. Such a mess already, his chest rising too fast beneath his sweater. His six fingers twitch as he wants to grab your hair but doesn’t dare to, always so careful, so controlled.

Meanwhile you keep your hands on his thighs, pressing your nails into the fabric of his pants, and Ford jolts at the sensation, at the impossible warmth of your wet mouth around him. You squeeze him a little tighter, just to see how much he can take.

Ford bucks forward involuntarily, moaning so sweetly, so needy, and oh, god, you feel yourself getting wetter from just the sound of him.

He is shaking and his breath is uneven, back pressed against the rough bark of the tree, he grips at it helplessly, desperately trying to silence himself, but there’s no holding on, no steadying himself. Not when you’re doing this to him.

“S-Sweetheart—” he gasps, cracking on your name. “oh, you— you’re—” he wants to say something smart, something clever, of how you shouldn't be doing this here, but his mind is nothing but white noise and you know it, because when you take him deeper, let him hit the back of your throat just to hear him sob, he actually whimpers.

His hips jerk and he immediately grips the bark harder, forces himself to still. Poor Ford, trying so hard to be good. You press your nails deeper into him, warning him, slowing down to make him squirm, determined to make him louder.

Ford groans, lets his head thump against the tree. You’re torturing him. “dont t-tease. . .”

You’re taking your time, savoring this moment, savoring him, moving in slow, teasing strokes. When you pull off with a sloppy, wet sound and your breath fan over him, pressing a gentle kiss to the flushed tip, Ford looks down at you with question on his flushed face.

“So quiet.” you murmur, nuzzling against his length, feeling the heat of him against your skin, the soft press of his cock against your cheek.

Ford’s gives you an awkward tiny smile. “well, we are in the middle of a forest, darling, i-i can’t exactly—” he blinks, panting, glazed eyes locking onto yours, hoping you'll understand.

No, you dont. “but i want to hear you.” you lick a slow stripe up his length, and Ford bites his knuckles, because that's too sexy for a nerd like him. No one, no fucking one had ever done that to him. He tries to muffle the soft, helpless groan that escapes him, tries to stay quiet by biting at his own skin, fingers.

You stop immediately, frowning up at him.

He gasps in disappointment, blinking down at you, disoriented. “wh- but why did you—?”

You press your cheek to the side of his cock, again, pouting. “i told you, Ford,” look up at him through your lashes. “let me hear you.”

Stanford lets out a breathless mix of a laugh and a groan, tilting his head back against the tree in defeat, taking a deep breath. “darling, you're going to destroy me.” but you know that tone of his, he can't argue back, because he's ready to do anything for his beloved.

Satisfied with your victory, you take him into your mouth, feeling the way his thick cock twitches on your tongue, filling your mouth so perfectly. You work him slow, gripping his base with your free hand.

Ford whimpers, slapping one hand over his mouth before he remembers, remembers your request, remembers that you want to hear him.

He drops his hand, exhales sharply and finally moans. God, he's so beautiful like that, face contorted in pleasure, brows knit together, lips parting, whole body shakes under your touch. You, you, you, all because of you. He’s so damn gorgeous, so vulnerable like this and you can’t help but feel that ache, the deep ache of needing to please him, of wanting to worship him, all of him, your lovely scientist.

“My brilliant girl,” he groans, adoring. “oh, sweetheart, my love, my love, please—“ you hollow your cheeks, taking him deeper, swallowed him whole, greedily, as if he is the last thing you'd ever taste and Ford practically sobs. “feels good, can’t— i can’t! if you keep going, i won’t last.”

“So good for me, Ford,” you praise him, dragging your warm tongue along his length slowly. “so brilliant,” smiling, you wrap your hand around the base, pumping him lazily what makes Ford let out the most pathetic desperate sound imaginable. “so handsome,” and when you reach the sensitive spot just beneath the head, he nearly folds.

“Darling, oh, oh, oh—!” you hum against him, because you can feel the way he’s straining to hold himself back, to keep from just snapping his hips forward and fucking your mouth properly. Ford wants it, needs it, but he’s too embarrassed to admit it, he wants to pull you closer, wants to thrust deeper, but he also wants to let you do whatever you want to him.

He wants to stay like this forever

But Ford is Ford, always so polite, so careful, gentle, even like this. And you love him for it

“You can move,” you murmur sweetly as you take him back into your mouth.

Ford curses, exhales a trembling breath, but his hips roll forward hesitantly. Six fingered hands finally leave the tree, sliding into your hair, unsure, scared to hurt his lovely girl. He holds your head, guiding himself into your warm mouth, finally losing that last shred of restraint.

And you love it, love how helpless and horny he is, completely at your mercy, how his whole body shakes just from the feel of your mouth. His body overriding his poor, struggling self-control.

You relax into it, adjusting to his pace, letting him use your mouth to satisfy himself, letting him set the pace.

“Ohh, you feel. . . you feel so good, taking me so well!” Ford thrusts into your mouth again and he’s moaning, groaning, whimpering your name like it’s holy. Your hands slide down, one still pumping around the base. Then Ford chokes on his next breath when your fingers trace along his balls, tears in the corners of his eyes as he gazes down at you, completely undone.

“Ohh, oh— oh, love, oh, mhmm—” his knees nearly give out, Ford tenses, head tilting back, jaw slack, eyes squeezed shut, his thighs tremble, his stomach tightens and he knows, he knows, he knows that he's right at the edge. “oh, too much! I c-can’t—”

Slickness trails down your own thighs, you're dripping, feeling your own need building just from the taste of him, the sounds of him, the way he whispers your name like a prayer. You hum around him, swirling your tongue, taking him deeper, deeper until he’s hitting the back of your throat again. His fingers tighten in your hair. Good, you think, he's close. First sign of his impending orgasm. You know this man like the back of your hand

“You’re, nghh, you’re so good, so— so brilliant, my brilliant girl” you moan around him, because god, you love it when Ford calls you that. He feels the vibration from your muffled sounds. You look up at him through your lashes, cheeks hollowed around his cock and he absolutely crumbles when you roll his balls between your fingers again, massaging them gently.

Ford's gone, moaning so beautifully loud, choking on your name, shaking violently and then he’s coming hard, his whole body locks up, hips jerking as he holds your head firmly, roots of your hair start to hurt and your jaw aches already, but that's so hot when Ford gets a little bit rough like that.

He's loud, so loud, he can’t hold it back, can’t stop the sounds spilling from his lips, his always so calm voice pitches up, sounding so high and desperate. Ford babbles your name between gasps, begging without even realising as he cums in your mouth.

“Oh, f-fuck, fuck! mhmm, s-sweetheart, I— ohh— fuck, im cumming—“ his voice is hoarse while his body shaking.

And you take it all, let him ride it out as long as your lovely scientist needs, until hes shaking. His glasses are fogged up as sweat rolls down his forehead, his knees nearly buckle.

And above, somewhere high in the trees, a bird trills obliviously into the quiet.

You pull off him with the dirtiest sound ever, swallowing everything he gave you, licking your lips, and Ford watches you do it with glassy, half-lidded eyes. He sags back against the tree, panting like crazy, dazed.

You wipe the corner of your mouth with your thumb, smiling in satisfaction. God, your jaw feels so sore. . . but then your eyes widen a little when he cups your cheek, running his thumb over your swollen lips. His hands are still shaking. Ford looks at you in awe, dumbfounded, totally in love, obsessed, yours.

And that’s when he finally moves.

He grabs you, yanks you up, presses you against the tree. He’s kissing you instantly, tasting himself on your lips, moaning into your mouth while trembling hands hike up your dress. He slips his hand into your panties, feeling the evidence of your arousal, running slow circles over your swollen clit.

Ford groans, presses you tighter against the tree, and this time, he won’t stop until he’s completely buried inside you.

“Right now. I need you, right now.” his fingers tighten in the fabric of your dress, bunching it higher, exposing you completely. Turning you to face the tree, Ford lines himself up, running the head of his cock slowly through your soft folds, memorizing every reaction.

Your summer dress is hiked up around your waist, panties dangling at your ankles, and Ford is right behind you as he desperately adjusts himself between your legs, the thick head of him nudging against your entrance.

“Ford, please!” you squirm, pushing back against him desperately, arching into him.

He presses a kiss to your bare shoulder. Ford, your brilliant, nerdy man, so desperate to be inside you and you're nothing but a puddle beneath him. He’s in love with you, so deeply in love and he can’t hide it anymore, not when you’re like this, not when you’re giving him all of you, when you're being so good for him. He’s so turned on by the idea of having you out here, exposed, but he’s also so fucking in awe of you.

“I have you, sweetheart.”

And then he pushes in, as always he does it, so slow, careful and deliberate, feeling how your warmth welcomes him. You suck in a sharp breath, stretching around him, feeling every inch of his throbbing cock. You drop your frehead against the bark.

“Dear god, you feel— you feel so good, sweetheart, s-so warm, so tight, i— i c-can’t believe—” Ford is mumbling, drowning in how you feel. He kisses your shoulder, then the nape of your neck. “you take me so well, oh, sweetheart, i—” his hands rest on your hips, holding you steady. “ohh, ohh, oh— god—”

He sinks in deep, shuddering, burying himself to the hilt, feeling your pussy clenching around him. And for some time, he just stays there.

“Just like that, swee—” he can't even continue, just presses his forehead against your back and groans. You squeeze him, just to hear him choke on his next breath. “p-please, please— i need—”

“Ford, move.” after that, you feel him pulling back before thrusting back in what makes you both moan.

His pace starts slow and measured, but he's still breathing hard against your skin, whispering between ragged gasps. “youre so warm, taking me s-so deep. . . could stay like this forever, i— i swear, i—”

You arch against him, curling your fingers against the bark and he grips your waist tighter. You let out a gasp when he thrusts deeper, your body stretching to accommodate him.

Ford pushes in, pulls out, thrusts back in. Trying to stay in his senses, controlled, reverent. You may not see his face right now, but you're sure he looks beautiful as ever, trying so hard to stay composed but failing miserably as he makes love to you.

“Your pussy feels so good, god, you're so warm,” his hands slide up your waist, over your stomach, gripping, mapping, memorizing. His pace starts to pick up.

You whimper, pressing your hips back against him, and he chokes on a curse.

“Darling, d-do that again, please—”

You do. Ford holds your hips and starts moving faster, deeper.

The world spins.

“Deeper, Ford,” you cry out into the silence of the forest, needing more. “want you deeper.”

He snaps his hips forward roughly, loosing his control and oh oh, oh, oh. Fuck, a sharp, overwhelming pressure—

You gasp, tensing immediately, something feels wrong or maybe you just— Fuck! Ford pushes into you again and that pressure spreads through your body as you feel slight discomfort.

“Ford, too deep, wait. . .”

“I— are you okay? did I hurt you? i didn’t mean to, i got carried away, i—” he immediately adjusts, pulling back enough and stopping all his movements, but you're silent and it scares him. “sweetheart, talk to me, what do you need? do you want to stop?”

You shake your head. “No, no. Just- just go slower.” Ford trusts you so he pulls out and adjusts your pose a little bit, then sinks back in and changes the angle, gentler this time, smoothly, more careful. And fuck, it feels heavenly perfect now.

You giggle when you feel him pressing kisses to your neck, whispering apologies.

“Darling, is that better?”

You only nod eagerly, too breathless to answer.

“I don’t want to hurt you, i just want you to feel good, i just want to- to worship you, to love you.” you know he's honest because of the way his fingers dig into your skin, and you know he’s trying to hold back, he’s so afraid of hurting you, and you love him for it, so much. Ford buries his face into your hair, breathing you in. “oh, i love you, i love you so much.” you moan in response, easing into the pleasure again.

“F-Ford,” you turn your head and give him a passionate kiss, whispering “i love you too.” into his lips, gasping for breath between each word as he thrusts his cock into you.

You push back against him, moving together with him, your body demanding more, your hands gripping the tree even tighter as you take more of him.

“That’s it, baby,” you breathe, “youre fucking me so good.” and everything what surrounds you blurs. All this summer heat, the golden light, the trees, the birds, the leaves, the wind, it all melts away, until there is only him.

That praise means everything for him, the fact that you enjoy it too. Ford fucks you like you’re his religion, needing you like sinners need confession. The trees stand tall around you, the Oregon forest whispering with wind and distant birdsong. But none of it exists. All that exists is Ford behind you, losing himself, his cock is buried inside you, stretching you open, making you feel so full it’s dizzying, consuming your mind.

The contrast between you is dizzying.

You, flushed and breathless, dress hitched around your waist, panties now lost somewhere in the moss. and Ford, fully dressed, coat, the red of his turtleneck, the belt strapped tight across his chest, the dark fabric of his trousers straining as he presses against you.

He’s clothed like a man who’s spent his life preparing for war, layers upon layers, protection stitched into every seam and yet he’s undone by you

“You're still—” you gasp as he thrusts into you, “fully dressed.”

A choked laugh against your throat. “can't help myself,” Ford admits, ”you’re too pretty i couldn't wait.”

His coat brushes against your bare skin, the contrast of fabric and flesh making you shiver.

His boots firmly planted in the earth. Big. Heavy.

Your bare toes curling against moss, slipping against damp forest floor until you step on his boot. You don’t even mean to, just seeking more balance, more stability. But Ford let's you stand like that if it's more comfortable for his lovely girl.

His hands slide down your stomach and he pressed his fingers against your lower belly, grinding into you and you swear you can feel him in your lungs. Your legs start shaking.

“Can you feel it, sweetheart?” Ford's fingers press into your skin. “feel how deep i am inside you?” he moves deeper what makes your legs nearly give out, but Ford grips you tighter and holds you up. “i’ve got you, i’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re safe, let me hold you.”

Your pussy is wet, tight around him, and he can feel every flutter, every clench, every slick, pulsing squeeze. Ford drags his cock out of you what makes your brows knit together and then he thrusts back in, forcing loud gasps from your parted lips.

“Yes, just like that, yes!” tears slips down your cheeks like melted diamonds.

Ford touches you, smoothing over your belly, sliding up to cup your breasts through your dress. His cock is leaking with pre cum and throbbing inside you, the head rubbing against every sensitive sweet spot inside you, dragging against your walls in sensual thrusts.

Your pussy is soaking him whole, dripping down your thighs, making a mess of both of you, and he can feel it, he can hear it because of wet squelching sounds and it’s driving him insane.

“You're dripping, sweetheart, holy moses. Soaking me.” his long fingers delving between your thighs, pressing against your sensitive clit, pleasuring you even more and your velvety walls clench around him tighter as he rubs your little nub. “that's it, love, that's my brilliant girl, so smart, so perfect, so good for me.” he’s thrusting into you deeper now, more harder, but still careful, drinking in every sound you make, studying the science of your pleasure.

He's filling you with warmth as the pressure inside of you builds. You’re so close, so close you can taste it, can feel the climax just within reach. You push back harder against him, wanting it, needing it as you try to match his thrusts while his fingers work magic on your clit.

“I love you.”

“I love you, i love you, i love you!”

And the forest sings, the wind hums, the world tilts. The sun is honeyed, pooling over your skin.

You’re falling, falling, falling. And he’s falling with you.

The air is filled with heat and pine, damp with the scent of sweat and sex.

The forest is watching, breathing, alive.

But nothing else exists except the way he moves inside you.

“Does it feel good, darling?”

“Yes, yes, oh!” his fingers rub soft circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. “Ford, please, don’t stop. . .”

“Won't, i won’t, i could never.”

“Fuck, Ford, im—“ you can't even finish as your thighs start shaking, you’re so close, so close, so fucking close your brain can't work anymore.

“I know, sweetheart, i know, i can feel you, you squeezing me.” his fingers rub your clit harder, his cock fucks into you deeper and you fall apart completely, sobbing and writhing, cumming so hard you swear the whole fucking world disappears. Your pussy throbs, drenches his cock, soaking his thighs, soaking the ground.

Ford thrusts into you through it, desperate, obsessed with how hot you look. “darling, you’re so beautiful like this.” he can't stop pressing kisses to your shoulder, your spine, your neck, his hands smoothing over your stomach, your thighs, soothing you, loving you.

You’re trembling, absolutely ruined by the powerful orgasm your scientist gave you, gasping for air. You want it again, you want him again.

“Please, sweetheart,” his cock throbs inside you, he’s right there too. “please, can i— can i cum inside?”

“Yes, yes, please!”

“Thank you, thank you, sweetheart.” he slams his cock deep one more time and spills inside you, filling you up with his warm seed.

Ford holds you tight in his arms, whispering your name, thanking you, kissing you over and over, breathing hard, sweat damp at his hairline, glasses crooked. His body is so exhausted and overwhelmed.

“Sweetheart,” he's so kiss-drunk. “i think you’ve completely wrecked me.”

You smile softly, too dazed to say something in response, your eyes hazy, body still trembling around him.

But then, involuntarily, you turn your head. Your unfocused gaze falls on. . . oh.

Him.

The statue.

Bill. The golden demonic triangle, locked in stone, frozen in time, trapped in his own cursed monument with his single, etched eye.

Looks creepy, in a way. Like he's watching.

Your breath shudders as your whole body goes still

Ford notices immediately as he calls you by your name, asking what happened. You don’t answer, just tilt your head slightly, staring right back at the statue.

Ford follows your gaze and sees it too.

“. . . Oh.”

You look at Ford and he looks at you. Your fingers trace slow lines down his chest until you whisper.

“Put me against it.”

Ford stares at you, wide-eyed. “you, you want to—”

“Yes.”

“Sweetheart, what if he can—”

“Good.”

Ford sighs and you smile.

“Don’t you want to remind him that you’re mine now?”

And that’s how you end up with your back pressed against the stone surface of Bill’s statue with Ford between your legs. His gaze accidentally falls on the statue and his heart slams against his ribs.

Bill. Watching. Unblinking. Trapped. Helpless.

Bill, who once called him Fordsy, Sixer, IQ.

Bill, who once called him cute when he tried to fight back.

Bill, who once called him his perfect other half.

Bill, who was once the sun in his galaxy.

He's watching, so let him see.

Bill can’t move, can’t speak, can’t scream, but he can see. And he is fucking seething. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

THIS?

HIM?

His Fordsy, his fucking Sixer getting ruined by some desperate, pathetic little human? He hates you, hates the way you’re moaning, taking his Sixer’s cock like you fucking belong there, hates the way Ford’s holding you, worshipping you, whispering against your skin.

You are hypersensitive now, your body feels like a live wire, buzzing, overloaded with him. The way Ford's hands move over your skin, trying to understand how someone like him, six-fingered, battered, buried under too many regrets ended up with someone like you, soft and brilliant and wholly, painfully, his.

The coolness of the stone surface of Cipher's statue feels like cruel contrast to the heat between your legs.

Ford makes a quiet whimper before kissing you like he’s dying. Like he’s never known softness before, like he’s never known devotion before, like he’s never been worshiped before.

Your hands wander, relearning the shape of him, the texture of him. The scarred hands, the broad shoulders, the soft expanse of his stomach, the sharp ridges of his hipbones.

You can feel his heartbeat through his cock.

You drag your nails up his spine, feeling the way his whole body twitches, responds, obeys.

His brain is short-circuiting because he’s never had sex like this, he’s never been touched like this, he’s never been wanted like this.

“I should stop,” the scientist between your legs says. “i should sweetheart, this is madness.”

But he doesn’t move away, doesn’t pull out, doesn’t stop. Because he can’t. Or maybe because he doesn’t want to. Could it be both?

Bill remembers when it was him who could make Ford tremble, when it was his words, his touch, his power that made Sixer gasp. When it was him who was the center of Ford’s universe.

And now Ford is gripping your thighs, burying his face in your neck, whimpering into your skin.

Bill is fucking livid, watching HIS Sixer trembling, gasping, clinging to you like you are his entire existence. Watching Ford ruin himself for you. Watching Ford let himself be loved. Watching Ford beg to be yours.

And Bill can’t do a fucking thing about it.

Ford is losing his mind because it can't be real, too much, too good, too intense.

Bill hates the way Ford’s fingers slide into your mouth, pressing against your tongue, letting you suck, letting you worship his extra one.

“Good girl,” his Sixer says, watching the way your lips close around his digits as your tongue flicks against the calloused pads, your moan vibrate straight into his palm.

Bill remembers the first time Ford ever held out this hand to him.

"I was born strange. I am attracted to the strange. And the strange has always been attracted to me." Ford’s brilliance was always his curse.

Bill had taken his hand. And never let go.

Until now, until you.

His sixer, his brilliant, stubborn, impossible Sixer reduced to this? To a whimpering mess, buried deep in some lovesick human.

Bill wants to claw his way out of this stone. wants to take back what’s his. Bill would laugh if he could, would tear you away from him and remind Sixer exactly who he belongs to.

This is hell, no, this is worse than hell.

He was a god, infinite. And now he's a fucking rock, a statue, a prisoner, a powerless, speechless, helpless observer to. . . to what? to this shit?

“You’re mine,” you breathe into Ford's lips.

“Yes, yes, yours, I'm yours, always, always, always.”

Ford. His Ford.

No. No, NO, NO.

He is watching Ford give himself away, watching Ford worship you like you hung the fucking stars.

Stanford was his. HIS.

He was supposed to be the only one to drive Ford mad. He was supposed to be the one who made Ford weak, made him beg.

Ford had been so easy back then. So starved for validation, but desperate for knowledge and so beautifully eager to destroy himself in pursuit of something greater.

Bill had owned him.

“You’re mine.”

“Yours, all yours, my love.” Ford’s eyes are unfocused, hes so far gone, for you.

And you know it, Bill can fucking tell because you're looking at him, looking at the statue as you grip Ford tighter, protecting him from Bill.

“Mine.” and Ford, who, in Bill's opinion, has always been an obedient dog, damn nods.

This is a joke. This is an insult. This is a violation.

And yet, it is him that you and Ford are violating, his monument, his remains and his final resting place, his one trace left in this world.

“She knows. She knows what Ford and I were. That’s why she’s doing this, isn’t it? That’s why she’s dragging him down onto the cold stone, letting him touch her, making him forget everything but her. She wants to erase me, wants to make sure that when Ford thinks about what it felt like to kneel before me, to look up at me with awe and fear and longing in those stupid, stupid human eyes, all he will remember instead is this. She wants to overwrite it. Reprogram him. Take what was mine. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. She is all human frailty, weak, pathetic, replaceable. She is mortal, temporary, fragile, finite. But my Ford brilliant. Ford is infinite. Ford is so much more. And yet, he isn’t even thinking of me, is he? He is looking at her. She has ruined him. He used to beg for me. Now that idiot is worshipping her. Losing himself inside her. Dedicating himself to her like a disciple, a zealot, a man willing to fall to his knees and destroy himself for devotion. That used to be for me. His hands. . . oh dear Euclydia, those hands— how many times did those same hands trace the surface of my pages, searching for truth, for knowledge, for validation? How many times did those fingers clutch at my edges, desperate, reaching for something no human was ever meant to touch. Now those same hands are on her. And I cannot stop it. I cannot do anything. I can only watch as she takes him further and further from me, until there is nothing left. Until the Stanford Pines I knew, the Stanford Pines I built, the Stanford Pines I made, the Stanford Pines I claimed is completely gone. Until I am nothing more than a forgotten scary whisper in his mind. Until I am just a rock in the woods, forced to witness the slow, meticulous erasure of my own existence. My body doesn't have mouth and I cannot even scream.”

Bill doesn’t love Ford. He doesn’t even know what love is. But he knows obsession and he knows hunger, and somewhere in that chaos, Ford became the center of it all.

Bill has never been helpless before, never been forced to endure something without intervention.

And worse, this is Stanford Pines. The only human who ever matched him, challenged him, fascinated him. Ford believed he could outthink a god, Bill knew that mortals only crumble faster under pressure.

Ford isn’t just being fucked. Ford isn’t just desperate and needy, begging for attention. Ford is in love. Being consumed by love, taken in a way that made him forget himself. Forget Bill.

Bill can’t stand it. This is cosmic-level sadism.

”I am a god, a destroyer of worlds. I have seen the rise and fall of civilisations. I have cracked open minds and turned them inside out. I have walked between dimensions and burned the laws of reality into my own design. Now I'm left to rot in this miserable meat-world. And i could have handled that, maybe. Could have tolerated the humiliation, the aching eternity of nothingness, if not for this. If not for Stanford Pines, of all people, of all creatures in the multiverse, of all sentient beings in all realities, here like this. Right in front of me, crying out in reverence for someone else. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me! He's looking at her like she’s the fucking god in this equation. It’s not just that he’s on his knees for her in the same way he once was for me, it’s that he WANTS this. It's that he’s soft for her and not because he’s lost his mind and scared, not because he’s intoxicated by the thrill of the impossible, not because i have my hands in his brain turning the gears myself. But because he loves her. I should be touching him, i should be inside his head, mind, body. I should be the one pulling those noises out of his throat. This is the worst part. Not the betrayal. Not the humiliation. But the knowledge that he doesn't think about me anymore. Ford Pines is no longer mine, he does not dream of me, he does not scream my name, he does not shudder at my touch, he does not remember what it was like to belong to me, he has forgotten, he has replaced me and there is nothing i can do about it. Not now, not ever.”

I'm going insane.

He’s the smartest idiot I’ve ever met. And trust me, I’ve met a lot of idiots.

DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE GOD?

To see everything, to know everything, to hold eternity in your hands like a matchstick? To bend reality, break minds, carve new universes from the ribs of dying ones?

To whisper your name into the black holes of men’s hearts and have them answer you, hungry, desperate, willing?

I do. I did. Hahahahahhahaha! NOW I SEE!

This is what i did to you, isn’t it, Sixer? This is what i made you feel, when i left you alone, when i lied, when i called you a fool, when i told you that you needed me more than i ever needed you.

This is what it felt like, isn’t it? It hurted you?

“You’re the smartest person i’ve ever met.” Ford thought he could tame chaos and Bill thought he could devour genius. The tragedy is they both succeeded.

Sixer was always meant to fall into obsession, but it was supposed to be Bill’s name trembling off his lips, not yours.

Do you even understand what you’re touching?

Do you know what he was before you came along, sinking your little hands into him, sinking your little teeth into his throat, into his fucking soul?

Do you know what he could have been?

My Sixer was never meant to be this small, this weak, this human.

Do you know what i saw in him? POTENTIAL.

He was born wrong, born strange, born too smart for his body, too brilliant for his world. He was never meant to belong.

But i could give him something better. And oh, Sixer, my darling Sixer, my beautiful, tragic, broken Sixer, you knew it, didn’t you? You knew it the moment you met me because the first time you let me in, i felt you shudder. Not in fear, no. In recognition. As if finally, finally, finally you had found something as hungry as you.

“I need you, darling, need you so much, it’s terrifying.” aww, but Fordsy, you always did love things that scared you.

Cipher was the sun in his galaxy, but do you know what happens when a star collapses? It doesn’t just disappear, it becomes a black hole, it pulls everything in, crushes everything under its gravity. It becomes a point of no return.

And you, little parasite, LITTLE THIEF, you think you’ve won? Seriously? You’ve stolen him from me!

Ford builds to understand, but I destroy to prove. He may map the stars, but I decide where they fall

Ford defines matter, but I define meaning, my poor Sixer seeks the truth and i am what breaks it.

He draws the line between genius and madness. I blur it until he can’t find his way back.

I'm still here.

“He promised me knowledge, and I gave him my trust. He took both and left me drowning in questions I can never unask. I let him orbit my thoughts only to find I was a moon bound to a planet that devoured itself. I thought he was a guiding star, but he was a collapsing supernova, destroying everything in his wake and I still couldn’t look away.” torn pages from Ford’s journal say.

Ford will never admit it, but Bill gave him something he never had before, a reason to feel important. It’s not that Ford wants the universe. He just wants to matter in it. And Bill let him think he did.

Ford thought he hated the way Cipher talked, but it’s the silence that terrifies him because he knows he’s still there, waiting.

Bill carved himself into Ford’s life like a parasite, but Ford let him in like a lover.

And it's a mistake he'll never repeat again.

fuck it.

Ford doesn’t know what’s more overwhelming. The way your pussy clenches around him, fluttering, soaking his cock. Or the way you lean back against the cold, unmoving surface of Bill’s statue, lips parted, a wicked little smile curling at the edges.

You reach back, threading your fingers through his damp, silver-streaked hair and kiss him roughly, biting his lips, exploring his mouth with your tongue. You don't notice the way Ford's eyes flicker up to meet the empty, unblinking gaze of the stone triangle looming over you both. Ford’s stomach twists, his pulse stutters. His mind reels

You are on top of him now, your thighs are straddling his hips, knees pressing into the damp moss, hands cradling the sharp lines of his jaw. Ford's free hand grips your ass, squeezes tight, pulls you down harder.

You ruin him, it's too much, the way your pussy swallows him, velvet heat stretching around him, keeping him locked inside you. The way you grab his wrist, pull his hand to your mouth, and slip his fingers past your lips again.

Ford's hair is a mess, just like himself, his face is flushed, drenched in sweat, pupils so wide they swallow the soft brown of his eyes. Half-lidded and glassy, he looks at you, taking you in, drinking you in, your beauty.

Ford pushes the straps of your dress down, letting them slip from your shoulders, exposing your breasts to the golden, dappled light filtering through the canopy above. The sight is so beautiful, watching your breasts bounce as you fuck yourself dumb on his cock. Ford thinks he might never want to leave this moment, this place, this overwhelming, earth-shattering feeling of being inside you, of being part of you, of belonging to you.

“So good, so good,” you whisper, scratching your nails against his shoulders as he stretches you open. “hnngh, Ford, so big, you're so big, Ford, c-can feel you—”

His entire body locks up. “too deep? Sweetheart, do you need me to stop? Do you—”

Your hands fly up, cupping his face. “No, don’t you dare stop.” you sink down again, grinding onto him, taking him even deeper and Ford cries, his body can't process the pleasure of feeling you squeeze around him, taking him so perfectly, so fully

“Love, I—” you roll your hips, rubbing against him just right. “I— oh, god, oh fuck,” he’s always been articulate, always so good with words, so clever, so brilliant, but right now, he’s nothing but wrecked, broken syllables, hoarse moans, desperate gasps.

God, you love him so much.

His head tilts back against the Bill's statue, exposing his throat to you, mouth open, panting, eyes unfocused, completely pussy drunk.

“Baby,” you whisper, sliding your fingers into his hair, yanking him forward, forcing him to look at you. “stay with me.”

His silly gaze snaps to yours, pupils blown wide as he gives you the most genuine fucked out smile.

“Always, always, sweetheart, always.”

"Keep talking, please.”

“Can't,” he gasps. “can't—” he's gripping the swell of your ass, yanking you down, forcing you deeper, forcing you to take every inch of him, and god, he's buried so deep it makes your breath stutter.

Your walls tighten around him and Ford straight-up whimpers. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pressing your forehead against his.

“Where’d all those big words go, hm?”

“You— you’re— ngh, y-you’re ruining me.”

You don't really notice how he slides a hand between your bodies and runs two fingers through the mess where you're stretched around him, rubbing your clit, then brings his fingers to his mouth. His lips close around them, licking the taste of you and he groans like he's been starving.

“You taste like heaven, my love.” Ford hugs you and buries his face in your throat, teeth scraping, lips sucking, marking you, branding you meanwhile his fingers slide back down, slipping between your folds, circling your clit gently and you fucking die from this kind of intimacy. Your whole body tenses.

“F-Ford!” he grips your waist tight, holding you in place and then he thrusts up, deeper, faster and harder, his cock slamming into you so perfectly it makes your vision blur. “Yes,” you sob, “yes, please, harder. I love you, more!”

His cock drags against your inner walls, grazing against every tender spot.

He isn’t just giving you his body, but his soul. And he’s never, ever taking it back. The smartest man in the universe, the man who has solved unfathomable cosmic mysteries, completely undone beneath you.

Your clit throbs as you cry out, digging your nails into his shoulders, holding yourself.

"Please," man beneath you gasps, "please, sweetheart, don't stop—" you ride him faster. You move together like you are the one. Your bodies fit like the phases of the moon, waxing and waning, perfect in every alignment.

The pressure builds and builds until it snaps, and you cry out. The heat coiled tighter and tighter in your belly, your breath coming in short, frantic bursts. Ford's fingers rub over your clit one last time and the oversensitivity makes you jerk and shake.

Ford thrusts up into you, his hands shaking on your waist and then he cums. Your head falls back, lips parted in a silent cry as your pussy grips him tight, milking him. His thrusts slowed as you feel every inch of him pulsing, his cum filling you to the brim you can feel it dripping already.

The world is quiet. The only sound is your breath, the exhausted gasps of two people who just destroyed each other in the best possible way.

Your legs are shaking too much to move, body boneless

Ford presses his forehead to your shoulder,

“Jesus christ.”

You laugh, dazed, punch-drunk, deliriously happy. Your tired. hand slips and you almost touch the statue, or to be exact, Bill's stone hand as it looms just inches away, and Ford’s eyes go wide.

”Don’t!” he shouts, grabbing your wrist.

You freeze. “Wha—”

“It’s a deal, you touch him, you’re making a deal and we’re not doing that. Not ever.” you look at the statue when realization dawns.

Later, when you’re both dressed and leaving the clearing, Ford glances back at the statue with blank expression

“He can’t hurt us,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “not anymore.”

Stanford spent a lifetime chasing knowledge, mysteries, the secrets of the universe.

And now he's realising he should have been chasing you. It’s good that there’s still a lot of time left.

[ankababy]

A Home (part 6)

Part 1 Part 5 Part 7

Chishiya x reader x Niragi

Y/N, the lovebug, the sweetheart ever—oh, and those two ig…

“…And over there,” you pointed to a faded storefront with a half-shattered window. “was where I used to go shopping with my friends. God, we spent so much money on the dumbest things. It was never even about what we bought, really. It was about the excuse to just… be out. Y’know? Just walking around, talking, looking at boys, giggling.”

You laughed to yourself. “There was this one time, right outside that door—” you gestured vaguely at the entrance. “my friend almost got hit by a car because she was too busy ranting about how much she hated a boy. She just stepped into the street like a complete idiot. We had to grab her by the back of her hoodie and yank her back before she got flattened.”

Niragi, walking to your right, let out a sharp breath through his nose. “Dumbass.”

“Right?” you beamed at him. “She was so mad at us after, too, like we had embarrassed her, but it was fun. We had fun. I miss them.”

You didn’t say it with sadness. Just a simple truth. You missed them, but you weren’t dwelling on it. There was no point in that.

On your left, Chishiya still wasn’t looking at you, but you knew he was listening. He always listened.

Niragi, though, was half-distracted, glancing into broken windows and abandoned stores, searching. “We better find a damn gun shop soon.” he muttered. “Or at least some assholes carrying the right bullets.”

“Mm.” you hummed thoughtfully. “What do you even do with that many bullets?”

Niragi shot you a look. “What the fuck do you think? Shoot people.”

You gave him an unimpressed glance. “Obviously, but like, how do you not run out all the time? You shoot at everything.”

“Yeah.” he said. “So I need more.”

Chishiya finally spoke. “You’re acting like he has any self-restraint.”

“Hey, fuck you.” Niragi shot back.

You smiled to yourself. Even their bickering had settled into something more natural, something less venomous.

You adjusted the bag on your shoulder, glancing around at the empty streets. It was eerie, walking through what once was a lively city, now nothing but quiet. But you kept talking. Filling the silence, filling the space between you and the two broken boys at your sides.

And they let you.

You stepped up onto a broken concrete barrier, testing its stability before deciding it was safe enough to balance on. The edge was uneven, cracked, and worn down by time and nature, but you didn’t care. It gave you something to do while you talked—something other than just walking.

Niragi barely spared you a glance, too busy peering into the ruins of an old electronics store, while Chishiya didn’t even react.

Still, you kept going, balancing carefully as you continued to ramble. “This place was so much better before everything went to shit.” you said, arms stretched out slightly for balance. “There was always something to do. Always somewhere to be. I could be out all day and still feel like I hadn’t done enough.”

You took another careful step forward, teetering for just a second before catching yourself. “Now it’s just… empty. I mean, I get it, obviously. Death games and all that. But it’s weird, right? The silence?”

No answer.

Of course, no answer.

You glanced down at them, unimpressed. “You two are so fun to talk to.”

Chishiya didn’t even bother looking up. “You talk enough for all three of us.”

“Wow.” you said, dryly. “That almost hurt my feelings.”

Niragi snorted. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You gasped dramatically, pressing a hand over your chest. “I am a delight, actually.”

Niragi just rolled his eyes, looking back toward the stores. “Sure.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, taking another step forward—but the concrete under your foot crumbled slightly, throwing you off balance.

Without thinking, you grabbed onto the closest thing to you.

Which just so happened to be Chishiya’s head.

He let out a soft hnn of irritation, but he didn’t move away. Didn’t push you off. He just let you use him for balance, barely sparing you a glance.

“…Alright.” Niragi smirked, watching. “That was fucking funny.”

You finally steadied yourself, fingers still in Chishiya’s hair for a second longer than necessary before you pulled away. “That almost felt like you helping me, Chishiya.”

“I did nothing.” he muttered, brushing his hair back into place.

“Exactly.” You grinned. “And that’s exactly what I needed. You’re so stable.”

He shot you a look, unimpressed. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Yes.” you said, completely serious. “I’m going to start using you for support more often.”

“Don’t.”

“No promises.”

Niragi snorted, kicking at a stray piece of rubble on the ground. “I swear, the shit you get away with…”

“What can I say?” You hopped off the barrier, landing lightly on the ground next to him. “I have a certain charm.”

Niragi just rolled his eyes again, but you caught the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Chishiya, as expected, said nothing. But he didn’t complain when you kept walking next to him, a little too close, just to bother him.

“How many days do you guys have left?”

Chishiya didn’t even hesitate. “Four.”

Niragi, on the other hand, just blinked at you, clearly not having an answer.

“…Niragi?”

He shrugged, kicking a piece of debris out of his way. “Dunno. Doesn’t matter.”

You frowned. “What do you mean, doesn’t matter?”

“I’ll go play today.” he said, completely unbothered. “I’ll be fine.”

Wow. Okay.

You stared at him for a second longer, something unsettled twisting in your stomach.

Maybe it wasn’t a big deal—to him, at least. But it was to you.

Still, you didn’t say anything. Not yet. You just sighed, stuffing your hands into your pockets as you kept moving.

“Alright.” you said eventually “Just don’t die, okay?”

Niragi shot you a look. “What, you’d miss me?”

“Yes.” you said immediately, no hesitation. “Obviously.”

That caught him off guard for a split second. Just a second. Then he scoffed, rolling his eyes as if he didn’t believe you.

You let it go. For now.

Instead, you found other things to focus on—like the fact that there were plenty of climbable structures around you.

“Hold on.” you said, pausing near a rusted-out car. “I wanna try something.”

Neither of them reacted, which meant neither of them told you not to do it. Which, in your mind, meant you had full permission.

So, naturally, you stepped onto the hood, testing its stability.

Nothing happened.

Good enough.

You took another step, then another, making your way up until you were balanced on the roof of the car.

Niragi didn’t even look at you. He was busy rummaging through the ruins of an old sporting goods store, checking shelves for anything useful. Probably bullets.

Chishiya, unsurprisingly, didn’t care either.

Still, you kept going, stepping up onto the ledge of the store’s broken window frame.

And then, for the fuck of it, you jumped—landing lightly on the edge of an old streetlight pole that had fallen at an angle, one foot in front of the other as you balanced your way down.

Still, no reaction.

You huffed, shaking your head as you hopped back down onto solid ground. “Tough crowd.”

Chishiya gave you a glance, completely disinterested. “You say that like it’s new information.”

“I keep hoping it’ll change.”

“Your mistake.”

You groaned dramatically, dragging a hand down your face before turning to Niragi, who was still focused on his little bullet hunt.

“And you.” you said, hands on your hips. “Nothing? Not even a little bit impressed?”

He snorted. “I’ve seen better.”

You gasped. “Excuse me?”

He just smirked, shaking a box of bullets in your direction before shoving it into his pocket.

You narrowed your eyes, but didn’t say anything else. Instead, you just kept moving, hopping over debris, balancing on curbs, talking way too much.

And the whole time, they stayed beside you. Not because they were entertained—not because they cared about what you were saying—but just because.

And that was enough.

You walked ahead of them, hopping onto the curb and balancing your way across it like you were walking a tightrope, talking and talking, the way you always did.

They let you.

They always let you.

But they didn’t really listen.

Not really.

Chishiya walked with his hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets, eyes half-lidded, letting the noise of your voice filter in and out without attaching much importance to any of it. He was perceptive, sharp as ever—he always knew where you were, what you were doing, if you were about to do something reckless—but that wasn’t the same as caring.

And Niragi? He walked beside you like you weren’t even there, flicking through boxes of bullets, stuffing them into his pockets, only responding when you directly addressed him.

And even then, he was a dick about it.

But why wouldn’t he be?

Neither of them had a reason to be nice to you.

The three of you were together out of convenience. That was all.

They weren’t your friends.

They weren’t fond of you.

They weren’t bonding with you.

They were using you.

Maybe not in some grand, intentional way—but you were useful.

You cooked for them. Cleaned up after them. Brought them things. Did the kind of things a normal, kind person would do.

And they took it.

They let you give and give and give, and they didn’t think twice about taking from you.

Because why would they?

Chishiya wasn’t sentimental. He wasn’t the type to form emotional attachments, didn’t care about things like warmth and kindness. He watched the way you doted on them, and he let you, but he didn’t feel anything about it.

And Niragi? Niragi was a sadist. If he liked you, it was for the wrong reasons.

He liked watching you react to him. Liked how easily he could get a rise out of you. Liked how you let him push and push and push without ever pushing back.

And maybe, in some deep, twisted, rotted part of him, he liked the attention. The way you always seemed to orbit him, always checking in, always caring.

Not that it mattered.

Because at the end of the day, if you were gone, if you disappeared, if you never came back—they’d survive.

They’d move on.

And that was something you hadn’t realized yet.

Or maybe you had. Maybe, on some level, you knew what this was.

Maybe you were just ignoring it. Maybe you thought if you were good enough—sweet enough—they’d learn to care.

Maybe you thought you could fix them.

But you couldn’t.

Because Chishiya was a sociopath.

And Niragi was a psychopath.

And you?

You were just a stupid, sweet thing with a bleeding heart.

And Niragi knew the way your hands always found their way to him—little touches, little grazes, a hand on his arm, on his shoulder, in his hair.

You touched him like he was something soft. Something fragile. Something human.

Like you actually cared.

And that was the problem.

Because he liked it.

More than he wanted to admit.

It wasn’t just that it felt good—though, fuck, it did. It was the way you did it. The way you offered it, like you wanted to touch him. Like it was just natural for you to do it.

Niragi didn’t get that kind of touch.

Not before the Borderlands. Not ever.

People didn’t touch him. Not like that.

They hit him. Dragged him. Held him down.

But this? This was something else.

And the longer he had it, the deeper he got into it.

Like a drug. Like a sickness.

Like something he didn’t want to need, but did.

And it pissed him off.

Because you were too fucking good at it. Too sweet. Too easy. You weren’t even trying to pull him in. You were just doing it. Just being you.

And he knew, deep down, that was what made it worse.

Because it wasn’t fake. He was used to fake. Could deal with fake. Could sniff it out and spit it back in their faces.

But you meant it.

And it was fucking him up.

Because no one ever had.

And then there was Chishiya. Chishiya, who saw it all.

And he knew.

Knew that Niragi was getting hooked.

That Niragi was drowning in something too deep, something he couldn’t control, couldn’t claw his way out of.

And Chishiya? He found it interesting.

Because you weren’t doing anything on purpose.

You weren’t trying to manipulate, to twist, to trap.

You just loved.

Freely. Easily. Without thinking.

Like an idiot.

Like someone who had never been hurt the way they had.

And that was the most fascinating part.

Because why the fuck would you love Niragi?

Why the fuck would you love either of them?

What the fuck was wrong with you?

It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t logical.

And Chishiya hated things that didn’t make sense.

But he couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop wondering. Couldn’t stop waiting to see what you’d do next.

How far your bleeding heart would go.

How deep you’d let yourself fall.

~

You sat curled up on the couch, staring at the door.

It was late.

Too late.

You were tired, your limbs heavy, eyes burning, but you waited.

Because Niragi hadn’t come back yet.

And you weren’t going to bed until he did.

The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside—empty streets, broken streetlights, a dead world that never really slept.

Neither did you.

Not when he was still out there.

And then—finally—the door swung open.

Your body jolted with relief before your mind could even catch up.

“Niragi.” you breathed, pushing up from the couch.

He was fine.

He looked fine, at least. A little scuffed up, maybe, but no blood, no injuries that you could see.

Still, you moved to him fast, your hands already reaching, already checking, already touching.

And fuck, he loved it.

Not that he’d ever fucking say it.

But he ate it up.

The way your hands skimmed over his arms, over his chest, down his sides, pressing gently, making sure nothing was wrong, nothing was broken.

Your fingers traced over his wrist, his knuckles—checking for cuts, for bruises.

Your hands were so soft.

So careful.

Like you actually gave a shit.

And Niragi just stood there, letting you do it.

Letting himself have this.

He didn’t stop you. Didn’t shove you away. Didn’t sneer at you or say some cruel thing to make you flinch.

Because he didn’t want you to flinch.

Didn’t want you to stop.

He wanted to stay in this moment, feeling your hands on him, feeling you worry for him, care for him.

It was fucking disgusting.

He should hate this. Should push you off, tell you to fuck off, to quit acting like you mattered.

But he couldn’t. He just stood there, soaking it in, letting you be sweet to him.

Letting you be you.

And knowing, deep down, that he’d never let anyone else touch him like this.

Though Niragi stiffened under your touch the second his eyes flicked up—and there Chishiya was. Standing at the entrance of the living room, leaned against the doorway, watching.

“The fuck are you looking at?” Niragi snapped, voice sharp, defensive.

Like a cornered animal baring its teeth.

But you barely even reacted. Didn’t even flinch. Just turned your head, eyes widening slightly, just noticing Chishiya standing there.

“Oh, hi.” you said simply. So soft. So sweet. Like always.

Then you turned right back to Niragi, resuming your gentle little check-up like Chishiya wasn’t even there.

And that—that made him take a real look at you.

At the way you touched Niragi like he was something fragile. At the way you worried for him, cared for him, without expecting anything back. At the way you gave him everything—your patience, your attention, your affection—so freely.

Chishiya didn’t like people.

Didn’t care for them.

Didn’t want them.

But he liked you.

Not in a deep way, not in some grand, meaningful sense.

Just in the simplest way.

He didn’t hate you.

Didn’t find you annoying.

Didn’t want to twist you apart just to see how you worked.

He just… liked you.

But what he found interesting—what he found worth noticing—was that this thing you had with Niragi…it had changed.

At first, you were just too good to Niragi.

Soft where he was sharp, warm where he was cold, patient where he was volatile.

But now?

Now, you were too good for Niragi.

Chishiya saw it clear as day.

You were light. Niragi was rot. You were soft. Niragi was jagged edges and broken glass.

And yet—you still loved him.

Still touched him like he deserved it. Still waited for him to come home. Still gave and gave and gave, without ever asking for anything in return.

Chishiya wondered how long that would last.

Because Niragi would take.

Oh, he’d take everything from you.

Until there was nothing left.

At first, Chishiya assumed you were just like every other fool in this world—na��ve, weak, desperate for companionship in a place that had long since burned away any need for softness.

But you weren’t weak. You weren’t desperate. You chose to be this way. Chose to care, chose to wait, chose to be the kind of person who would sit here, hours past a reasonable time, waiting for someone like Niragi.

And the worst part?

You were too good for him, too.

Chishiya wasn’t like Niragi. He wasn’t violent, wasn’t cruel just to be cruel, didn’t thrive off of making people squirm.

But he wasn’t kind either.

He wasn’t warm.

Didn’t care about anyone but himself.

That was the truth. That was the foundation of his survival.

So why was he still here? Why did he still let you talk to him, let you touch him, let you pull him in with that unbearable gentleness?

He had no reason to.

He didn’t need you.

And yet—here he was. Standing in the doorway. Watching you with Niragi. And it wasn’t Niragi he was paying attention to.

It was you.

Because you had changed something in him, too.

Not in a dramatic way, not in the way you probably hoped you changed Niragi, but something small, something subtle.

He wanted to stay.

And Chishiya didn’t stay for anyone.

But for some reason, he stayed for you. Just like he did when you sat in the tub.

Maybe it was curiosity.

Maybe it was the way you never seemed afraid of him.

Maybe it was the way you made him feel like he didn’t have to be anything other than what he was—cold, distant, detached—and you’d still talk to him the same way, still look at him like he was worth talking to.

It wasn’t love.

It wasn’t even real care.

But it was something.

Something he wasn’t used to.

Something he found himself unwilling to let go of.

So he stayed.

Even though he knew he shouldn’t.

Even though he knew you were too good for him.

He stayed anyway.

You exhaled slowly, still looking Niragi over, though he was clearly fine. He was covered in sweat, the scent of gunpowder still faint on his clothes, but he wasn’t hurt. No limp, no blood, no signs of any real struggle—he had made it through whatever game he played just fine. That didn’t stop you from fussing over him, brushing over his shoulders, his arms, his chest, making sure there weren’t any hidden wounds.

“You should shower.” you told him softly. “Then go to bed.”

Niragi scoffed, rolling his eyes, but he didn’t argue. Not really. “I don’t fucking need you to tell me that.”

“I know.” you hummed, your voice still gentle. “Do you want me to make you something before you sleep?”

He stretched his arms behind his head, acting like he was thinking about it, but then shrugged. “Nah. I’m not hungry.”

You nodded, letting him go without a fight, watching as he stalked off toward his room. You heard the door close.

Finally, silence settled over the apartment again.

You sighed and sank onto the couch. It was only then that you noticed Chishiya was still there.

And not just standing.

He sat down next to you.

You blinked, a little surprised. He usually wasn’t the type to linger when he didn’t need to.

“Didn’t think you’d stick around.” you admitted, turning to him with a small, tired smile.

“You seem exhausted.” he commented, tilting his head slightly.

You let out a soft laugh, leaning back. “I am exhausted.”

“You don’t have to wait up for him, you know.” Chishiya said simply. “He’s not a child. If he dies, he dies.”

You gave him a look. “You don’t actually care if Niragi lives or dies?” you teased, nudging his arm lightly.

Chishiya hummed, nonchalant. “I care about you.”

Your breath caught for a second.

It was a small thing. A tiny admittance.

But from Chishiya? That was practically a confession.

Still, he didn’t let you dwell on it for too long.

“I just think it’s a waste of your energy.” he continued, shifting his attention toward the ceiling, like this conversation was barely worth his focus. “You’re always giving.”

“I like giving.” you murmured.

“I know.” he said, glancing at you again.

Like he wanted to understand.

Like he couldn’t.

“Why?” he finally asked.

You frowned slightly. “Why what?”

“Why do you love so much?”

Your lips parted, taken aback by the wording.

Love?

You didn’t really think of it like that.

But Chishiya saw things most people didn’t.

And maybe he wasn’t wrong. Maybe it was love. Even if it was reckless. Even if it was stupid.

You sighed, stretching your legs out. “Because I know what it’s like to not get any in return.”

Chishiya was quiet. Not his usual, detached quiet. It was something heavier. Something thoughtful. Like, just for a second, he was looking at you and seeing something he recognized.

But instead of saying anything about it, he only hummed.

And the two of you sat there, in the dim light of the apartment, neither one of you moving.

It was comfortable.

It was simple.

It was good.

“You’re running yourself ragged.”

You tilted your head toward him, blinking slowly. “Hm?”

“You wait up for Niragi. You cook for us. You take care of everything without asking for anything back.” He glanced at you, unreadable as ever. “Why?”

You sighed, rubbing at your eyes. “Didn’t we just have this conversation?”

“You told me why you love.” he said. “Not why you let yourself burn out over it.”

You exhaled through your nose, letting your hands drop to your lap. “I dunno. It’s just who I am, I guess.”

“That’s not an answer.”

You let out a tired laugh. “It’s the only one I’ve got right now.”

Chishiya didn’t say anything to that. He just looked at you. Like he could pick apart your brain if he wanted to, lay you bare—and you’d let him do that without him picking your brain apart, wink wink nudge nudge—and analyze all the little pieces. And maybe he could.

But instead, he only let out a quiet hum, leaning back into the couch, as if he had decided to leave it at that.

You yawned, stretching your arms above your head, exhausted. You had been running yourself into the ground, and now that Niragi was home safe and you were sitting down for more than five minutes, it was all starting to catch up with you.

Chishiya noticed.

Of course he noticed.

“You should sleep.”

You hummed in agreement, but you didn’t move. You were comfortable like this, the couch just soft enough, the apartment just warm enough.

And maybe… maybe you didn’t want to be alone just yet.

You curled up slightly, resting your head against the back of the couch, letting your eyes slip shut. “Just a minute.”

Chishiya didn’t respond.

But he watched.

You were falling asleep.

Next to him.

You were comfortable next to him.

And that meant something.

Trust.

Something so small, so simple—so natural to you.

But to Chishiya? To Chishiya, trust wasn’t something that came easily. It wasn’t something that should be handed out without second thought.

And yet, you had given it to him so freely.

He stared at you, at the way your lashes fluttered slightly, at the way your breathing slowed, at the way your body settled like you belonged there.

Like he was safe.

And maybe he was.

Maybe, for once in his life, he actually was.

Even though Chishiya had never cared much for safety. Not in the way normal people did, at least. Self-preservation was a basic instinct, sure, but that wasn’t the same as wanting to live. Wanting to be safe. Wanting to keep going because life itself had meaning.

He didn’t see the world like that.

He played these games with the ease of someone who had nothing to lose. There was no desperation in him, no deepseated will to fight for his survival. He observed, he analyzed, he calculated. If he lived, he lived. If he died, he died. The only thing that interested him in this world was the people in it. Their psychology, their choices, the way they cracked under pressure or thrived in chaos. He didn’t want to find someone that fascinated him, but if he did, then maybe this whole thing would be worth watching for a little while longer.

You were interesting.

Not in the way most people were. Not in the way Aguni was, not in the way Mira was, not even in the way Niragi was, violent and cruel and unpredictable.

You were interesting because you weren’t like them.

You were the opposite.

Soft where the world had hardened. Gentle where life had been cruel. Giving where most had nothing left to offer.

It didn’t make sense.

You were too good for this place. Too good for Niragi, too good for him, too good for the entire twisted system of the Borderlands. And yet, here you were, offering yourself up like it wouldn’t get you killed.

Like it wouldn’t get you used.

Because that’s what he and Niragi were doing, wasn’t it?

Using you.

Chishiya was well aware of it. Niragi might not have been as conscious about it, but he was. You were valuable. You cooked, you cleaned, you took care of them. You were something warm and bright in the middle of a world that was nothing but death and brutality. You offered safety and comfort like it was nothing, like you didn’t even consider the weight of it, like you didn’t even care if people deserved it or not.

But Chishiya? Chishiya knew better than to believe in things like unconditional love.

He knew better than to believe in things like you.

And yet, here he was. Sitting next to you, watching the way you slept so easily beside him.

Because you trusted him.

Because you were comfortable with him.

That meant something, didn’t it?

It should have meant nothing to him. He should have written it off as just another one of your foolish little choices, another thing that made you weak. Trusting people was a liability in a place like this.

But there was a part of him, deep in the pit of his hollowed-out chest, that didn’t want to break it.

Didn’t want to lose it.

Which was ridiculous.

He didn’t like himself.

Didn’t want to like himself.

He was empty. Utterly empty. He had nothing to live for, nothing to die for. He played these games not because he wanted to survive, but because he wanted to watch, to see, to understand the twisted depths of humanity. And yet, somehow, he had ended up here.

With you.

You, with your too-soft voice and your too-gentle hands. You, who made Niragi lean into your touch instead of flinch away from it. You, who smiled so easily, like this world hadn’t already taken everything from you.

He didn’t understand you.

But he wanted to.

He hadn’t wanted anything in a long time.

And that was a problem. Because if he wanted something, that meant it could be taken away.

And if there was one thing Chishiya had learned in this world, it was that nothing lasted forever.

~

Waking up on the couch was an experience.

Not one you were used to, but not necessarily a bad one, either.

The cushion beneath you was slightly stiff, the air in the apartment cool against your skin. You blinked, eyes adjusting to the soft morning light that bled in through the windows, and slowly sat up.

You were alone.

At least, in this room.

That was okay.

You ran a hand through your hair, sighing softly as the memories of last night settled in your brain. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep out here, but you had. Right next to Chishiya, too.

That was… unexpected.

You didn’t remember him moving, didn’t remember him telling you to get up, didn’t remember anything past the slow lull of your conversation.

Had he stayed? Had he left the moment he realized you had drifted off? You weren’t sure. Either way, you were alone now, so you pushed yourself up from the couch and made your way toward the kitchen. Your body felt slow, still heavy with sleep, but you ignored it. You pulled out a chair at the counter and sat down, elbows resting on the surface, mind already wandering.

Thinking.

Thinking a lot.

You had that problem sometimes.

Your thoughts never really stopped.

Even in the quiet of the morninng, they rattled around in your skull, picking apart the things you said, the things you did, the things they did.

Chishiya.

Niragi.

They were so different, yet somehow they were the same. They weren’t gentle, they weren’t kind, and yet… you stayed.

Why did you stay?

You had options.

Not many, but they existed.

You could have taken a room somewhere else in the Beach, you heard about that place. You could have joined another group. You could have attached yourself to someone softer, someone easier, someone who would give you something back instead of taking and taking and taking.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you were here.

With them.

Maybe it was because you saw something in them. Something fragile beneath all that cruelty.

You weren’t stupid. You knew that Niragi was a psychopath. You knew Chishiya was a sociopath. They weren’t good people. But maybe that was exactly why you wanted to be here.

Because someone had to love them.

Someone had to look at them and say, You deserve kindness.

Maybe it wasn’t true.

Maybe they didn’t deserve it.

But that didn’t change the fact that you wanted to give it.

Because you had spent your whole life giving.

And you never really got much back.

You sighed, rubbing at your face, trying to shake the weight of your thoughts. It was too early for this. Too early to sit here and psychoanalyze yourself. Too early to pick apart why you were so drawn to people who were incapable of loving you back.

You needed to move. Needed to do something.

So, you stood up. And you started making tea. The soft clink of the kettle settling onto the stove filled the quiet apartment.

But even that peace didn’t last long.

You heard the heavy drag of footsteps down the hall, sluggish. Then a loud, exaggerated yawn.

“Fucking hell.” Niragi grumbled as he entered the kitchen, rubbing a hand through his mess of hair, which wasn’t tied back now. “You’re loud.”

You hummed, unbothered. “Didn’t know making tea was a crime.”

He scoffed, walking past you to the fridge, digging around with barely opened eyes. “If it wakes me up, it is.”

You poured water into the kettle, setting it to boil, glancing at him. He looked like shit. Not in a particularly bad way—just in a Niragi in the morning way. His shirt was lopsided, one shoulder exposed, and his pants hung loose at his hips like he had barely bothered putting them on right.

“Want some?” you asked, tilting your head toward the tea.

He side-eyed you, face still slack with sleep. “Tea?”

“Mhm.”

“No.”

Didn’t expect any other answer. You nodded, turning back to the stove.

He pulled out a carton of something from the fridge, staring at it like it personally offended him. Then, he sighed. “What’s for breakfast?”

“You tell me.” you said simply, already knowing where this was going.

He shot you a glare. “You’re making it.”

“I’m making tea.”

He clicked his tongue. “You always make breakfast.”

“Then it’s your turn.” You turned to him, arching a brow. “Unless you can’t cook?”

He rolled his eyes so hard you thought he might see the back of his skull. “I can fucking cook.”

“Then there’s your answer.” You gestured to the kitchen. “Go wild.”

For a moment, he just stared at you. Like he was considering making a scene, picking a fight, shoving the responsibility back onto you. But then something in his brain seemed to shift.

Because if he did argue, that would make it seem like he couldn’t cook. That he needed you to do it. And his pride was too big for that.

So, without another word, he turned, grabbed a pan, and started making breakfast himself.

You smiled to yourself.

As much as Niragi loved to be a menace, there were ways to handle him. Push him in the right places, challenge him the right way, and he’d do whatever you wanted just to prove you wrong.

You went back to your tea, listening to the faint sounds of him moving around the kitchen. The clatter of a pan on the stove, the rustle of a bag, the soft sizzle of oil heating up. He wasn’t slamming things around, wasn’t throwing a fit about it.

Because Niragi could cook.

And he’d be damned if he let you think otherwise.

You leaned against the counter, watching him move around the kitchen. He didn’t look like he particularly enjoyed cooking, but he knew what he was doing. The oil sizzled as he cracked an egg into the pan, not a single wasted motion, no hesitation.

“So,” you started, voice light.“what’re you making?”

“Food.”

You smiled. “No way. I thought you were making explosives.”

He huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, but he didn’t look at you, too focused on flipping the egg.

You tilted your head. “I mean, you do know how to make those, right?”

Niragi grinned. “What, you want me to teach you?”

“Maybe.” You shrugged. “Could be fun.”

He turned to look at you then, eyebrow raised, like he was checking to see if you were joking. You weren’t. He snorted. “You’d fucking blow your hands off.”

“Wow. No faith in me at all?”

“Not when it comes to handling shit that explodes.” He went back to his cooking. “You can barely handle me.”

“Oh, but I do handle you.”

His hand hesitated over the pan for just a second before he picked up the spatula again. His grin didn’t falter, but you saw the way his shoulders stiffened ever so slightly.

Interesting.

“You’re getting bold.” he muttered.

You just smiled, pouring the hot water into your cup, letting the tea steep. “Maybe I’m finally rubbing off on you.”

Niragi scoffed, scraping at the pan a little harder than necessary. “Keep dreaming.”

But the thing was, you kind of were.

The fact that he wasn’t throwing a fit about cooking. The fact that he was talking to you this easily. The fact that—despite his bad attitude—he was still here, still listening, still responding.

He wasn’t used to someone like you. Someone who didn’t cower or get annoyed, who didn’t push him away or try to control him. Someone who just let him be—let him be an asshole, let him be himself, and still treated him like he was worth something.

You watched him for a moment, the way he moved, the way he functioned.

“How’d you learn to cook?” you asked.

He didn’t answer right away. Then, “What, you think I was born knowing how to do this shit?”

“No.” you said patiently. “That’s why I’m asking.”

He made a low noise, like he was debating whether to answer at all. But then, after another moment, he muttered, “Had to.”

That was it. No elaboration, no explanation. Just had to.

Your fingers curled around your cup, warmth pressing into your palms.

People like Niragi—people who grew up like him—didn’t learn things like cooking because they wanted to. They learned because no one else would do it for them. Because there was no one else to care.

You just nodded, taking a slow sip of your tea. “Well, you’re good at it.”

He side-eyed you, as if suspicious of the compliment. “No shit.”

You just laughed. You took another slow sip of your tea, watching Niragi as he flipped the eggs onto a plate. Even in the smallest, most mundane actions, he was rough. Like he didn’t know how to be gentle, like he didn’t care if the eggs broke or if the pan got scratched. It was all just muscle memory, getting things done in the most efficient, thoughtless way possible.

But then again, why would he care?

You tilted your head slightly, chin resting in your palm as you looked up at him. And you really did have to look up at him. You were shorter, and with the way he stood—like he was always trying to take up as much space as possible, standing tall, broad, arms loose but ready—it made the height difference feel even bigger.

“Yesterday was a two, I’m playing again today.” he said, like that explained everything.

It didn’t.

“And?”

“And that’s not worth shit.” he scoffed, finally glancing at you. His expression was almost annoyed, like you were asking something painfully obvious. “I need something bigger.”

You frowned slightly, stirring your tea.

You didn’t understand. Not really. His visa wasn’t in danger yet, so why? Why throw himself into a game the very next day? What was the rush?

Before you could ask, a familiar voice came from the doorway.

“I’ll come.”

Both you and Niragi turned.

And there, standing just at the entrance of the hall, was Chishiya.

Again.

Niragi’s face immediately twisted into something incredulous. “Why the fuck are you always in doorways?”

Chishiya blinked at him, unimpressed as always. “They’re good vantage points.”

“For what?”

“Everything.”

Niragi stared at him for a long moment, like he was trying to decide if he was being fucked with. Then he just scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You’re such a little freak.”

Chishiya didn’t react.

You smiled a little, sipping your tea. “You’re going together?”

“I guess.” Niragi muttered, dragging a hand through his hair.

Chishiya hummed, stepping fully into the kitchen, leaning slightly against the counter. “Might be interesting.”

You knew what that meant.

Chishiya didn’t need to go. He wasn’t playing because of necessity, because of his visa. He was playing because he wanted to. Because he was looking for something to entertain him, something to stimulate that cold brain of his.

Just like Niragi.

You watched them both carefully, but neither of them looked at you. They weren’t friends, they weren’t allies. But they worked together when it suited them.

And somehow, despite their differences, it did suit them.

You set your cup down gently. “Be careful.”

Niragi smirked at you, grabbing a fork and stabbing into his food. “You worry too much.”

Chishiya didn’t say anything. But his gaze flickered to you, just for a second. If he really was going to a game today, he’d need to eat something. You already knew Niragi wouldn’t give a shit about that, so—

“Do you want something?” you asked, voice light, warm, just as naturally sweet as ever.

Chishiya glanced at you, then at Niragi, who was stabbing at his eggs with zero grace, chewing aggressively.

“I’m not making his fucking food.” Niragi stated, loud and clear, as if the mere thought of it was offensive.

You almost smiled, unsurprised. “Didn’t ask you to.”

“You would, though.” Niragi muttered through a mouthful of food, jabbing his fork toward you.

“I’ll take tea.” Chishiya said simply.

Niragi turned his head, brows raising. “That’s it?”

Chishiya just blinked at him. “I don’t need anything heavy before a game.”

You hummed, already moving to make it. “You say that, but you could still eat something small.”

“I could.” Chishiya said, not committing.

You looked over your shoulder at him. “Do you want to?”

Chishiya just tilted his head slightly, considering.

And Niragi? Niragi scoffed, pushing his plate away slightly. “If you make him food, I’m not eating next to him.”

That made you sigh. “Why are you like this?”

“Because I don’t fucking like him.” Niragi shot back.

Chishiya, of course, was entirely unaffected.

You, however, just smiled, grabbing another cup to pour the tea. “You two live together, you know.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to eat with him.” Niragi muttered, crossing his arms.

You didn’t argue further, setting Chishiya’s tea down in front of him, and looking at him expectantly. “So? Small bite of something, yes or no?”

Chishiya exhaled lightly, as if the entire conversation had exhausted him. Then, after a pause— “Fine.”

You beamed.

Niragi groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake—”

“You’ll live.” you told him sweetly.

Niragi grumbled under his breath, picking his fork back up and stabbing into his food like it had wronged him.

And Chishiya? Chishiya just watched you.

~

The day had passed in silence, for the most part. You had spent it in your room, away from them, letting them exist without you hovering, without your warmth pressing in on them when you knew—despite how much Niragi pulled for your touch and how much Chishiya lingered in your presence—they needed space. They weren’t used to people like you, weren’t used to someone always being there, always giving a fuck, and even though they tolerated it, you knew when to let them be.

So, you left them to it. Whatever they did, wherever they were, you didn’t ask. You didn’t go searching. You just curled up in your room, lying on your stomach, flipping through a book that you weren’t really reading. Your mind drifted to things you’d never say out loud, things you weren’t even sure why you thought about. You wondered if Niragi was still as angry as he always was when you weren’t in the room. If Chishiya, left to his own devices, ever let his mind wander to you the way yours wandered to him.

You wondered if either of them even needed you, or if you were just something warm and entertaining.

Still, you didn’t regret being you. You never did.

It was sometime in the late evening when you finally emerged, stretching out your stiff muscles as you walked into the living room. Niragi was there, sprawled out lazily in one of the chairs, flipping his knife over and over between his fingers. The one you gave him. His eyes flickered to you the second you stepped in, a habit of his now, like he had to acknowledge you every time you were near.

You didn’t think much of it.

“…Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” you asked, tilting your head.

Niragi huffed. “Yeah, yeah.” But he didn’t move.

You raised an eyebrow. “Then why are you still here?”

He spun his knife a little faster, then caught it, flicking his eyes up at you. “I don’t wanna walk with him.”

Oh.

You blinked, then exhaled a soft laugh. “Really?”

Niragi scoffed, stretching his long legs out, slouching further into the chair. “He’s annoying.”

“You’re going to miss your game just because you don’t want to walk next to him?” you asked.

“Maybe.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer, nudging his leg with your foot. “Come on.” you coaxed, voice gentle, light. “Don’t be a baby. Go.”

He gave you a look, like he found it funny when you pushed at him.

Then, before he could get another word out, you lifted your hand, pulling the black hair tie off your wrist and stepping behind him.

You gathered his hair, fingers threading through the strands, tying it up into that half-up style he always wore. It was second nature to you, the way you handled him, the way you touched him so easily, as if you weren’t touching someone who had probably never been handled like this in his life.

Niragi stiffened for a second, his usual instinct, but then—he let you.

You felt his shoulders relax under your hands, felt the way his head tilted slightly into your touch as you secured the tie, keeping his hair out of his face.

It wasn’t even a thought in your mind that this was something he should have done. It wasn’t something you even considered he might not want. Because Niragi wasn’t the type to say no to you when it came to touch, not anymore. And you? You weren’t the type to stop giving it.

“There.” you murmured, stepping back slightly, admiring your work.

Niragi tilted his head slightly, rolling his shoulders. “Mm. Not bad.”

You smiled, patting his shoulder lightly. “Now, go before you miss your game.”

He scoffed, stretching his arms above his head. “Yeah, yeah.”

Still, he didn’t move right away. And you caught it, the way he lingered, the way he let his fingers twitch against his thigh like he was debating something, like he wanted something.

You thought about it, then, about how easy it was for him to take when he wanted something, and yet, when it came to you, he waited. He didn’t demand it. Didn’t just grab at you.

He waited.

And that was all you needed to know.

So, with a little smile, you leaned down, pressing a warm hand against the side of his face, your fingers just barely brushing his ear. A simple touch, but a grounding one. A comfort, soft and unspoken.

“That should last you a while.” you hummed.

Niragi’s tongue flicked over his teeth, his eyes half-lidded as he rolled his jaw, tilting his head ever so slightly into your touch.

You didn’t comment on it. Didn’t say a word.

And neither did he.

Then, just as easily, you pulled away, stepping back, gesturing toward the door. “Go. Win your game.”

Niragi exhaled, standing up with a stretch. “Fine, fine. I’m fucking going.”

You grinned. “Good.”

He gave you a look, something unreadable flashing through his eyes before he clicked his tongue and made his way toward the door.

You watched him go, your head tilting slightly.

~

The night was quiet, the streets even more so. The only sound was the distant faint echo of something far off in the city—maybe another game, maybe just the wind. The air smelled like blood and sweat, the remnants of the game they had just won, but neither of them seemed to care.

Niragi sat on the pavement, one knee propped up, cigarette dangling between his fingers. He took a slow drag, letting the smoke sit in his lungs before exhaling it through his nose. The embers burned red in the dark.

Next to him, Chishiya sat with his arms resting on his knees, staring straight ahead. He didn’t look tired, didn’t look affected—just there, as if he hadn’t just walked out of a game where death had been a very real possibility.

Neither of them spoke for a while.

“…Didn’t think you’d actually come.” Niragi muttered, flicking the ash off his cigarette.

Chishiya hummed, tilting his head slightly. “I’m here.”

Niragi scoffed, rolling his tongue over his teeth. “Yeah. Here you fucking are.” He took another drag, exhaled, then turned his head slightly toward Chishiya. “What, you wanted a front-row seat to me dying or something?”

Chishiya barely glanced at him. “I would’ve left if that was the case. Boring way to go.”

Niragi let out a sharp laugh, bitter. “You really are a fucking asshole.”

Chishiya didn’t deny it.

Silence stretched again, the only movement coming from Niragi bringing the cigarette back to his lips. Then, after a moment, Chishiya shifted, resting his chin on his hand.

“You know,” he said, voice as flat as ever. “for someone who acts like he has nothing to lose, you sure do have something keeping you around now.”

Niragi’s eyes flickered to him, narrowing slightly. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Chishiya smirked, barely. “You know what it means.”

Niragi clicked his tongue, tapping his cigarette against the pavement. “Tch. You think just because she babies me, I give a fuck?”

Chishiya gave him a look, one of those slow, unimpressed ones, the kind that made it clear he didn’t buy a word coming out of Niragi’s mouth.

Niragi held his gaze for a moment, then scoffed, rolling his shoulders. “I don’t need her.” he muttered.

“No.” Chishiya agreed easily, shifting his gaze back toward the street. “But you want her.”

Niragi’s jaw twitched.

Chishiya wasn’t wrong, but fuck, did it piss him off to hear it out loud.

Another silence stretched, Niragi finishing his cigarette, flicking the butt onto the pavement. He pressed it out with the toe of his boot, watching the embers die out before exhaling a slow breath.

“…And what about you?” he asked suddenly, his voice lower, more serious.

Chishiya didn’t answer right away. He sat there, still, his eyes slightly narrowed as if he was thinking. Then, finally, he said, “She’s interesting.”

Niragi scoffed. “Bullshit.”

“Believe what you want.”

Niragi wasn’t stupid. He knew there was more to it than that.

He also knew Chishiya well enough to know he wouldn’t say it.

Still, he had a feeling they were on the same page about one thing.

That girl—their girl—was different.

And no matter how much they tried to ignore it, she was changing things for both of them.

Niragi pushed himself up with a grunt, stretching his arms over his head. His joints cracked, his muscles ached, but he felt alive. Winning felt good, even if the game itself had been bullshit. The adrenaline had long since settled, replaced with exhaustion that he refused to acknowledge.

Chishiya stood up too, though with far less effort, far less noise. That was the thing about him—always so fucking quiet, like a ghost slipping through the cracks. He brushed some dust off his pants, then shoved his hands into his pockets, looking about as unbothered as ever.

Niragi rolled his shoulders, then tilted his head toward Chishiya with a smirk. “Hope you enjoyed the show, asshole.”

Chishiya didn’t even glance at him. “It was predictable.”

That pissed Niragi off, just a little. “Predictable?” he repeated, stepping closer. “You wouldn’t have lasted a fucking second if you had to play without me.”

Chishiya finally turned to face him, that same infuriating smirk on his lips. “And yet, I did.”

Niragi sneered, stepping even closer, looming. “Yeah? You wanna test that theory, little man?”

Chishiya didn’t move. Didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. He just let the words hang between them, let Niragi stand there with all his anger, all his frustration, and met it with nothing. That was the worst part about him—he didn’t fight back, not in the way Niragi wanted. He just existed, untouchable, always one step ahead, and fuck, was that irritating.

Finally, Niragi exhaled sharply through his nose, clicking his tongue. “Tch. Whatever.” He turned on his heel, shoving his hands in his pockets, starting down the street. “Let’s go.”

Chishiya followed, not because Niragi told him to, but because he was going back to the same place.

Back to you.

Neither of them said it, but both of them were thinking it.

It was late, their bodies ached, their minds were running on fumes, but they both wanted to go back to that apartment. It wasn’t home. It never would be. But you were there, and for some fucked-up reason, that was enough to keep them walking.

Niragi was the first to break the silence. “If she fucking cries or some shit when she sees me, I’m gonna kill her.”

Chishiya hummed. “No, you won’t.”

Niragi shot him a glare. “Shut the fuck up.”

Chishiya just smirked. “She’s probably still awake.”

Niragi scoffed, but yeah. You probably were. Waiting, worrying, being the soft thing that you always were.

It annoyed him.

It also made him walk a little faster.

~

The moment the door cracked open, you were already moving.

It was late—too late. You had been sitting in the living room, hands curled around a cup of tea that had gone cold hours ago, waiting for them. When you heard the click of the lock, you shot up from your seat, setting the cup down with barely a thought.

And there they were. Niragi first, stepping inside with that cocky grin, and Chishiya just behind him, calm.

They were fine. At least, that’s what it looked like.

But that wasn’t enough for you.

You hurried over, your hands already reaching for Niragi before he could say a word. You grabbed his arm, checking for cuts, bruises, anything. His shirt was open, a little disheveled, and your hands smoothed over the fabric, searching.

“Are you okay?” you asked, voice soft, full of worry.

Niragi rolled his eyes. “You’re so fucking annoying.” But he didn’t push you away.

You ignored him, moving to check his hands next, turning them over in yours. His knuckles were a little red—maybe from gripping his gun too hard, maybe from something else—but no real damage. That was good.

Then, you looked up at his face. His eyes were dark, tired. He smelled like gunpowder and sweat, and there was a hint of something metallic—blood, but not his.

You sighed. “You scared me.”

“Tch.” He pulled his hands away, stuffing them into his pockets. “I didn’t ask you to wait up.”

“I know.” You looked at him, really looked at him. And there it was—the smallest flicker of something, something beneath the sharp words and the smug expression. He liked that you waited. He liked that you worried. He just didn’t know how to deal with it.

You smiled at him anyway. Then, you turned to Chishiya.

He was watching you. Of course he was.

He always watched.

You stepped closer, and unlike Niragi, he didn’t move away. You reached for his sleeve, fingers brushing against his wrist. “You?”

“I’m fine.” Chishiya said simply, but he didn’t pull away.

You checked anyway. Your hands ghosted over his arms, his shoulders, even though he showed no signs of injury. He let you, let you fuss over him, let you touch him, and the fact that he didn’t stop you told you more than words ever could.

“You’re both okay.” you murmured, more to yourself than anything. You finally exhaled, some of the tension melting from your body.

There was silence for a moment.

Then Niragi scoffed, shifting his weight. “Are you done playing nurse or whatever?”

You looked back at him. “I could make something for you before you sleep.”

Niragi snorted. “I’m going to bed.” But the way his eyes lingered on you for a second too long told you he liked the offer.

You didn’t push. You just nodded, watching as he walked off toward his room, muttering under his breath.

That left you and Chishiya in the quiet.

You turned back to him, tilting your head. “And you?”

“Not hungry.”

You smiled anyway. “Alright.”

And just like that, it was over. They were home, they were safe, and you could breathe again.

For now.

You reached out, fingers just barely brushing against his sleeve again, a soft touch. Chishiya looked down at it, then back at you. His expression didn’t change—still unreadable, still detached—but he didn’t move away.

“Go to bed, sweetheart.” you murmured. Your voice was warm, affectionate, like honey poured over an open wound. It didn’t ask. It didn’t demand. It simply was.

Chishiya should have scoffed at that. Should have rolled his eyes. Should have thrown something back at you, maybe something condescending, maybe something cruel, the way he did with everyone else.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he just stared at you, silent, weighing something in that brilliant, calculated mind of his. He was trying to figure you out again, picking apart your words, your tone, your kindness. Because people like you—soft, good, endlessly patient—were people he was supposed to hate.

And yet.

He shifted, stuffing his hands into his pockets, his posture as lazy as ever. “Hm.” he hummed, something noncommittal. And then, he turned and walked off, heading toward his room without another word.

You watched him go, a small, knowing smile tugging at your lips.

Chishiya should hate you. He really, really should. You were everything he despised—overly trusting, endlessly warm, a person who believed in people even when they had given you every reason not to. He hated people like that.

Because they were stupid. Because they were naive.

Because they got hurt.

Because he couldn’t be that.

But you weren’t stupid. You weren’t naive. You knew the kind of people you had let into your home. You knew what Niragi was, what he was. You knew, and yet you still loved them.

That should have disgusted him.

Instead, he found himself listening to the quiet sound of your breathing as he walked away. Instead, he found himself thinking about how you didn’t even flinch when Niragi got mean, how you didn’t snap at Chishiya for his words, how you just existed between them—sweet, steady, unshaken.

Instead, he found himself doing exactly what you said.

Going to bed, sweetheart.

❤︎︎ @lizntstoptalking @cherryheairt @fiction-fantasy-folks @monkey4lifer @psychicyouthfox @so-dramatic1 @mypsychoticlove @unhinged-sorcerer @rattymess @mochii-writes @adanfore @scarlet703 @fluentgoddess @maxinehufflepuffprincess

[exqorcism]

WEST SIDE ━ father charlie ׂ ׅ ✿ ⋆˚⊹

a/n. sum sub charlie for anon <3 as always, hope you enjoy ♡ // as always feedback is deeply appreciated !🗣️ warnings. nsfw content! sub!charlie x fem!dom!reader ‧begging ‧ slapping ‧ creampie ‧ unprotected piv ‧ blasphemy as always

"angel, i can't", charlie cried out, throwing his head back against the headrest. he looked a mess; his usually perfectly combed hair was all over the place, damp against his glistening forehead. his chest was moving rapidly with uneven breaths ⎯ muscles clenching every now and then as you run your hands over his chiselled shoulders. lips slightly parted, cries and incoherent mumbles leaving his mouth with every withdraw of your hips. and his eyes ⎯ wide, almost black in the church's dim lightning; pleading, staring back into your playful ones.

your smell was intoxicating ⎯ the bitter almond and cherry combination making his head spin. your hips moved against his slowly, the obscene sounds of your wetness sliding down his cock, along with your ragged breathing and charlie's moans filled the church, as you created a song of your own.

"oh, baby, but you wanted this", you cooed, running your hand over his cheek soothingly. he would never get over the way you rode him ⎯ how your hips moved with purpose, grinding against his own, pinning him to the chair so that he wouldn't try to move and control your rhythm. no, this time, you took it slowly ⎯ driving him insane, causing tears to brim in the corners of his pretty eyes.

"look at you", you teased, taking a hold of his necklace, fiddling with the glistening cross laying on the centre of his chest. "a man of god. letting me use him however i please. in the very chair he sits during his masses, to warn of the sins of the flesh", you sang, grinding your hips down onto his own, feeling him deep in your stomach. a soft breath left your chest as the chilly air hit your exposed skin, charlie's hands digging into your hips painfully.

"only for you, angel", he mumbled, throwing his head back, and you felt his cock twitch inside you. a grin made its way onto your face, your hips slamming against him.

"good boy. my good boy", you whispered softly, adoration filling your chest at the sight ⎯ father charlie, completely at your mercy, for once.

"yes, yes, yes", the priest chanted as you rolled your hips, sinking down on him again and again. the clenching of your cunt against his aching cock made charlie whimper lowly.

"'m so fucking close", deep groan left his chest ⎯ at which without hesitation, you slapped his cheek with force. gasp left his mouth, lower lip trembling, pleading eyes snapping open to look at you.

"watch your mouth", you spat, and before he could control himself, he was already coming deep inside of you. his whole body shook uncontrollably when his cum painted your walls, the sensation making you let out a surprised, shaky breath.

"oh god, 'm sorry, so sorry, angel⎯ fuck, yes", charlie groaned, wrapping his arms around you, his greedy lips pressing against your ear tightly. another harsh slap to his cheek, and he was a whimpering mess, begging you to stop. "a-angel, i can't", he practically melted into the chair, gasping for air, cock twitching inside of your velvety walls.

"you fucking wanted it. now take it", you arched your back, causing his dick to hit even deeper inside of you. with a strangled moan, you grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look at you ⎯ gaze clouded with lust, sheer layer of sweat covering his body.

he looked divine.

"poor baby. open your mouth f'me". and charlie obeyed, tongue rolling out involuntarily ⎯ the feeling of your pussy clenching around his cock making his head spin. the moment your warm spit landed on his tongue, his eyes rolled back, and he swallowed audibly ⎯ already beginning to feel his second orgasm nearing. your lips ghosted over his own, breathless moans leaving his mouth as he pressed you flat against his chest.

"i'm your good boy. please, tell me i'm your good boy", he sniffled softly, and you smirked, rolling your hips on top of him teasingly.

"you are my good boy".

hoffmansgirl 2024.

nicholas chavez masterlist | request here .ᐟ

[darkenedurge]

𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐭.

.

CONTENT : Fem/Elf Tav | Subby Rolan, but then he gets a little more confident muahaha | Tail Play | Heated Make-Outs | Messy Confession | Fingering (F Receiving) | P in V Sex | Rip Lorroakan (fuck that bitch) | Creampiiieee 🥧 | Tiefling Tail Head-Canons (ofc)

A/N : i’ve been wanting to write rolan for so long idk why it took me forever but AGH here we are i <3 tieflings

.

Rolan's head is reeling. Thoughts, realisations, spinning within the cavern of his skull. Lorroakan, gone. And, he owes thanks yet again to his 'valiant' hero. To which, he raises his head – lips, parting to speak.

Yet, not even a breath escapes him – not before he's barrelling backward into a bookshelf, hands grasping at his robes, and lips upon his own. Her lips. The lips he'd dreamed of for so long, lips he'd yearned for – yet so painfully denied himself.

Her tongue isn't patient, as impatient as she, winding its way into his mouth with a soft noise of satisfaction. In turn, he whines, hands reaching to grapple at any part of her he could blindly reach – clawing at her hips, drawing her nearer.

She rolls her hips into his, arousal coiling within his abdomen, and he has to muster all that he has to break for air – instantaneous in his mourning at the loss of her lips, her taste.

"What are you.. doing..?" Is all he can manage, in a panted breath, a string of saliva still connecting them – his gaze, hazy with desire, as he peers at her through half-lidded eyes.

"Something I should've done a long time ago," She replies, blunt, simple. Her hand brushes a strand of hair back, away from his face, touch uncharacteristically gentle in comparison to what he'd just witnessed – "I really like you, Rolan."

He almost laughs. In fact, no, he does laugh – a small, quiet huff of amusement. "I think we've established that," He quips, snarky as ever, "But for what it's worth, I like you too. A lot."

A brief pause. His eyes dart from corner to corner. Flitting between bloodshed, books and..

Her companions are nowhere to be found. To that, he internally, mentally, breathes a loud, genuine sigh of relief. She notices, a coy smile playing at her lips, her fingers dipping beneath his robes – fingertips cold, against the harshness of his warmth, bumping over the ridges that decorated his skin. Rolan feels a shiver crawl up his spine, eyes fluttering to a momentary close, as a shaking, uneven breath ghosts past his lips.

“So, are we going to finish what we started?” Comes her voice, Gods her voice, once more – the words purred against his ear, her teeth grazing his skin. He’s unable to swallow the whimper that fights its way out, chest notably heaving, “My ears are s– ahh.. sensitive..”

She hums, hand seeking purchase in his underwear, but lingering just above the waistband – awaiting consent. “I assumed as much,” She murmurs, “Elven ears are only the same..”

“So, I’m your first tiefling?” He asks, voice dipping to a low, rasping hum, as he guides her hand to his cock – hips stuttering as her hand began teasing, languid strokes, thumb paying mind to the ridges that adorned his shaft – alongside bitterly teasing the tip with clear intent. He moans. Pitched, and unrestrained.

“First, and last.” Is her reply, brows knitted in concentration as she peers down at her own working hand, wrist expertly twisting, earning further, mewling whines from Rolan’s mouth.

Rolan’s own, fickle, fantasies paled in comparison to the reality that had now so graciously dawned upon him, his thighs tensing with every pump of her fist.

“So sensitive,” She muses, and his hands grapple for the bookshelf behind him, “I wonder if your tail is the same..”

“Don’t–!” Rolan gasps, but his fragile warning is cast upon deaf ears, her spare hand already pinching the tip of his tail between her thumb and forefinger. He yelps, spilling over her hand with trembling of his thighs.

“Oh,” Her tongue swipes over her fingers, before they sink into her mouth, tasting his seed – “Very sensitive.”

The after-shock of Rolan’s orgasm blurs his vision, whirls his head. So much so that he hardly, if at all, processes her movements – the disappearing of his tail, within the caverns of her mouth, slick with saliva. It’s not until her cheeks hollow, and a spasm of pleasure writhes through him, earning a waned whimper from the back of his throat. “Don’t– I can’t, I– too sss–sensitive..”

Rolan tugs, his tail pleading for exit – her jaw falls slack, brows arched in question. He has to catch his breath, and he does so; though, incredibly unsteadily. Meekly.

“I’m sorry,” His hands, without forewarning, toy with her armour – a silent begging for her to be rid of it, bloodshed and all, “I can’t cum again, not unless it’s inside of you.” She blinks, still and unprepared for the first time since the mere moments ago that their encounter started. Her senses, however, are swift in their return – and she peels off piece after piece, revealing every curve; every freckle, every shred of skin that Rolan could only have ever dreamed of touching, tasting.

Rolan’s robes are much less hassle, and to a silent God he offers his thanks for it. Stripped bare in front of one another, silence offers it’s blanket. It’s her, who moves first, fingertips dancing from his shoulders, right down to his knuckles. He notices the faintest of smiles playing at her lips, adoring in its nature. With a swallowed breath, Rolan outlines her waist, her hips, thighs, ass, with his hands.

“You’re warm,” She states, softly. He hums, and with a sharp pull on his behalf – their bodies are pressed flush. Wordlessly, she’s lead backward – thighs hitting the edge of something hard, sharp, earning an expel of air from her mouth. A desk. Lorroakan’s desk.

With a grunt of effort, she was splayed before him – upon the wood of the desk, his tail wound around her leg, spreading her open with gentle encouragement. His fingers press to her lips, and she understands – tongue swirling, wetting them. With a ‘pop!’, the digits are released – sinking impatiently into her pleading, begging cunt. Rolan gasps, her cunt hot, and tight around his fingers, as they slid, in, out, in, out. He curls them, and her head is thrown back. Thumb, paying mind to her neglected bud, circling it.

“So wet,” He murmurs, not toward her in particular – more so, a thought that had accidentally been uttered aloud. Regardless, he doesn’t regret it. No, her reply only makes him wish he’d said more.

“Because it’s you, Rolan.” She whines.

Gods, he couldn’t wait anymore. She groans, at the absence of his fingers, and he shushes her. “So greedy,” He mewls, “Even when you’re about to get exactly what you want.”

The inside of her greets his cock far differently in comparison to that of his fingers. She clenches, near immediately, and blissfully so. His hips are steady at first, cautious. Until they’re not, her hands finding his in an act of desperation, as his hips piston at an impossible pace – her hips rolling in tandem with his harsh, needy thrusts. Lewd sounds encapsulate the room, skin against skin, raw noises ripped equally from both of their throats. It’s heaven, if such a place truly exists.

Delirious, Rolan barely registers, notices, the premature arrival of his orgasm crawling up his spine, strumming his nerves. A guttural, cracked moan is yanked from his mouth, and he spills inside of her – eyes blown wide. “I’m sorry,” His nose, buries in the crook of her neck, “M’sorry.”

He feels the shaking of her head, light and affectionate, against him. “It’s alright,” A kiss, tender as its pressed to his hair, “I wanted you to.. I’m yours now.”

“Mine.” The word, singular, is spoken through a hidden smile.

[tfwbluu]

PAIRING — sunoo + f!reader

WARNINGS — light bdsm, switch!noo, pegging, toys, descriptive with dialogues.

WORDCOUNT — 0.7K

NOTE — IT’S KINDA HARD WRITING NOONOO but i tried my best and i hope i did him some justice </3 also note these are personal opinions. lmk if i should add anything to warnings !

Sunoo might be sweet on the surface, but there's a glint of something much darker beneath that smile—an edge of control he reserves just for you. He wouldn’t go for the heavy stuff, but bondage or toys? Absolutely. He’d love seeing you tied up, your body at his mercy, a vibrator strapped to your soaked pussy. Watching as you squirm, trying to fight against the overwhelming sensations, would drive him wild.

“Oh, too much?” he’d tease, smirking as he cranked the vibrator to its highest setting. Your body would strain against the ropes, shaking uncontrollably, your moans filling the room. “So sensitive… but that’s what makes it fun, no?” His voice was laced with sadistic amusement as he traced a finger along your trembling thigh.

“C’mon, angel, fuck yourself on me,” he’d order, watching as you struggled to even move your hips. Your babbling, incoherent pleas only fueled him further as he leaned back, enjoying the show.

And don’t think Sunoo wouldn’t have a brat tamer side. He’d absolutely lose it if you dared to defy him, his sweetness vanishing in an instant.

“Stop whining and fucking take it,” he’d snap, his hand gripping your hair as he thrust into your mouth. Tears would spill down your cheeks as he groaned at the feeling of your throat tightening around him. “Should’ve known better than to be a brat, hmm? Now I’ve gotta teach your little mouth a lesson.” His words were sharp, cutting through the sound of your gagging and the obscene squelch of him fucking your face.

But let’s not forget about Sunoo’s secret indulgence—pegging. Even then, he’d still demand control, a dominant bottom through and through.

“Fuck into me, yes! Ah!” he’d moan, his ass high in the air as he pushed back against your strap. His face would be flushed, his thighs trembling as his own hand stroked his cock desperately, trying to chase his release. “God… you’re filling me up so good… mmph!” His voice would grow breathier with every thrust, his fingers digging into the sheets beneath him.

He’d look up at you with those big, pleading eyes, completely undone. “Touch me… please, pretty please,” he’d beg, guiding your hand to wrap around his leaking cock, his hips rolling against you. “So good, oh god… you’re so fucking good.” His whimpers would turn into desperate cries as he neared his peak, utterly at your mercy but reveling in every second of it.

You loved taking your time with him, worshipping every inch of his body like he was the most precious thing you’d ever touched. Your lips trailed over his smooth skin, leaving soft kisses along his collarbones, his shoulders, and down his chest. The way his body shivered beneath your touch only encouraged you to go slower, savoring every little reaction.

“Hmm… W-wait—!” he yelped as your lips latched onto his right nipple, your tongue flicking over the sensitive bud while your hand lazily stroked his cock. His hips bucked slightly, his cheeks glowing red as he tried to stay still. “Need to show you how pretty you are, Sun…” you whispered, your voice soft but firm. You kissed your way down his stomach, taking your time to admire the way his muscles tensed under your lips, his breathing growing uneven. Finally, you settled on your knees between his legs, looking up at him with a small smirk before taking his leaking tip into your mouth. His head fell back against the pillow, a whimper escaping him as his hands clenched the sheets.

To me, he seems like the type who thrives on control. He loves having you on top of him, completely at his mercy, your hands tied behind your back so all you can do is take what he gives. The way your body trembles, how your cries grow louder with each movement he commands—it fuels him.

“Feels so good, doesn’t it, angel?” he teased, his voice low and dripping with amusement as he guided your hips up and down on his cock. Your whimpers grew more desperate, your face buried in his shoulder as you sobbed out incoherent words, a broken mix of his name and pleas about how sensitive you were.

“Awe, are you crying?” he cooed mockingly, feeling the warmth of your tears soaking into his skin. “But it must be because it feels good, hmm? Want more?” His grip tightened on your hips, controlling your movements even as your legs began to shake, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

TAGLIST — @kikidoul @rikiives @contyynishimura @ziiao @lilmarsh-t @bxcndd @laylasbunbunny @d-dilemma

[inkedells]

hear me out: dbf!joel railing u on a bed full of plushies HEKSHDKS <3 maybe ur clutching or biting onto one and he's just cooing at u calling u a good girl HEHE

ok don't mind me popping my mf pussy w this drabble (ALSO YES THIS IS THE DBF!JOEL REQUEST THAT DROVE ME CRAZY YALL)

summary/bg info: coming home from college for winter break and acting on the sexual tension that exists between you and your dad’s best friend, joel--while finding extra comfort in your childhood plushies.

words: ~700

mdni! | requests open but responses not guaranteed.

“God, you’re a fuckin’ shy little thing, aren’t you?”

Your mouth only gaped open around a silent moan as your back arched against your childhood bed. You weren’t sure how it ended up in your hands, but you were clutching your favorite plushie, a brown bear with matted curly fur, as Joel continued his ministrations against your clit. The sight of the waistband of your sleep shorts stretched around his wrist was intoxicating, and so was the way his hand moved from underneath the thin cover of its fabric.

“Joel,” you whined, biting your lip as your hips grinded against his hand.

“Mm, that’s right. Only I know how to take care of this pretty pussy. Go ahead, sweetheart, hug your stuffies. I know you wanna.”

You hummed at that, nodding enthusiastically. Your breathing uneven and frantic from arousal, you lazily gathered the plushies surrounding you in your arms as Joel manhandled you until your ass was in the air and your cheek was pressed against the numerous stuffed toys cradled in your arms.

“Now listen here, baby girl. You’re gonna let me fuck this,” He paused to trail a finger along your seam through the fabric of your shorts, as if to make clear exactly what “this” was referring to, “And all you gotta do is keep making those pretty noises and cuddling your little toys, yeah?”

You whined high in your throat in confirmation as Joel slipped his hands underneath the hem of your shorts to palm your ass. 

“Not good enough,” He tsked, still massaging circles into your plump flesh, “Repeat it back to me.”

You swallowed, a blush creeping up on the apples of your cheeks as you clutch handfuls of stuffies. “You’re gonna… fuck… me—”

“—Fuck what?”

You groaned, turning to bury your face in the pile of stuffed toys beneath you. “My pussy,” You mumbled. You were positive your face was already beet red from embarrassment.

“Didn’t quite catch that,” He teased. You knew fully well he heard you, but indulging him in this manner was only making the heat between your legs grow hungrier, so you complied.

“You’re gonna fuck my pussy,” You said clearly, “And I’m—I’m gonna cuddle my stuffies while you use it.”

Satisfied with your response, Joel tugged your shorts down until you felt cool air hitting your pussy. Not for long, though, because soon the radiating heat of Joel’s cock was taking over as he swept his weeping tip through your folds.

“Gonna put it in now, ‘kay baby girl?” He voiced in that gravelly low rumble, and although he posed it as a question, you were smart enough to recognize it as a warning for the inevitable. Joel didn’t bother properly stretching you out, he wanted it tight so it would swallow him up just the way he wanted.

He slammed into you, ripping a coarse moan from your throat before the pain of the stretch became too much and you bit down on one of the stuffies in order to stave off a scream.

“Aww,” He mocked, “Is it hurting you, sweetheart?”

“So… big,” You managed to get out, eyes droopy and your brain completely mush as he pistoned in and out of your inviting heat, “Too… big…”

“Oh, fuck,” He groaned to himself, “You really are stretched. Fucking ruined you.” His breathing intensified as he lightly traced where you and him met with his fingers, clearly aroused by the contrast between your tight little cunt and the way his huge cock is forcibly stretching it open. His feathery touches combined with his abrupt, punishing thrusts had you pushing your ass back even further against his front, craving the abusive jerking of his hips.

Joel breathed an amused laugh at that. “Actually, it seems like it’s just the right amount of big if it’s got you pushing back for more. You like it painful, huh?”

“F-Fuck, Joel, yeah. Yeah, I love it painful. God, please, fill me up Joel. Your cum, I want it, please.”

Joel faked a wince at your words. “Looks like the innocent little girl’s suddenly got a mouth on her. That happen a lot? Does cock tend to get you dirty mouthed?”

With your cheek pressed into one of your stuffies, you peered up at him from the corner of your eye as you breathed the words, “Just yours.” It was only barely loud enough for him to hear it over the wet sounds of him fucking into your dripping pussy. In fact, you weren't even sure if he had heard you until a hint of a smile crossed his face and he told you in that warm, rumbly rasp, "Mm, I know. Because you're my good girl," with every proceeding thrust reeking of pride.

see my masterlist here

A/N: may or may not do a permanent taglist? not sure yet, just depends on the demand for it soooo maybe let me know in my asks if you want to be on a *possible* taglist for my fics (i only rlly write joel).

anyway thank you all for the support for this blog and my fics!!! truly love you all, and def don't be afraid to reach out and say hello, i need more mutuals whether you're a writer or not!!

taglist for this fic: @777-wonders , @scarlettstarlettsarletts , @pedrosbabygirl , @deathsholywaterr , @devilmademewriteit

[refiwrites]

Happy Father’s Day

Pairing: ID! Leon S. Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Warning/s: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, unprotected sex, BREEDING, rough sex, creampie, mating press, praising, cockwarming, lmk if i missed anything

Note: It’s father’s day and Leon is the only daddy I know 🤪 sorry this is probably unhinged I just had to write this out rq sorry if its short- and i just HAD TO USE THIS GIF BECAUSE DADDY– also my breeding kink going brrrrr

GIF is not mine, credits to the owner!

You and Leon were once again entangled on the bed. His muscles tensed under your every touch, breathing becoming uneven and the grunts falling from his lips and yours- along with the hot sloppy kisses you shared.

“Are you really this needy?” He jokes, a little breathless as he sat up on his knees while you were all splayed out in front of him, the sight making him want to bury his throbbing cock inside of you already.

Your heart was hammering in your chest as you stared him as he knelt before you, light sweat drenching both of your bodies but the glow of the afternoon sun hitting him–

It made him look like a fucking god.

But you had something else in store.

The moment Leon’s cock finally sinks in your drenched cunt, both of you moan out in pleasure as Leon supported himself to hover above you, your legs simply locking around his waist as he fucks you in missionary.

“So needy… squeezing me so tight already..” He chuckled, those blue eyes of his never leaving your face as he studied you with every slow thrust he gave.

You bit your lip and laugh with a slight heat to your cheeks.

“I just missed you..” You whisper against him as he moved his hips at a gentle pace. It was killing you. You wanted him to hold you down and fuck you till next week but no– this time you’d take your time, especially with what you had in store.

Leon probably didn’t have a clue what day it is, nor did he even care to as he was buried deep in you, but you knew.

Father’s Day.

Of course the two of you had talked about kids before but with your busy jobs, especially his, it was hard to find time to actually try for one. The two of you had been married for about three years now, settled into your new home and whatnot.

But you’ve seen the way Leon would watch as you two simply walked down the street and he’d spot some parents in the park- or anywhere really- playing with their children, picking them up, witnessing them with the brightest look on their faces.

While Leon looked like he longed for something like that, now with you on the picture. He wanted to have a family, with none other than you. His wife. But his job was a pain in the ass.

You wrap your arms around Leon’s neck, grazing your lip against his skin as you left hot open mouthed kisses, making him groan and put his chest flush against you as his movements slowly began to increase, making you moan out his name, hands tugging on his hair as your eyes rolled back.

The feel of him throbbing and dragging in and out of your soaked walls only made you want it more. Your hands now snaked over his back, pushing his hips down further against you.

Leon felt you clench around him and he chuckled lowly. “God- you- fuck..” He couldn’t even finish his sentence because your cunt was pulling his cock in so deep.

“Shit..” He breathed out as he stared at you with a light furrow to his brows before his eyes closed shut momentarily. “I’m not gonna last long with you doing that- ah..”

That was the plan.

You moaned as his pace finally increased as he sat upright back on his knees, holding your legs apart as he snapped his hips against yours making your body jolt and his hand instantly reaching for your tits, cupping it with his hand and squeezing.

“So fucking beautiful.” He uttured underneath his breath as he went back to grab at your hips to steady himself as he pounds into you. Him lifting your hips up, making him hit a new angle that had you seeing stars and grasping at the sheets.

“Leon- oh fuck yes just like that.” You whine.

The way you were reacting to him as he fucks you never gets old. It was like the first time all over again and he grunted in response, working harder and pressing you against the mattress. His finger slipped in between your legs to rub against your clit.

“O-oh fuck..” You whine out, arching your back as Leon worked for both of your orgasm.

You almost get sidetracked as you could feel him already twitching inside you.

“I’m close sweetheart, need you to cum for me, yeah? I just need to feel you cum for me..” He whispered, leaning back down to lazily kiss you, tongues meeting sloppily as you moaned against the kiss.

You were close, he was too.

Your mind was already buzzing, eager to experience that high but you still had to act. “L-Leon- Leon..” You call out for him in between pants as you held onto his strong arms.

“Y-yeah sweetheart? Fuck I’m so close..” You hear him say but your next words stunned him.

“C-cum inside me..”

Leon’s hips stuttered as he stared at you wide, pupils dilated as he gripped a little too tight on your thighs. “H-huh what..?”

“P-please Leon..” You begged. “F-fill me up.. w-wanna have kids with you..” You were starting to get lost in the pleasure as you rambled on about having kids with him and you wanting him to stuff you full of his cum.

Leon’s brain buzzed and it felt like a switch had been turned on that had his nerves setting aflame as he let out almost a growl.

“Fuck, sweetheart..” He was still holding back from folding you and fucking you until you were dripping of him as he tried to gather himself. “Y-you want this? You want me to cum inside you? Fuck a baby into you? Holy- fuck- shit..” His mind was racing.

You couldn’t respond further but you tried as you nodded desperately. “Yes- Yes Leon!”

“Fuck- thank you sweetheart- gonna cum inside you-“ Leon couldn’t believe it- the tiredness was washed out of his body, replaced by the need to shoot his load in you, his eyes glued to your belly, his mind already engaged in scenarios of your baby bump growing and he lets out a loud grunt of exertion.

His newfound energy being put to good use as he suddenly lifted your legs up, folding you, his arms grasping at the back of your knees as he held you in place as you continued to clench around him.

“Thank you baby- fuck I’ve wanted this for so long..” he managed to groan out as he fucks even deeper inside you. “I’m gonna make you a fucking mommy- you’re gonna be so good…”

All you could do was moan out your replies as he talked to you that way, the coil in your stomach bound to snap. “Leon- I’m so close- p-please..”

“Hold on, sweetheart… wanna do it together..” he breathily says as he leaned down and captured your lips, you kissing back without thought.

“A-alright come on- let go for me sweetheart- fuck! I’m- ah fuck cumming!” He moaned in your ear as his whole body stilled, his thighs shaking a little as he finally came inside you, the feeling making him dizzy a little.

When it did, you cried out in pleasure as your body spasms against his. “Yes- oh yes..” You chant out along with his name as you held him close, rolling your eyes back as he twitched inside you, spilling the last of his hot ropes in your walls.

It took a while as Leon grunted in your ear, breathing out and leaving a kiss on your neck as he shuddered at the sudden sensitivity of his cock.

“That- thank you sweetheart..” He whispers, chuckling as he carefully tried to pull away but you shook your head and held him in place as you bought your legs down.

“O-oh? You want me to stay inside you..?” Leon asked, you really never failed to take his breath away.

With your mind clouded with pleasure, you nod and he shakes his head with a smile, brushing stray hairs away from your face as he was careful to lay beside you whilst keeping himself sheathed inside you as he lets you hike your leg around him. Both of you catching your breath and Leon still couldn’t believe what happened.

“Did you really mean that..?” He asks once his breathing calmed down as he looked at you intently. You blinked up at him and nod, leaning in and kissing his jaw as you snuggled against him, the feeling of being so full of him making you sigh in content. “Yes, I did..”

Leon broke out into a wide grin, sending a kiss to your forehead as he pulled you closer. It seemed like every worry slipped away from him in that moment at the thought of finally getting to have this with you. “You’re amazing..” was all he managed to say as he let his lips linger against your head.

Tiredness was seeping into you as your eyelids droop close, not without you saying one last thing to Leon.

“Happy father’s day, honey.”

[a-leg-without-fear]

hello my love lovely mutual!

congrats on 200 followers leg 🦵 you are an actual rockstar!!!!

can i maybe order a medium mocha with my papi Logan. that man needs some soft in his life

LOVE YOU BABES

- Sybil

I love you too, Syb!! Thank you so much, lovely :) <3 One medium mocha coming right up!!

"I made this for you..."

You looked up from where you sat at your desk, research essays on Pablo Picasso stacked on top of the paint-stained surface. The last bits of sunlight leaked through the drawn curtains in your art classroom. Streaks of oranges and pinks illuminated the drying pottery your students had worked on that morning.

Logan stood next to your desk. Flannel sleeves rolled up around his elbows, white tank top splotched in red clay, jeans dusty around the hems. An apprehensive, almost nervous, frown stretched at his face. You glanced down at what he held in his hands.

A small, rough-around-the-edges, clay whale sat in his outstretched palm. It was a little uneven in its proportions, the flippers too big for its head, but it was absolutely adorable.

"Oh my God, Logan!" you gasped. You gingerly plucked the thumb-size figurine from him and cradled it in your palms. This was the most perfect gift you had ever received from anybody.

"You don't gotta lie if you don't like it," Logan grumbled, hand rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck.

"Shut up, grump," you breathed. You gently set the whale on your desk, on top of the papers you needed to grade, and threw your arms around Logan's shoulders. The sudden movement was met with an "oof!" and Logan tentatively placing his hands on your hips. You pulled back to look him in his hazel eyes, "I fucking love it. You're gonna need to make me more. I want a whole pod!"

Logan groaned, shrugging your arms off and stepping away from you as you giggled. You leaned back on your desk.

"I ain't making more. One and done," Logan groused. You laughed at his reluctance, taking one of his large hands in both of yours.

"At least one more? So this one isn't so lonely?" you pleaded, sticking out your bottom lip to really sell it. Logan groaned again while rolling his eyes. You kept up the puppy-dog face until he looked back to you.

He sighed, "Fine. One more. That's it."

this is very silly and cute. hope ya like <3

[shalomsexual]

SPECIAL CALL

Prompt: In which Reader is at work but receives a 'special' call from her girlfriend.

Warnings: Phone sex, f!ingering, dirty talk

Game: Path to nowhere

A/n: This is my first time writing phone sex so please excuse the brain of my last two brain cells 🙏

Working for the Quinn company wasn't an easy task; and your position at the prestigious company certainly wasn't one to be taken lightly. As the head of the finance department, you were tasked with several tedious jobs that required your attention at all times. CEO Eirene has always expected good results to come from the financial aspect of her company because she knew you were capable and determined and a mindset like that could get you far places.

However, what you didn't expect was the receive a phone call from your girlfriend- Eleven. Eleven and you had been dating for a year and a half now. Your relationship was progressing slowly but surely, you were aware that she was a sinner but did you care? Hell to the fuck no. You practically work for a sinner so you didn't mind. You are aware of her job as a radio host and you absolutely love her program. Eleven was a daring one to say the least. She constantly makes flirtatious comments which you didn't take to heart and she was quite suggestive too. Despite dating for a while now, you both have never done the deed. Though she didn't mind, sometimes she wish you were intimate. That didn't stop the girl from fantasing about your long slender fingers, the ones she would drool over as she watched it work on a keyboard.

"Darling~" Eleven's sultry voice resounded through the ear worn microphones that was connected to your phones.

"H-hi Eleven. How are you?" As you checked the watch, you saw it was quite late and you still had some work to do so you took a short break, and talked to your girlfriend.

"You've been so busy haven't you? Hardly had the time to chat with your girlfriend but don't worry darling, I have a gift for you. Oh darling just for you~"

You nervously gulped at the so damn seductive voice, knowing its going to be more than a five minute break.

"What is the gift?"

"Oh its a special call. For my favourite listener~" the air in the room became increasingly hot so you turned on the nearby fan.

"R-really? A-are you going to sing me a song? O-or read me a story?" To say you were nervous was an understatement. Eleven let out a soft chuckle.

"Not quite. It's even better..." Silence engulfed the line before the sound of something wet was heard. It was more like a squelching sound.

"Ele-Shh... do you hear that? How wet I am for you?" She moaned softly, her velvety voice going through the phone and into your ears, tickling your brain. Your eyes widened as you immediately understood what was going on.

"Y-yeah... yeah I hear it. Oh god Eleven not now please.." Your pleas went deaf in her ears as she inserted a finger into her cunt, the soft walls enveloping her fingers.

"I wish it was your fingers. Your long slender fingers ahh~" she softly moaned, imaging it was your fingers instead of hers. "Oh y/n... I want you so bad nghhh~"

You face palmed in embarrassment, red coating your face. You felt your own arousal beginning to form. "Oh darling don't be shy... tell me what you want me to do~"

Your breaths came out in an uneven pattern. Okay maybe you enjoyed it a little right now but that doesn't mean she should continue. It's such an inappropriate- ah fuck it.

"Fuck Eleven why do you do this to me huh? You're like a needy slut. Always horny." Eleven gasped at your words, the unexpected switch in your personality made her wetter. "Add another finger love."

Without hesitation, Eleven placed the phone at an angle that would capture the elicit sounds escaping from both of her lips. She inserted another finger before slowly thrusting them in and out, slick coating her digits. "Ahh d-darling~"

"That's it. Good girl. Keep fingering yourself like that.." your praises spurred her on even more. Praising was one of her kinks. She just had to be a good girl for you; always trying her best to satisfy your needs. "Add another one baby."

"A-another one?"

"Yeah you can take it right?" Your voice had a little hesitation due to never having done phone sex with someone before. As if Eleven could sense your uneasiness, she smiled.

"I can take it darling... Just for you." She added another finger, the three digits stretching her pussy open. She felt her high slowly approaching, coming like a force. "D-darling-ahh I'm close... so close.."

"Mm you wanna come baby?"

"Yes-nghh... yes I wanna... come... p-please."

Who were you to deny your sweetheart such pleasure? "Alright love you can come."

Eleven continued thrusting her fingers, bringing her other hand to pinch her nipples. Her legs shook with zeal as she came, her juices coating the sheets and some falling onto her phone. You heard the loud erotic moans and the sound of water splashing. "O-oh darling... I have to wash your sheets." She giggled melodically.

"Yeah y...wait! Are you in my house?!" She giggled even more, falling into your pillow as she took a sniff, a breathy moan escaping her lips.

"Yes I am.. did you forget you gave me a key?" Now that she mentioned it, you did give her a key to go to your apartment whenever she wanted. With a sigh, you chuckled.

"I did forget."

"Oh my~ is your memory getting foggy from thinking about me too much, hmm?"

"N-no!"

You heard shuffling coming from the other end of the line when suddenly your phone received a message. As you picked it up, your jaw dropped. Eleven had sent you a two pictures. One where she took her fingers and spread open her pussy and the other is where she sat on your pillow, her pussy pressed flush against the softness.

"Don't expect a dry pillow when you come home, darling~"